Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Chief,” I said into the phone.
“Chief?” Luke repeated.
“Stop moving and put your phone and gun on the ground.”
Owen was going to be annoyed when he had to replace another phone for me.
“Nash?” Luke whispered.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I assured him, hung up, pulled my Glock and put it on the ground, then added my phone.
Wilson came around the front of the Jeep, gun never lowering, and I noticed the dead look in his eyes.
“You’re blaming me,” I offered, doing what I always did in these situations—keep them talking. The fact of the matter was, most people would not kill you if they were talking. When yelling or screaming, yes, but not when engaged in conversation.
“Of course I’m blaming you. If you hadn’t sprung that little bastard, I could have had time to regroup from Mullane.”
Exactly as I’d thought. “That happened fast…with Mullane.”
“So fast,” he agreed. “Once we were back at the station, Griff’s passed out in his cell, and one minute I’m telling Mullane I’m gonna take his product off his hands and he’s gonna drive right out of town, easy as can be, but before I could even get a response from the bastard, he’s got my fuckin’ deputy’s gun in his hand, Benning’s gun, because that idiot left his fuckin’ thumb break unsnapped.”
Easy to grab a weapon that way. If your gun was in a holster, the muzzle angled toward the ground, the snap fastener wrapped around the end of the firearm secured it in the holster. When I was a homicide detective, lots of guys left them open, which was dangerous. The point was to keep you from simply being able to draw and shoot or someone else from pulling your weapon and using it against you.
“So you shot him.”
“The fuck was I supposed to do? Let him kill me, Daniels, and Benning?”
Mullane might have shot them all. It was possible. Or he would have made everyone give up their guns, locked them in a cell, and run for his life. There was no way of knowing. I had no idea what kind of man James Mullane was, other than smart enough to put the key to his Camaro in Griff’s pocket.
“No,” I agreed, trying to keep him calm as he picked up my gun, put it in the pocket of his parka, then stomped on my phone several times. It was so very dead.
“You’re going to walk out of the garage for me, go directly to the Chevy Tahoe parked out front, and get in behind the steering wheel.”
First rule was never, ever, get into a vehicle. Unless… “Why don’t you get into mine,” I offered, gesturing at the Jeep. “If I’m driving, it will be easier to—”
“In the car!” he roared.
Walking out of the garage, I glanced up and down the street. But it was lunchtime on a weekday, and as we had only school-age kids on our street, there was no one around.
“So Mullane was dead and then what?”
He waited as I got into the driver’s seat, then got into the seat behind me. “We had to work fast to get rid of the body and that goddamn neon sign of a car on the side of the highway, that’s what.”
“But when you checked Mullane’s pockets, no key?”
“No nothing.”
“Why did you even pull him over in the first place?”
“Car like that? You know he’s carrying something worth money.”
“Why grab Griff, though?” I asked, despite knowing why. I slowly put my seat belt on, then placed my hands on the wheel, leaving the car idling. “Just because you were mad at the kids who trashed your place?”
“My whore of a daughter lied to me, pinned all that shit on him, plus I hate his fuckin’ father. Luke Duchesne is a first-class prick. Always the first one asking the mayor questions about me. I knew throwing his worthless-ass kid into lockup would serve him right.”
“Where am I going?” I asked, feeling the rage building over him putting his hands on Griff. “I need to know.”
“Toward the police station.”
Backing out, I took a right instead of a left, taking the long way out of our neighborhood. Wilson, too busy ranting, didn’t take any notice.
“I hosed that kid down with water and left him lying in a puddle in one of the cells, and then I searched for that key to get the car moved before the state police found it. Everyone reported that he was shivering all night.” He seemed to find this amusing, then abruptly sobered. “I never thought to check his pockets.”
He also failed to notice how slowly I was driving.
“And then when me and Firmin finally got Mullane’s body taken care of, before I could even wonder if somehow that skinny Irish douchebag drug dealer hid it on the kid, Daniels calls and says Griff’s guardian is there to spring him. The fuck was that?”