Page 63 of Straight Shooter

He stepped carefully into the living room and swung the weapon from left to right, scanning the space around him. Another doorway led to the kitchen. A deep, male voice carried faintly through the air.

Please, God, let me find her alive and unharmed.

He crossed the living room and his shoe hit something slick. He dropped his gaze to the cream-colored carpet. A small puddle of deep red stood out among the bright white. Droplets of blood and one large smear in the kitchen led to the back of the house.

All the strength left his legs. He caught his weight on the wall with his palm and drank in one deep breath after another. No, no, no. He was too late. There was too much fucking blood. He covered his mouth with his palm. Despair swallowed his heart and tears burned his eye sockets.

He’d failed her.

“Fuck!” He ground his fingertips into the wall. He drew his arm back to pop a hole through it.

Crack!

A bullet whizzed by his ear and splintered the drywall next to his thumb. He wheeled around. Eric stood in the doorway between the foyer and the living room. His legs were spaced, his shoulders firm with intent to kill. His gun hovered in front of his face.

Rhett leaped into the kitchen and took cover behind the wall. Another bullet blasted the drywall above his head. “You motherfucker.” He crouched, inched his shoulder to the edge of the doorway, and jerked his head around the corner. He locked his aim onto Eric’s form and fired.

“Fuck!”

Rhett returned to his position behind the wall. “Give up, Eric. You know I’m a better shot than you.” His former partner had clearly forgotten that they’d trained together the last two years. Rhett knew his weaknesses—Eric was a piss-poor shot at best. “Where’s Peyton?” His tongue fumbled the demand. The reminder that she was gone, that it was her body he wanted closure on, produced a crushing pressure on his heart.

“She’ll get what she deserves if she hasn’t already.”

Rhett’s muscles burned with the need for murder. He swiveled around the corner again and fired. This time, the bullet ripped through Eric’s side.

Eric caught the wound and went down in a blaze of slurs. Rhett charged across the living room and booted the gun from Eric’s hands. “Hands up!”

“You’re not going to kill me.” A shaky laugh fell from Eric’s pinched face. His gaze ran over Rhett’s body with contempt. “You’re too much of a goody-goody. You’d never kill an agent.”

Eric had lost his bloody mind if he thought for one second he wouldn’t blow his brains out. He didn’t have anyone to save now. Peyton was dead and he’d make every bastard suffer for what they’d done to her. He wouldn’t stop until he found her body and saw for himself. Even if he went to jail for it.

He took a step forward and brought the gun to Eric’s temple. “Try me.” Lucky for Eric, he wanted him alive. At least for a few minutes. “What’d you do to Peyton?”

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even want to get involved in this shit, man.” The man sounded like a sullen teenager rather than someone who’d been caught in a murder scandal.

“Yet you’re here,” Rhett said, gesturing around. “Why?”

Eric wet his lips and looked at the palm that had been covering his wound. His face paled to an ashy gray. He lifted his head and met Rhett’s eyes. “He blackmailed me. He said if I didn’t get you off his ass, he’d turn me in.”

“Moretti?”

“Beanie.”

“What dirt does he have on you? And why does he want Jenny’s location?” He needed the answers to keep his composure, to stop himself from dropping to his knees with crippling grief. Peyton had died because of this bastard, because of the lies and the crime. The least he could do was be sure her assailants did their time, and Eric held an important perspective in the puzzle.

“Because Beanie was there! He killed Raquel. Not Andre. He wants Jenny dead before she remembers him.”

Rhett firmed his lips. “If he killed Raquel, why would Jenny accuse Andre?”

“They were high on cocaine. Andre hired the two women and Beanie came late to the party. He’s rough, bro. He broke her damn neck.”

“But what could Beanie blackmail you for, Eric?” For a second, Rhett softened toward him. If Eric didn’t get medical attention and fast, he wouldn’t last long.

Eric’s face melted, and he dropped the gun. His lip quivered, and he rubbed his hand over his jaw to stop the movement. “I set them up.”

“Who?” Rhett asked on a whisper.

“With Raquel. I knew her. She was my . . .”