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“I don’t know.”God, I hope not.“But I’m going to move out and warn whoever it is that I can see them. Stay here please. If you see the shooter, whistle or something.”
She nods, and I creep from our hiding place. I survey the area and see a good spot. There’s a line of smaller pines, little more than saplings. If I can get to it and on the other side of it, whoever is up there should be able to see me without me being seen by anyone else.
And if the person I’m looking at is Mark? Well, then, I can dodge through that line of trees and stay hidden. But I really don’t think it’s Mark. Even doubled over, the person seems taller and bigger overall.
I dart to the line of small trees. I’m moving along it, my gaze on that figure, waiting for them to see me. Then they turn, peering down as if they saw a movement, and their face comes clear.
Gunnar.
Shit. It’s Gunnar. That’s who Mark is shooting at.
Did he catch Gunnar on his claim? Chase him back from it and catch up here?
But Gunnar’s trail had been heading the opposite way.
Unless that wasn’t a current trail.
Damnit.
I hesitate. I think Mark is chasing Gunnar. I think Mark killed his wife. I also think Gunnar tried to kill both Bruno and Penny. So what should I do about this?
I’m tempted to back off. I don’t see or hear any sign of Dalton or Anders, and I now suspect they were following an old trail, which means they’re nowhere near here.
Back off, and let two killers fight it out.
Police Detective Casey Duncan would not do that. Haven’s Rock Detective Casey Butler could… if she was absolutely, beyond any doubt, certain that these two men were both killers. If they’d confessed or been seen killing their victims. Without that, I revert to the police detective who must do things by the books. The difference is that as a detective, I had to do things that way to keep my job, and as a detective here, I do it because it’s right.
I check on Yolanda. I can’t see her—she’s hidden and staying there. That means she’s safe enough.
I ease along the row of saplings, trying to get Gunnar’s attention. He’s looking down, but he’s not seeing me. I raise a hand. The movement catches his attention. He glances over, spots me, and visibly slumps in relief. Then he starts gesturing wildly. Telling me what’s going on, I presume, but I suck at charades from across a room—I sure as hell can’t do it from fifty feet away.
What I can do is a simple return message of my own. I point at trees behind him and jab my hand down. Telling him toduck and stay hidden. He shoots me a thumbs-up, swivels… and a shot shatters the silence.
The shot hits Gunnar and, as if in slow motion, he pivots almost gracefully. Then he falls, and he keeps falling, right over the ledge, crashing into undergrowth below.
I don’t rush out. I wouldn’t even if Ididn’tsuspect Gunnar is a killer. The shooter is on the mountainside. Rushing out would only make me a target, and I can’t help anyone if I’m pinned down by gunfire.
I wait, counting off seconds under my breath. I’m watching the spot where Gunnar fell, still fifty feet off the ground. I’m waiting to see him rise, even struggle to his knees.
Nothing.
Is he dead?
Rocks tumble over the edge, off to my left. It’s the shooter, scrabbling along, making his way to his victim.
If Gunnar’s not dead now, he will be soon enough.
Shit.
I check for Yolanda. I can’t see her, which is still good. I point up, telling her I’m going to get to Gunnar. She doesn’t pop up, frantically telling me not to do something so foolish. She trusts that I know what I’m doing.
Or she doesn’t give a damn. If I want to get myself shot, she’s going to let me.
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. No, she trusts my judgment, and I appreciate that.
Time to do some climbing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
