Billy had sprung up out of nowhere.
Instead of seeing Billy’s arrival as a complication, Mason decided that Billy could be of considerable use once they reached the inside of the livery. So before calling out, he’d emptied the shotgun. It hadn’t been easy, cracking it open and dropping the shells into his motionless open hand at the end of the cast. Nor had it been easy keeping the shotgun tucked under his good arm so his other hand could transfer the shells into his pockets—one in each so the shells wouldn’t clink as he walked.
But after the men were tied and the gun was emptied, the rest of Mason’s plans would be easy. They would end with a fire killing Carney and Evans and framing Billy. Mason would be long gone with the canister before anyone figured out what had happened. Long gone, as in free. Outside.
The girl on the horse was silent as Mason turned them both around. She wouldn’t be silent for long, he thought, grinning in the dark. Some pleasures would arrive sooner than others.
With Billy behind him, Mason walked the horse toward the large, open doors of the livery. As he neared the building, he lifted his face into the security lights, making sure the surveillance camera had a good view. According to his plan, the footage would show the girl on the horse’s back and the deputy pointing a shotgun at both of them.
Face toward the camera, Mason clearly mouthed a silent word.
Help.
NINETEEN
T he livery was built with open rafters, wide beams of wood where rats scurried with impunity, heard but unseen in the deep shadows. The fluorescent lighting that hung from the beams illuminated a corridor of clean concrete running between stalls. Billy felt more at home here than with his adoptive parents and certainly more comfortable than in the sheriff’s office. He felt a twinge of sadness at the memory of being plucked away from the livery and forced into the deputy position.
He looked at the clean floor with nostalgia and smelled the hay and straw with approval. The horses were still well cared for.
He glanced at the stalls, and some of the horses looked back with various degrees of curiosity. Billy knew many of the horses better than he knew any people.
Here in the light, Billy finally got a better look at the fugitive. She showed no emotion from her perch on the saddled horse. She stared calmly at Mason Lee’s back. She was wearing a cloak, with only her hands visible. And, of course, her face.
Billy blinked, hoping he didn’t show how his stomach suddenly felt dizzy. At least that’s how he would have explained it if he’d ever risked telling anyone what had happened when her eyes met his. Something about her calmness. Mostly her face, drawing him in so that he could hardly breathe.
He forced himself to look away, searching for Sheriff Carney.
“First tell me how you escaped the jail cell, then I’ll tell you where to find the sheriff.” Billy didn’t understand how Mason could have so easily anticipated Billy’s next question.
“I had a key,” Billy said.
“You had a key.”
“Ever since I locked myself in, I kept a key tied to my shoelace. I didn’t want to give Sheriff Carney a reason to yell at me if I locked myself in again.”
“Blind pig finding an acorn.” Mason shook his head in disgust. Billy couldn’t tell if Mason was disgusted with Billy or himself.
“Where’s Sheriff Carney?” Billy asked.
“It won’t matter to you.” Mason reached his good arm behind him and pulled out a pistol he’d tucked into his belt at his lower back. “Might as well drop the shotgun. No shells in it.”
Billy felt his mouth drop open. No shells. He wanted to open the gun and look but was afraid that Mason would shoot him or the girl.
Mason pointed the pistol at the midsection of the girl on the horse. “Toss the shotgun in the hay. You don’t want her to be belly-shot. Trust me.”
Billy threw it onto the nearby hay.
“Good boy,” Mason said, as if speaking to a dog.
Instead of seeing Billy’s arrival as a complication, Mason decided that Billy could be of considerable use once they reached the inside of the livery. So before calling out, he’d emptied the shotgun. It hadn’t been easy, cracking it open and dropping the shells into his motionless open hand at the end of the cast. Nor had it been easy keeping the shotgun tucked under his good arm so his other hand could transfer the shells into his pockets—one in each so the shells wouldn’t clink as he walked.
But after the men were tied and the gun was emptied, the rest of Mason’s plans would be easy. They would end with a fire killing Carney and Evans and framing Billy. Mason would be long gone with the canister before anyone figured out what had happened. Long gone, as in free. Outside.
The girl on the horse was silent as Mason turned them both around. She wouldn’t be silent for long, he thought, grinning in the dark. Some pleasures would arrive sooner than others.
With Billy behind him, Mason walked the horse toward the large, open doors of the livery. As he neared the building, he lifted his face into the security lights, making sure the surveillance camera had a good view. According to his plan, the footage would show the girl on the horse’s back and the deputy pointing a shotgun at both of them.
Face toward the camera, Mason clearly mouthed a silent word.
Help.
NINETEEN
T he livery was built with open rafters, wide beams of wood where rats scurried with impunity, heard but unseen in the deep shadows. The fluorescent lighting that hung from the beams illuminated a corridor of clean concrete running between stalls. Billy felt more at home here than with his adoptive parents and certainly more comfortable than in the sheriff’s office. He felt a twinge of sadness at the memory of being plucked away from the livery and forced into the deputy position.
He looked at the clean floor with nostalgia and smelled the hay and straw with approval. The horses were still well cared for.
He glanced at the stalls, and some of the horses looked back with various degrees of curiosity. Billy knew many of the horses better than he knew any people.
Here in the light, Billy finally got a better look at the fugitive. She showed no emotion from her perch on the saddled horse. She stared calmly at Mason Lee’s back. She was wearing a cloak, with only her hands visible. And, of course, her face.
Billy blinked, hoping he didn’t show how his stomach suddenly felt dizzy. At least that’s how he would have explained it if he’d ever risked telling anyone what had happened when her eyes met his. Something about her calmness. Mostly her face, drawing him in so that he could hardly breathe.
He forced himself to look away, searching for Sheriff Carney.
“First tell me how you escaped the jail cell, then I’ll tell you where to find the sheriff.” Billy didn’t understand how Mason could have so easily anticipated Billy’s next question.
“I had a key,” Billy said.
“You had a key.”
“Ever since I locked myself in, I kept a key tied to my shoelace. I didn’t want to give Sheriff Carney a reason to yell at me if I locked myself in again.”
“Blind pig finding an acorn.” Mason shook his head in disgust. Billy couldn’t tell if Mason was disgusted with Billy or himself.
“Where’s Sheriff Carney?” Billy asked.
“It won’t matter to you.” Mason reached his good arm behind him and pulled out a pistol he’d tucked into his belt at his lower back. “Might as well drop the shotgun. No shells in it.”
Billy felt his mouth drop open. No shells. He wanted to open the gun and look but was afraid that Mason would shoot him or the girl.
Mason pointed the pistol at the midsection of the girl on the horse. “Toss the shotgun in the hay. You don’t want her to be belly-shot. Trust me.”
Billy threw it onto the nearby hay.
“Good boy,” Mason said, as if speaking to a dog.
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