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As soon as the doors seal shut, they reopen, and the sheriff stalks out.
Cuffs are being put on our wrists, but they can’t lock us away for long. It’s on film. We’re in contempt of court and nothing else.
“Put them in a cell until this damn thing is over. I won’t deal with them again until I have to,” the sheriff barks. Then those cold eyes turn to us. “You’re making a deal with the devil by betraying the souls of the innocent. Your father is guilty. And I’ll make sure he hangs for his sins.”
He starts to walk back inside as we start demanding to be turned loose.
The sheriff turns just as we reach the corner, and he eyes me.
“I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.”
I wait patiently, silently stalking him with just my eyes as he finishes off another glass. His eyes dart toward something near the couch, and his head tilts as he studies something I can’t see from this angle.
He looks away from whatever it is that no longer holds his interest, and carries his glass around the corner to the kitchen, which is near his master bedroom. Pushing the door open silently, I step out, putting my knife in its sheath on my hip.
As I near the couch, my eyes dart down, curious at what held his attention. And I close my eyes as I refrain from blowing out a frustrated breath. My flashlight is there. I put it down earlier when I was looking for any hidden weapons, and forgot to pick it back up.
Rookie mistake.
Opening my eyes back up, I clutch the handle of my knife and walk into the kitchen. But I screech to a halt when my gaze is suddenly locked on the end of a barrel.
“Boo,” the sheriff says, drawing my eyes to his as I slowly raise my hands, feigning compliance.
He looks over the pistol to stare down at me, the barrel just inches from my face.
“Any reason why the fed’s girlfriend is slinking around my house?” he drawls lazily, hiding that welling frustration he showed just moments ago when he didn’t know I was watching.
“Probably because she’s not just a fed’s girlfriend,” I quip, smiling bitterly at him.
He cocks his head, watching me.
“And who exactly are you?”
I smirk as I take a step forward, pressing that barrel right up against my temple with my hands still raised. His eyes widen fractionally, but he masks all other signs of surprise.
“I’m the girl you sent your son to kill. I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.”
Confusion only lights his eyes for the barest of moments before recognition slides over his face.
“No,” he says in a rasp whisper.
But then his eyes turn to ice, and the resonating sound of a dead click rattles around the room that is otherwise cloaked in silence. Fear replaces determination when I smile.
And he pulls the trigger again, and again, and again…all while I take a step back.
“Hope you don’t mind, Sheriff. I took the liberty of emptying all the bullets from every other gun in the house, sans your service weapon you left in the other room.”
He starts to rush by me, surprising me by not lunging for the helpless looking woman before him. I guess I gave him too much credit for being masculine and all that.
My knee slams into his stomach, halting his retreat, and he hits the ground, collapsing with a pained cry.
“I’ve always preferred knives,” I say as I pull mine out, sliding it under his throat as he goes stiff and still beneath the blade.
I crouch beside him, holding the knife there.
?
?How are you alive?” he asks almost too quietly.
