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“In case you haven’t heard…I don’t die too easily.”
I spin just as a shot is fired, with the diluted sound sparing my ears. I feel the heat of the bullet as it grazes my cheek, burning just barely. In one swift move, I slam the knife into the man’s throat behind me, and grab his gun, firing it twice without even having to look.
I hear a pained cry from behind me, knowing the original man is now in a heap, as the man in front of me gurgles on his own blood, choking on it. The knife is still planted in his throat like a gruesome piece of artwork.
I finally turn my head as I jerk my knife out, and I see the two shots hit directly into the other man’s chest.
I’d brush my shoulders off, but that seems a bit cocky.
“You know them?” I ask Cheyenne, who is clawing the corner she’s in, shaking fiercely.
“Yes,” she rasps, her lips trembling. “The Durham brothers,” she says a little stronger, trying to stand on unsteady legs. “They play poker with the sheriff and…sometimes they handle things he doesn’t want his deputies involved in.”
“I guess they came after my time,” I muse, watching them both slowly die.
They did good to escape my interest in the town as well. I really hate surprises.
“Yes,” she says, her voice trembling again. “Are you… Are you really Victoria?”
Her tone is reverent, hushed, and somewhat fearful. I look around at the bloody mess and hope Alyssa stays upstairs.
“Is your daughter safe?” I ask instead of answering, looking over at Cheyenne.
She nods timidly. “Alyssa?” she calls out.
When the child doesn’t answer, Cheyenne rushes by me, racing up the stairs. I’m covered in blood, looking every bit as scary as Jason Vorhees, so I stay down here, listening, deciding to spare the kid some unnecessary nightmares.
In a few moments, Cheyenne comes back down, her shoulders easing. “She likes to go under the water during her baths. She didn’t hear anything.” She stares at me, then at the men at my feet. “It’s been you, hasn’t it? The one who has been killing all those men from…from that time?”
She swallows against the knot in her throat, and I cock my head.
“The one who killed Greg?” she goes on, her voice cutting out.
“The one who killed a child abuser, a murderer, and a violent, sadistic man in general,” I amend, studying her curiou
sly.
She runs a hand through her hair, her eyes intentionally not dropping to the gory mess in her living room again.
“I thought it was all a horrible urban legend, something to make the sheriff and Kyle seem all the more untouchable. I came to town after you were gone, and I barely heard whispers about anything. Then one night, Greg got drunk. It was the first time he hit me. I always stepped between him and my daughter, but I couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let me—told me the sheriff would help him hunt me down, and he’d kill me and take Alyssa away.”
She chokes back a sob, shaking her head. “I wanted him dead. I even went to the sheriff, hoping Greg’s threats of Cannon helping that abusive bastard were all a bluff. But they weren’t. The sheriff listened to all I had to say, then he called Greg right in front of me. I dealt with a broken jaw as punishment. That’s when he told me he had all the evidence he needed to keep the sheriff in line, and that the next time I tried to run or get help, he’d slit my throat in front of our daughter.”
I wish I’d come sooner for Greg now.
Surprisingly, his wife does know about the evidence, after all.
“He has a safe. I’ve never seen what’s in it, but I know he keeps the combination in his favorite shoes. He’s always had a terrible memory with numbers, so he had to write it down. I’ll get it for you.”
I step in front of her, and she stumbles back. “Save it for the feds. SSA Bennett, to be more precise. Don’t give it to Johnson.”
More lights draw my attention, and I peer out the window, hissing out a breath when I see a SUV stopped beside the abandoned car just down the road. Logan walks in front of the lights, and my stomach somersaults. Shit!
I lift my phone, cursing when I see that I have a text I didn’t know came through.
HADLEY: Logan is going to the widow’s house. The deputy’s widow, that is. Not the judge’s.
Obviously Jake gave her my burner phone number.
