Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray Read Online Free Page A

tanks.
    “Reminds me of the seizures after Y2K,” Jenkins said. “We had an entire warehouse filled with survival gear.”
    Nick cut the rope on one of the two remaining pallets and pulled the tarp away. “Whoa, doggie. We’ve hit the mother lode.”
    Box after box of ammunition stood in tall stacks on the pallet, everything from small-gauge shotgun pellets to cartridges for long-range rifles. Nick quickly sawed through the rope and pulled the tarp off the last pallet. Guns of every size, still in the manufacturer’s packaging, lay stacked on the wood frame.
    Nick’s eyes met mine. “Looks like they’ve been preparing themselves for Armageddon.”
    We may have arrived just in time, which was something I didn’t want to contemplate too intently. One on one, I had no doubt I could outshoot an opponent. But if we were outnumbered? The odds wouldn’t be nearly so good.
    Jenkins didn’t bat an eye. She simply pulled her cell phone out of her purse and punched some buttons. “Send a truck.”

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    My, What a Big Cock You Have
    An hour later, a young male intern arrived in a rental truck, slowly making his way over the uneven terrain to the barn. Jenkins, Nick, and I helped the college kid load the boxes into the cargo bay, then crowded into the truck’s cab to ride back to our cars at the front of the property.
    The truck, now loaded with the spoils, bounced over the field, then rumbled slowly down the gravel drive, the loose rocks plink-plinking as the tires kicked them up against the undercarriage. As we drove past Buchmeyer’s pickup, the old man made one last desperate stand, diving from the tailgate into the path of the moving truck.
    The intern slammed to a quick, brake-squealing stop. “Is this guy crazy?”
    “Six hundred pounds of Spam tell me yes.” I opened the door to climb out.
    Nick and Jenkins climbed out after me.
    “You can’t take that stuff,” Buchmeyer yelled from his prone position underneath the truck’s front bumper. “It don’t belong to me. It belongs to the Lone Star Nation.”
    “Not anymore.” Nick grabbed Buchmeyer’s boots and dragged the old man out from under the truck’s bumper and off the drive.
    Buchmeyer rolled over onto his back in the weeds. He tried to sit up, but had trouble with his hands still cuffed behind his back. “You’ll be sorry you messed with me.” His narrowed eyes took each agent in turn. “Just you wait and see.”
    Vague threats. Not the first or last time for that, either.
    Nick and I turned to walk back to the bug-splattered fleet car. We’d leave the old man there for the deputy to deal with. That’ll teach the officer to question the capabilities of an IRS special agent.
    Nick and I held the gate open as the intern drove the rental truck out. He gave us a honk and a wave before turning onto the county road. Jenkins thanked us for our assistance, then climbed into her vehicle and headed out, too.
    Nick and I made our way to the car. He paused at the passenger door, his eyes focused on something off in the distance behind me. I turned to see what he was looking at. Though it was dusk now, it wasn’t too dark for us to see another dark dust cloud being kicked up at the back of the Buchmeyers’ place.
    “Something’s going on back there,” he said.
    Given that we’d just seized enough guns and ammo to arm a sizable battalion, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back there and find out what it was. Anyone there would likely be holding both a weapon and a grudge. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do if that girl’s a federal agent on duty, right?
    I put on my brave face. “Let’s go check things out.”
    We walked back onto the property, stopping to speak with the deputy. He’d already secured August in the back of his cruiser, but he grabbed his rifle and joined us. Given that we’d seen at least three vehicles drive onto the property, he called for backup, suggesting his fellow deputies use the fire road for