My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

The cabin was larger than he’d expected, two stories with a wraparound deck and several outbuildings scattered around the property. Lights spilled from the main house, and Harry could hear voices carrying across the still night air. He crept closer, using the tree line for cover until he could see into the main room through the windows.

Trent Huxley sat at the head of a poker table, dealing cards to four other men. He was 31, soft around the middle from too much beer, and easy living with dark hair that was already thinning and eyes that never quite met anyone else’s gaze directly. He wore an expensive watch and designer clothes that looked out of place in rural Montana.

All right, gentlemen. Trent was saying, “Let’s discuss this week’s business before we play.” Harry recognized two of the other men at the table. Rafe gunner sat to Trent right 6’4 probably 250 with the thick neck and dead eyes of a professional enforcer. Dave Garrett the city councilman Delmare had mentioned looked nervous and out of place among the criminals.

The fourth man was a stranger but his expensive suit and careful posture suggested he was from out of town. Probably Trent connection to the larger gambling network. Peterson account is 3 weeks overdue. Rafe reported in a voice like gravel. Owes 18 grand with interest. Want me to break something? Not yet, Trent said, shuffling cards with practiced ease.

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