At All Costs by John Gilstrap

in return.
    “Which books?” Mrs. Hawkins asked.
    Mrs. Harris deferred to Jake, who merely shrugged.
    “All of them,” Mrs. Harris said.
    “All of them?”
    Mrs. Harris fired another look to Jake, who made a rolling motion with his fingers, urging her to move things along. She turned back to the microphone, clearly at a loss for what to say, then gave up and turned the system off.
    Her solution struck Jake as funny. “Nicely done, Mrs. Harris.” She seemed proud of herself.
    “Why get your son wrapped up in all this, Brighton?” Menefee asked. His tone had the hard edge of a father scolding his son.
    Jake’s smile disappeared. He glared at the man for a long time, deciding whether or not to answer. Finally, he said, “Don’t look at me like I’m some sort of child molester, Menefee. In case you haven’t realized it yet, this is a time for you to be very, very careful.”
    Menefee shook his head and stood a little taller, as if finding a lost vein of courage. “I don’t look at you as a child molester, Brighton,” he corrected. “I look at you as a murderer, because that’s what you are.”
    The ladies gasped as one. Mrs. Harris brought a hand to her chest—as though she might be having a heart attack—and shot Menefee a surprised, angry scowl. All of them edged away from their boss, reminding Jake of that scene in every cowboy flick where the street clears before the big gun battle.
    Jake never shifted his stare from Menefee’s eyes, yet he registered precisely what everyone in the room was doing, where they were going. He sensed that things were about to come unraveled. Menefee was a fool to draw verbal battle lines. What could he possibly hope to gain by picking a fight with an armed man? When Jake spoke, he carefully selected every word. “If I were a murderer, you’d be dead now, Menefee. As it is, I haven’t even threatened you.”
    “You bring a gun into my school . . .”
    Jake silenced him with an abrupt movement of his left hand, making Menefee flinch. Under different circumstances, Jake might have laughed at the reaction, but not this time. He leveled his forefinger at the principal, six inches from the end of the man’s nose. “It’s time for you to shut up now,” he said. “I’ve done nothing wrong. The details are none of your business, but rest assured that, to date, I have never killed a soul.” He paused, shifting his eyes individually to each of the people standing there in the office. One by one, all but the little girl broke eye contact the instant he landed on them. “Also rest assured that I will do what ever I have to do to protect my family from harm. Is that clear, Menefee?”
    The principal’s eyes shifted from the tip of Jake’s finger to the gun on his hip and back again. He swallowed hard, then nodded.
    Jake lowered his finger slowly. “Good. Now, why don’t you take a seat over there.”
    Menefee hesitated for an instant, as though unsure what to do.
    “Please,” Jake said, motioning with his hand toward one of the three metal secretarial desks behind the counter. “And don’t touch anything, okay? Especially not the phone. Really, my business here is almost done.”

C HAPTER N INE

    Eleven minutes had passed, and Carolyn was freezing. She slid the temperature control further toward red, realizing that it just wasn’t that cold outside. Nerves, she figured. Her body temperature always plummeted when she got nervous. Her feet felt like they might blister from the hot air blasting down on them, yet she still couldn’t stop shivering.
    This was taking too long. How big a deal could it be to go inside, pick up Travis, and come back outside? Five minutes? Maybe ten? Now they were closing in on twelve, and still her men were nowhere to be found. She hated herself for not going in with him. She should have insisted. At least then, whatever happened would happen to them together. The thought of being separated from the action—good or bad—was