Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. Read Free Page A

Worley’s
Have You Forgotten
. That meant dispatch. He unclipped the phone from his belt holder.
    “Yeah, Gabby, whadda ya got?” He took a deep breath. “Anything good?”
    “Morning, Chief. Ready to start the day? Zach called. He’s having some problem—”
    “Just the facts, Gabby.”
    “Right-o, Chief. Anyway, Zach’s at the Drivin’ Diner. I love that name Drivin’. Drive in. Get it? Oh, never mind.” She sighed. “So we got a call about this disturbance there, and Zach took the call. Zach gets there, and this Mexican fellow is disturbing the breakfast club.”
    “Disturbing, how?”
    “He’s waving a gun around. I think Zach said it’s a big saucer, although I’ve never heard of a gun by—”
    “He probably said a SIG Sauer.” Rye rolled his eyes.
Women.
    “Yeah, that’s it. And this Mex fellow is yelling all kinds of Spanish. And, you know, Spanish is like my second language. So Zach holds his phone up for me to hear. And, who woulda thunk, the Mex is like nuts! Spouting stuff about guns, and revolution and … and walking skins. Or something like that. So I tell Zach to keep an eye on him while I phone you.”
    “You did good, Gabby, so tell—”
    “Zach then phones again. Seems this Mexican gunman tried to escape. Zach’s got him cornered in the parking lot. It’s got to be hot on that blacktop. I mean, with the sun coming up, that parking lot is going to fry his—”
    “Gabby,” he interrupted, “call Zach and tell him I’m there in five. Less if I don’t hit the ten-car rush minute in town.” He ended the call before she could reply. He switched on the Tahoe’s police lights. He started to re-clip his cell when Worley’s ringtone interrupted.
    “Yes, Gabby?”
    “There’s a personal message for you, Chief. But I kinda hesitated to give it to you before you took that disturbance call. Knowing how this might upset you …”
    “I’m a big boy.”
    “Well, if you’re so sure and all … I guess I can tell you. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. I mean—”
    “Gabby?”
    “Okay, okay. Dee called. Gotta go.” The phone went dead from her end. Rye snorted once and shook his head.
    He pushed Dee’s number. After a couple of rings, her voice began a sultry introduction. “Leave a message at the sound of the …”
Beeeeeep
.
    How did she make such a mundane message sound sexy?
    “Dee, I got your message. From Gabby. Looks like we’re doing the phone tag thing. I’m on a police call now. Later.” He returned the phone to its clip.
    Minutes later, Rye pulled up to the Drivin’ Diner. The 50s-styled greasy spoon resembled a silver tube the size of a train car. A dozendust-covered vehicles baked in the lot next to the restaurant. Mostly cowboy-wannabe pickups.
    Officer Zach Reese stood like a Frederic Remington statue about ten feet away from a pickup painted in beat-up and rust. A Hispanic male sat on the ground by the tires. His long, stringy hair hung down to black, ferret eyes. Rye had seen his kind before … a coyote or a mule.
    Rye parked his Tahoe, but kept it running for the air conditioning. He went around to the back and lifted the hatch door. After slipping into his vest, he picked up his Browning Illusion hunting bow and a Grim Reaper broadhead arrow. After shutting the hatch, he nocked an arrow and walked over to Zach. A trickle of sweat rolled down Rye’s spine.
    “Glad to see you’re wearing your protective vest, Reese. What’cha got?” Rye smiled when the Mexican’s eyes grew large at the sight of the bow. It had that effect.
    Zach knuckled the Kevlar vest. “The suspect thought he could come into our town and start some trouble.” Zach took off his Stetson and swiped sweaty grit from his forehead with a sleeve. “Waving a gun all over the place. Botched robbery. I got him handcuffed, but he put up a fight. He escaped the diner, headed to this piece of junk pickup, when he tripped. He scooted over to the tire and sat there. He won’t