C-22?”
Walt snorted. “Stalling?” He moved closer, that predatory expression narrowing his features.
“Did you kill Bill Taylor?”
Surprise crossed Walt’s face. “Hell, no.”
Shock shot through Zane’s brain; he believed the man. “Then who did?”
Walt swung the level at him in answer. Zane yanked the sledgehammer up and into both hands at chest height, blocking the blow. Walt’s level bounced off the handle and bashed Zane’s chin, making him stutter-step backward and fall, landing hard, which knocked the breath out of his lungs. His skull bounced against the dirt.
As he lay on his back, the level rushed at his face, and he blocked it again with the handle. He kicked and thrashed with his legs, snagging Walt’s shin and thrusting him off-balance. Walt lurched to the side, panting, and Zane spun on his back, continuing his kicking assault. The man danced out of range, and Zane’s arms quivered as he braced the sledgehammer protectively in front of his face.
He couldn’t hold it much longer.
Stevie yanked her steering wheel to the side and parked behind Zane’s vehicle at his cabin. She relayed her arrival to Sheila, who reported back that Rogue County units were five minutes out. She stepped out of her car, her hand resting on the weapon at her hip, and listened.
Gentle wind rushed through the firs. It smelled hot and dry, with that baked-pinecone odor that belongs to a long hot summer.
“Zane?” she yelled at the cabin.
All quiet.
Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Zane and Walt were probably around back, eagerly discussing foundations and framing.
What sounded like an ax splitting wood reached her ears.
“Zane?”
Silence again. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she stepped toward the house.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head. This won’t end well.
She walked slowly, her senses on full alert, her gaze sweeping the area.
A groan sounded from behind the house. Zane?
Stevie changed course and dashed to the corner of the cabin, drawing her weapon, keeping it at her side with her finger off the trigger. She stopped, her back against the front of the cabin, took a deep breath, and stole a glance around the corner.
Zane was on his back on the ground, a sledgehammer handle braced protectively in front of his face. Walt stood next to him with a long metal level held above his head, about to bring it down on Zane’s skull.
Stevie whipped around the corner and fired.
Walt froze, staring at Stevie, the level still over his head.
“Put it down, Walt,” Stevie ordered.
“You missed,” said Walt.
“I did,” agreed Stevie. “My instructors would not be happy. But I won’t miss the second time. Put it down.”
Walt looked at Zane and then over at Stevie. “You won’t shoot me.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I wouldn’t take that challenge,” Zane muttered.
“Did you kill JD?” Stevie asked. “And Roy? Were you the one who thought they deserved two bullets in the back of the head?”
Walt sneered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Enlighten me.” Her finger rested heavily against the trigger. Walt hadn’t put down the level. Her damaged left hand had cramped as she’d cupped her right for the first shot, sending it wide. She’d been lucky Walt froze. According to her training, she should have fired until the threat he presented was gone.
Walt looked away. “It’s none of your business.”
“Did you kill my father?” she whispered.
He gave a short laugh. “No. Wasn’t my place.”
What?
Zane dropped the sledgehammer he’d been bracing above his face. Walt jerked at the movement and whipped his level toward Zane’s head.
Stevie fired.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stevie rested her head on Zane’s shoulder and stared up at the dark sky. The sun’s last rays had finally disappeared and the fireworks would start at any moment. This final event for Founder’s Day would cap a crazy few days. Simple thankfulness filled her—she was
Walt snorted. “Stalling?” He moved closer, that predatory expression narrowing his features.
“Did you kill Bill Taylor?”
Surprise crossed Walt’s face. “Hell, no.”
Shock shot through Zane’s brain; he believed the man. “Then who did?”
Walt swung the level at him in answer. Zane yanked the sledgehammer up and into both hands at chest height, blocking the blow. Walt’s level bounced off the handle and bashed Zane’s chin, making him stutter-step backward and fall, landing hard, which knocked the breath out of his lungs. His skull bounced against the dirt.
As he lay on his back, the level rushed at his face, and he blocked it again with the handle. He kicked and thrashed with his legs, snagging Walt’s shin and thrusting him off-balance. Walt lurched to the side, panting, and Zane spun on his back, continuing his kicking assault. The man danced out of range, and Zane’s arms quivered as he braced the sledgehammer protectively in front of his face.
He couldn’t hold it much longer.
Stevie yanked her steering wheel to the side and parked behind Zane’s vehicle at his cabin. She relayed her arrival to Sheila, who reported back that Rogue County units were five minutes out. She stepped out of her car, her hand resting on the weapon at her hip, and listened.
Gentle wind rushed through the firs. It smelled hot and dry, with that baked-pinecone odor that belongs to a long hot summer.
“Zane?” she yelled at the cabin.
All quiet.
Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Zane and Walt were probably around back, eagerly discussing foundations and framing.
What sounded like an ax splitting wood reached her ears.
“Zane?”
Silence again. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she stepped toward the house.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head. This won’t end well.
She walked slowly, her senses on full alert, her gaze sweeping the area.
A groan sounded from behind the house. Zane?
Stevie changed course and dashed to the corner of the cabin, drawing her weapon, keeping it at her side with her finger off the trigger. She stopped, her back against the front of the cabin, took a deep breath, and stole a glance around the corner.
Zane was on his back on the ground, a sledgehammer handle braced protectively in front of his face. Walt stood next to him with a long metal level held above his head, about to bring it down on Zane’s skull.
Stevie whipped around the corner and fired.
Walt froze, staring at Stevie, the level still over his head.
“Put it down, Walt,” Stevie ordered.
“You missed,” said Walt.
“I did,” agreed Stevie. “My instructors would not be happy. But I won’t miss the second time. Put it down.”
Walt looked at Zane and then over at Stevie. “You won’t shoot me.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I wouldn’t take that challenge,” Zane muttered.
“Did you kill JD?” Stevie asked. “And Roy? Were you the one who thought they deserved two bullets in the back of the head?”
Walt sneered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Enlighten me.” Her finger rested heavily against the trigger. Walt hadn’t put down the level. Her damaged left hand had cramped as she’d cupped her right for the first shot, sending it wide. She’d been lucky Walt froze. According to her training, she should have fired until the threat he presented was gone.
Walt looked away. “It’s none of your business.”
“Did you kill my father?” she whispered.
He gave a short laugh. “No. Wasn’t my place.”
What?
Zane dropped the sledgehammer he’d been bracing above his face. Walt jerked at the movement and whipped his level toward Zane’s head.
Stevie fired.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stevie rested her head on Zane’s shoulder and stared up at the dark sky. The sun’s last rays had finally disappeared and the fireworks would start at any moment. This final event for Founder’s Day would cap a crazy few days. Simple thankfulness filled her—she was
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