The Hunk Next Door(62)

“Welcome to your last day in my town,” Abby murmured, as she checked her weapon and slid the extra clips of ammunition into her coat pockets. Provided her email had made it through to the right party and her challenge had been accepted, the terrorist grip on Belclare was about to end.

With her badge in plain view on her jacket and her Glock in hand, she stepped out of the car. The sun was bright in the sky, but the air was bitter cold. The wind nipped at her cheeks and chilled the denim of her jeans. Her boots crunched on the snow-covered gravel of the parking area. Alternately stepping and pausing to listen, her gun lowered but ready, she cautiously entered the forest of Christmas trees neatly organized by size and type.

She felt eyes on her and knew she’d drawn the attention of at least one member of the Lewiston family. Based on the increased patrols, she knew her officers could be on-site within three minutes of an emergency call. Three minutes gave her plenty of time to draw out a confession or at least identify a viable suspect.

Her radio crackled. “Mornin’, Chief,” a voice rasped. “One trespasser in the northeast corner. No visible weapon.”

Of course the Lewistons would know the police channels. She nodded, appreciating the tip as much as the automatic cooperation. She’d just started moving with more confidence to that position when the same voice sounded off again.

“Second contact directly east of your position has a shoulder holster. Don’t know what you’re up to but seems like you’ve got some interest.”

A quick prickle of fear skittered down her spine. She hadn’t expected this to be easy. With a bit of clever maneuvering she could still pull this off. Failure wasn’t an option.

Keeping rows of trees between her and the east side of the lot, she moved closer to the corner, eager to find who was waiting.

The sound of a shotgun rang out, sending birds into flight. The lower branches of a tree splintered on her right. Fresh pine filled the air. The tree slumped to the side and she caught sight of a familiar red vest diving for cover.

The terrorist could not be Riley. The words bounced around in her head. No, the jackass terrorist was messing with her. She couldn’t have been so wrong as to sleep with her enemy.

“Show yourself!” She dropped to her belly, looking for boots and listening for movement. “I thought you came to negotiate.”

“I believe he came to kill you.”

Where was that voice coming from? And what the hell was Deke doing out here? He’d never spent so much time away from his house. Feet appeared in her line of sight but no boots. The high shine on the shoes and the dark slacks warned that it was in fact the artist who’d come to meet her. Could she have so badly misjudged the man?

She measured the distance to the man and stayed low. “What brings you out this morning, Deke?”

“I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, darling,” he replied, not moving from his position. “I do so much more than paint.”

It was him! She’d been a fool! So grateful for his help to the town’s well-being—to her well-being, she hadn’t seen the forest for the trees. Now, with Christmas trees surrounding her, she saw exactly what she’d been missing.

“No time like the present,” Abby offered, checking Deke’s position again and spotting boots moving closer to him. Tied this time, there was no mistaking Riley’s footwear. If it was him, why wasn’t he defending himself? And her? Her heart turned as cold as the ground beneath her chest. Tears stung her eyes. She would cry later. Right now, she had a confession to gain and an arrest to make. Maybe two.

“I’m not sure you can handle the truth, sweet Abby,” Deke taunted.

Fury tightened her lips. “Your being here says it all. That email only went to my haters. That tells me a hell of a lot.”

“Are you sure, Abby? More than one federal agency has been watching Belclare. I was sent to keep an eye on things...to protect you.” He sounded as calm as he did over coffee in his parlor. “Do stand up and let’s discuss this rationally. You know me, Abby. Why would you hide from me? If I’d wanted you dead, I could have easily made that happen on any number of occasions.”

At least that last part was the truth. “Yes,” she said, pushing to her feet. She’d had enough. She wanted the truth. “Why don’t we all three discuss this right now.”

“Agreed.” Riley stepped clear of the trees he was using for cover, holding a gun aimed at Deke’s chest.

Deke’s gloved hands were raised and empty, palms facing out.

As if seeing him for the first time, she could tell by Riley’s stance that carpentry wasn’t his primary vocation. Questions ripped through her, not one of them relevant to this particular moment and all too painful. “Lower your weapon,” she ordered, her voice quavering.