Shane spoke for both of them. “We promise.”
“All right.” The former attorney mopped his brow with a wrinkled handkerchief and cleared his throat. “There were four kids involved in the hit-and-run. Three boys and a girl. One of the boys was my son, Martin.”
“That’s why you took my brother’s case?”
“Yes. When I was first approached, I didn’t know the whole story but I was coerced into representing the defense.” He swallowed hard. “Turned out I was as much a fall guy as Ray was. So was Marty. They’d been brought along for the ride while Alan Abernathy did his father’s dirty work.”
“What about the girl?” Shane asked.
“Bobbi-Sue Randall? She and Alan were an item all through high school. Whatever he did, she helped. Actually, I suspect she egged the boys on more often than not. The way I understand it, she was behind the wheel of one car and Alan was driving the other because Ray and Marty were drunk. The kids had made a false report of a drug deal about to go down in order to lure Sheriff Colton away from town.”
“So they were all together during the homicide?”
“Essentially, yes.” Max twitched, turned toward the woods. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” Jamie said, although she stifled a shiver. The sun had passed below the horizon and not only was there a chill in the air, the deep shadows had begun to seem alive, as if they willingly masked danger.
Shane agreed with her. “I kept checking behind me all the way from town. We weren’t followed.”
“Okay.” The former attorney drew a shaky breath and began to speak again. “I loved my son and I thought...”
That was all he said. There was a bright white flash in the woods behind him, the crack and whine of a rifle bullet, and the shattering of the car window on the opposite side.
A second shot came moments later.
Shane launched himself at Jamie, landing beside her on the leaf-strewn ground.
The blow knocked all the air from her lungs. Shock kept her wondering what had happened for several seconds before she caught a flicker of memory that was so horrifying, so ghastly, it further robbed her of awareness.
Max’s eyes had widened momentarily, as if he’d been punched. His jaw had gaped. He’d staggered forward.
And then part of his forehead had vanished in a hideous red mist.
* * *
Shane levered a shoulder up just far enough to draw his weapon. One look at Jamie told him she was probably unhurt, although there were drops of blood spattered on them both. Her eyes were glassy, her lips parted. Thankfully, she was breathing hard and strong.
“Are you hit?” he whispered.
She didn’t respond.
He shook her shoulder with his free hand. “Jamie! Answer me. Are you shot?”
Did she shake her head or was he imagining things in the dimness? Anything was possible. Right now, he had more pressing problems.
The way Shane assessed their situation, they had few options. If the shooter thought Max had told them too much, they would be the next targets. If his goal had merely been to silence the source of inside information, they might be spared. There was no way to tell unless they tried to flee and were cut down before they could reach his truck.
The night was humid. Quiet except for the buzzing cadence of locusts and an occasional whip-poor-will call. Park lights came on automatically and cast a sickly yellow pall over everything, including the boat ramp access road.
Shane knew they couldn’t break out in that direction. It was a dead end. He’d have to turn his truck around and go back the way they’d come if they hoped to escape, which might mean carrying Jamie unless he could snap her out of whatever emotional state was holding her mute and immobile.
Listening for approaching footfalls among the dried leaves, he heard nothing. That meant only that whoever was out there knew how to be silent, not that they weren’t sneaking up on the lawyer’s car to deliver a coup de grace.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Doing so brought a response and promise of aid but no definite estimated time of arrival.
The closest town with a fire department was Henderson, meaning it shouldn’t take too long for help to reach the area. Nevertheless, Shane kept eyeing his truck and listening. Not only was there no appreciable noise from the nearby overnight campground, he didn’t hear sirens in the distance, either.
Finally, with no further signs of a shooter, he chanced getting to his feet and peering past the lawyer’s car. The original shots had echoed in the rolling hills around the reservoir, confusing him about the direction they had come from. He did recall seeing a flash, however, and searched the distant dimness.