Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 by Shawn Underhill, Nick Adams Page A

front. Flaming chaff and spike dispensers on the back to repel tailgaters.
    Hey, it doesn’t hurt to dream a little.
    I went on up the street with the houses and apartment buildings on my left and the old red-brick mill buildings on my right. The shadow of those hulking buildings seemed to make everything darker. The street was like its own little world.
    Then the road curved and became Circle Drive, moving away from the mills. There were ten or twelve houses spread out in a wide circle. Behind them, a very steep grade of brush and roots led up to trees and the corner of an old Colonial cemetery. It was like some developer had blasted off a corner of a hill to make a lot for cheap houses.
    I cruised by the house Lucy Kurtz had lived in. Though it was one of the better places in that section, it still wasn’t anything enviable. It was a party spot and a crash pad, subsidized by the government. Part of me wanted to kick the door in. Fire a few warning shots into the ceiling and demand to be told everything they knew. No bullshit for the TV reporters. They knew who took the girl. They had to. And I’d been daydreaming of confronting them for almost a year. Not because I wanted Lucy reunited with her mother and aunt. That wasn’t a terribly appealing prospect. It was barely better than the prospect of her being dead. What worried me most was the idea that she was alive. Alive and suffering in the custody of even worse people.
    I didn’t stop. Didn’t kick any doors or fire any warning shots. I just drove by and looped around back onto to Bow Street and drove back up to Central Street.
    At the lights I took a left on Central and just up the street turned left into the Lion’s Club. Their parking lot merged with the rear corner of the fire department’s lot. The front of the firehouse faced the very beginning of Bow Street, bordering the end of the first big mill. I parked between an old Volvo and a Ford truck. Got out and pulled on a black windbreaker. The night was getting cool. And I wanted cover for my pistol. A Ruger SR9. A fairly compact nine millimeter.
    “Be good,” I told Frank. “I’ll be back soon.”
    He whined and gave me this look, like, “Why can’t I go? Dude, I thought we were a team.”
    I ignored his imploring look. Locked the van and walked through the narrow alley between the club and the firehouse. Turned right by the front of the firehouse and went along the sidewalk opposite the houses. I moved along casually, not rushing. Trying to be observant without obviously staring.
    I passed only a few people, mostly teenagers. My hat shaded my eyes from the glow of the streetlamps. I tried making eye contact with one girl, as a sort of test to see if anyone would be suspicious of my presence. I couldn’t tell. She never looked up in passing. Just kept her head down and walked on. Maybe I appeared a little more intimidating than I assumed myself to look. Or maybe she was just preoccupied.
    The ugly blue house was completely dark. It almost looked abandoned. There were no lights inside or out. I moved by and went maybe two hundred yards before crossing the road and heading back. I slowed before it. The house to the right was dark. The house on the left had one or two small lights on inside. I couldn’t see anyone on any of the porches. Everything looked still.
    Time to make a quick decision. Head back to my van or proceed. Check out this house. See what I could find.
    Five seconds later, I was just making up my mind to move forward, when I heard a voice. A woman’s voice. It caught me by surprise. It came from the left. From the dark porch of the house with a few lights on inside.
    “They’re not home.”
    I looked but at first I couldn’t see her. The porch was in shadows and my eyes were straining to adjust.
    “Right here,” she said, and waved her hand.
    Now I could just see her in the shadows. She was small and appeared gray-headed. As my eyes focused, my first impression was that she was an