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“Not a good idea,” Ray choked out as he shoved a gun in his younger brother’s face. “Back the fuck off,” he snarled.
Ian didn’t budge, his fingers still locked tight around the bastard’s throat. “I’ve waited a long time to do this.”
The weapon swung in Finley’s direction. “You want her to go first?” Ray squeaked out. Then he shifted the barrel toward Cagle. “Or maybe her? I know how you love watching.”
Ian spit in his face before shoving him away.
“Finley doesn’t know anything,” Bart insisted, suddenly next to Finley and edging his body slightly in front of her. “Like you, she stumbled upon us down here. You let her call the detective, and Louise and I will confess to everything.”
Ray laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m no fool, Bart my boy. I’ve been watching you since the case was reopened. I knew when that purse turned up that Cagle hadn’t avenged her sweet little daughter’s murder the way I had hoped she would.” He scoffed. “I mean, why the hell bother stealing my brother from me if she wasn’t going to make him pay? It would have been so easy if you had taken care of the problem for me.” He shook his head at Cagle. “But I guess you just didn’t have the guts.”
“Cagle admitted to planting the evidence,” Finley offered, in hopes of confusing Ray and buying time.
“That’s all well and good,” Ray tossed back at her, “but the trouble is, as long as my little brother is alive, there’s a risk to me, and I just can’t let that go. That’s why I hired you, Finley. I figured if Ian was still alive that Cagle and your daddy had something to do with keeping him that way.” He laughed. “The minute your daddy found out you were working for me, he got all antsy. All I had to do was wait and watch. Now, here we are.”
“Nothing found in that warehouse,” Finley assured him, “connects to you, Ray. Don’t make it about you now.”
“Course it doesn’t,” he tossed back. “I hadn’t touched that little purse.” He made a “well you know how it is” face as he shook his head. “But I had touched that phone, and it was there too—haven’t figured that one out yet. I guess someone was trying to set me up—like my little brother.” He shot a glare at Ian. “Good thing I did a thorough walk-through before the closing on that warehouse. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it.” He laughed. “I took the phone and left a little something else.”
“The cigarette butts,” Finley said. This was why Ray hadn’t been worried about the DNA pointing to him. “This was your way of steering the police toward someone else, but you were the one who killed her.” She’d known this guy was a piece of shit right from the beginning. Admittedly her timing in confirming as much left something to be desired, since he was armed and she was not.
“I was always the one who had to do the dirty work.” Johnson glared at Ian, then Cagle. “You could have saved me a lot of trouble if you’d just killed the little bastard the way you should have. After all, he was the reason your little girl got herself murdered.”
Ian charged his brother.
Cagle cried out in distress.
The weapon discharged, the sound echoing like a bomb exploding. Finley pushed her father into the nearest corner. Shoved her phone at him. “Call Houser.”
Grunting and snarling, the brothers struggled wildly for domination.
Heart thundering in her chest ... blood roaring in her ears, Finley glanced around. There was nothing she could use for a weapon.
“Screw it.” She hurtled into the fray.
She slammed into Ray’s shoulder, sending him off balance. The move knocked the wind out of her, almost sent her tumbling over. Shemanaged to catch herself. Ray hit the floor, Ian on top of him. The gun flew free ... hit the floor and spun away. Finley dove for it.
Weapon in hand, she scrambled to her feet and rushed toward the tangle of brothers. Ray was on top now. Adrenaline firing red hot in her veins, Finley drew her leg back and kicked him in the side with every ounce of strength she possessed. The bastard howled and jerked with pain but didn’t let go of his brother’s throat.
Finley pressed the barrel of the weapon against Ray’s skull. “Let him go, and put your hands on your head,” she ordered. To her father she said, “Get the key from the cell door.”
Bart hurried to the cell.
Ray had stopped moving but still had Ian pinned down. “Do it,” Finley repeated. “Or I will pull this trigger.”
“I don’t believe you,” Ray said, panting from the battle.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had blood and brain tissue splattered on my face,” she warned.
Still hesitating long enough to make Finley want to damn well pull the trigger, he finally released his brother, clambered up onto his knees and propped his hands on his head. Ian got to his feet next. The two glared at each other warily, both poised for a second round.
“Over there,” Finley ordered the younger brother, nodding toward the bench.
“Get up.” Finley used the weapon to direct Ray’s attention to the cell. “Get inside.”
“No way,” Ray sneered.
Finley aimed at his head once more. “Suit yourself.”
