“Rick Hill, the man who worked with him on those other robberies, told us that we would never be able to pin anything on Shane because he was untouchable.”
Anthony still said nothing, but his jaw visibly tightened.
She was making headway. “Shane himself told me he knew I was innocent.” That was a stretch, but Anthony didn’t know.
His foot seemed to press harder on the accelerator with every word she said. The way he took the curves had her stomach pitching. But she couldn’t stop. She had to make him see that whatever he was thinking, he was wrong about her.
“I would never have hurt Pete,” she said, struggling to sound calm and reasonable. “I loved him, and he loved me. How do you think he would feel, knowing his family had treated me this way?”
“You—” he glared at her, taking his eyes from the road “—don’t bring my son into this.”
The wheels bounced off the edge of the pavement, and he whipped the steering wheel left to get back fully on the road. Regaining control of the vehicle required both hands. At least the gun wasn’t aimed at her anymore.
Rory’s seat belt tightened on her shoulder. Her pulse skittered into panic mode. He was going to get them both killed. “Please slow down.”
The speed lessened a fraction.
“I know you think I did this awful thing,” she said, defeat weighing on her. “I get it. But you’re wrong. I truly believe it was Shane and that…awful Rick Hill.”
“Just shut up,” he snarled.
“Mr. Harris,” she urged, “whatever you think of me, consider your wife for a moment. Eudora needs you. If you do this…whatever it is you have in mind…she’s going to be devastated.”
“Everything I have ever done,” he spewed, “was for her.”
The headlights flashed over the trailer in the distance. Shane’s house. The police were gone now, but yellow crime scene tape was draped around the place. Hanging ominously from the trees around his yard.
Anthony turned into the driveway. Shane’s truck was gone. She imagined the police had taken it to a lab for inspection.
The man behind the wheel got out. Her fingers closed around the door handle, but if she tried to run, he would just shoot her. She couldn’t outrun a bullet. Especially since she had no idea what sort of marksman he was.
Anthony came around to her door. He jerked it open. “Get out.”
Since the gun was aimed at her once more, she did as he said.
“Go inside,” he ordered.
She walked the few feet to the porch steps and climbed them slowly. She stood at the door, but it was sealed shut. The mobilehome was a crime scene. The police tape on the door left no doubt.
“Open it.”
She started to argue but didn’t see the point. Instead, she twisted the knob and pulled with all her might. Didn’t budge.
“It’s locked.”
He shoved her to the side, then used his whole body to force the door open. Again, Rory glanced around and wondered what her odds were of getting out of his line of sight before he could shoot.
Just then he grabbed her by the arm and forced her inside. He flipped on a light.
The stench of blood hung in the air. Rory figured it had been too fresh when she and Chance had arrived, or maybe it was worse now just because she knew what had happened.
“Why are we here, Anthony?” She looked to the man who held the gun. In his face were glimpses of Pete. He’d looked far more like his father than his mother. He’d barely inherited anything from her, in Rory’s opinion. He’d been kind and slow to anger like his father. She stared at the gun in Anthony’s hand. Had his son’s murder driven him to this?
“You did all this,” he said.
She wanted to argue with him, but it didn’t seem prudent. He had a gun, after all. Surely Chance was out of his interview by now. Would one of the officers in the lobby recall who she’d left with? Were there cameras that would show her leaving?
“It was your fault.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if the need to cry had suddenly overwhelmed him.
