Bill’s grip drops. And I spin, my ears ringing as Rue stands over Bill, the revolver in her hands, steady at his gut. The man groans painfully, blood gurgling in his throat.
“Fuck, Rue?—”
Pop.She pulls the trigger again.
“Rue.”
Pop.There goes a fifth.
“Back up,” she grits out, not even looking at me. “I only have one more shot.”
“What the fuck?—”
Pop.The final shot rings out and puts a .45 caliber hole right through Bill’s neck. I stand there, the scent of burning gunpowder and flesh joining the urine smell in the hallway.
“Okay,” I breathe out, straightening my shoulders. “Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Let me have that.”
Rue’s eyes jump from the bloodied, lifeless body of Bill to my face, wide and feral. “I couldn’t see anything but those fucking pictures when I looked at him. And then he…touchedyou. He fuckingtouched you.”
I nod, gently taking the Colt .45 from her. “It’s okay. Well, now… Now no one will ever have to, uh, worry about that anymore.”
“Yeah, for sure.” She wipes a spray of blood from her face. “But what should we do now? Bury him?” Her eyes jump to me. “He’s way too big to use a shovel. I don’t think he deserves that, either.”
I purse my lips, slightly unsettled by the ease in her tone—but also slightly in awe as well. “Let’s clean ourselves up first.”
“And just leave him here?”
“I mean, as long as no one heard the shots…” My voice trails off as that reality crushes my chest. “We should be able to just clean this up, and we don’thaveto leave.”
“True,” Rue nods. “We could put him in the freezer. I saw one in the barn.”
I tilt my head at her. “Why would we want to preserve his body?”
“I wonder if he had any family,” Rue frowns, staring down at him. “I bet they didn’t like him, if he did.”
“Yeah,” I say, unable to conjure up anything else, other than my woman might have completely lost her fucking mind.
But the thought is drowned out by the startling sound of a phone ringing.
44
RUE
The ringtone blaststhrough the silence, neither of us moves.
“We should probably check that,” I say, my eyes dropping to his pockets. “But I really don’t want to get…that…on my hands.” I gesture to the darkened denim. “I don’t want to be anywhere close to?—”
“I’ll get it,” Noah cuts me off, stepping toward me and gently moving me off to the side. My tennis shoe hangs on Bill’s knee, and I glance down.
Uh oh.
“There’s blood pooling everywhere,” I point out, as Noah fishes the phone out of the dead man’s pocket.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you shoot someone.”
“Hmm. I don’t want to try and clean that up.”
“Fair enough.” Noah finally frees the phone and then tries to unlock the screen. “Shit. It’s passcode protected.”
