“What about the money?”
She took a step toward them now. “Did you hear what I just told you? I don’t care about the money. It’s dirty money anyway. A payoff for his guilty conscience. He’s a sick, disgusting old man. So just shoot him now, before I take that shotgun and do it myself.”
That was when the door to the bedroom flew open and the lady sheriff pointed a gun at Billy.
“Drop the weapon right now, Lyman, or the only one who gets shot is you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Billy Boy didn’t drop the shotgun. Not right away. And Callie was starting to wonder if he ever would.
She was also starting to wonder where Harlan was. He should’ve been here by now. She’d waited as long as she could outside the back window, before circling around to one of the bedrooms and climbing in, knowing the closed door would give her cover.
She’d stood next to the door, listening to the two men long enough to get a broad idea of what Billy Boy was up to, and it still hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. And since she hadn’t seen their friend Brett in the room, she’d assumed that it was his body burnt to a crisp back at the Pritchard Ranch. Which meant both Landry and Gloria had lied.
But why? To protect Meg?
If so, then why had Gloria claimed Meg was the one who had pulled the trigger?
Try as she might, Callie hadn’t been able to figure it out. And all she’d wanted was to get this whole sordid affair over and done with. Get all these idiots squared away and dumped in a jail cell where they belonged, and let some other poor fool sort through the mess.
Then she could go home, see how Nana Jean was doing and finally sit down with Harlan—where the heck was he?—to listen to what he had to say.
That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
But with Megan screaming for Lyman to pull the trigger, Callie had figured she had only seconds to act, so, Harlan or no Harlan, she’d done what she had to do. She’d burst into the room, trained her Glock on Billy Boy and hoped and prayed he had enough brains to be cooperative.
“I mean it, Lyman, drop the weapon. Now.”
For a moment there, Callie thought everything would be all right. From the look in Billy Boy’s eyes he seemed to know that this was a done deal, that he might as well give it up and take his chances with a jury. And old Jonah looked relieved, even thankful.
But now Meg was shouting even louder, nearly frothing at the mouth. “Don’t listen to her, Billy! Shoot him. Shoot that old monster!”
And when Callie told her to shut up and sit back down, Meg scowled at her and charged, coming at her like a ball of intense white heat.
Callie had no choice but to turn the Glock on her and fire. She aimed for the calf, hit a solid piece of flesh and Meg went down to the floor hard, howling in agony.
But apparently this was a deal breaker, because now Billy Boy swung around in a rage and pointed the shotgun at Callie. “What’d you go and do that for?”
He was at such close range that the blast would cut her right in two, and as his finger wrapped around the trigger, she went into a dive.
Suddenly Jonah Pritchard leapt out of the chair and tackled the kid, knocking him to floor.
The shotgun went off, shattering a window, and now Jonah was straddling Billy, starting to pound the living daylights out of him. Hitting his head and face over and over again.
Callie rolled and got to her feet and pointed the Glock at them, “Enough!” she shouted. “That’s enough, Jonah! I think he got the message.”
Jonah stopped and nodded, Billy Boy bleeding and barely able to move, but alive and breathing.
As Callie kicked the shotgun aside, Jonah got to his feet and went to Meg, crouching down to check her wounded leg. The moment he touched her, however, she jerked away from him. “Leave me alone, you creep!”
Jonah said, “I don’t know what your mother told you, girl, I don’t know how she managed to poison your mind, but I’ve never laid a finger on you.”
“I know what you did,” she cried. “I remember it.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, because it never happened. Not once. Not ever. I’d kill myself before I’d hurt you.”
Jonah seemed quite adamant about this and Callie didn’t know what to make of him. Was he telling the truth? Had Gloria implanted false memories in Meg’s brain just to get her daughter hating a father she’d long resented?
If so, it had to be one the cruelest forms of child abuse Callie had ever encountered.
Jonah untucked his shirt tails and tore off a strip of fabric, tying it around Meg’s leg to stem the bleeding. Then he picked her up and took her over to the sofa near the fireplace and laid her down.
He looked up at Callie. “She’s losing blood. We need to get her to a hospital.”
He was right, of course, but this wasn’t Callie’s first concern. She was worried about Harlan. Even after the shotgun blast, he hadn’t made an appearance.
So where was he?
The question was answered a split second later as the cabin door burst open.
Landry Bickham stood in the doorway, smiling that Landry smile, a big black gun in his hand pointed directly at Callie.
“Nice to see you again, Cal.” He tossed some rope to the middle of the room. “Now it’s your turn to get tied up.”
CALLIE WAS AT A LOSS. How could Landry have gotten loose? He’d been cuffed and hog-tied to a tree.
Her heart was beating uncontrollably. And not in a good way. “Where’s Marshal Cole?” she asked him.
Landry gestured. “Back there in the dark, taking a little nap.”
“Is he alive?”
“I hit him pretty hard,” Landry said. “Woulda shot him, too, but I didn’t want to attract any attention.”
Callie felt sick. Felt tears dampening her eyes. “You son of a—”
“Now, now, Cal, if it makes you feel any better, you won’t much care in a few minutes time.” He gestured. “You might as well put that gun down. You won’t be able to use it. Not before I use mine.”
Callie wanted to smack that smile off his face. She hesitated, then crouched down and set her Glock on the floor.
“Now kick it over here,” he said.
She did as she was told and he picked it up, stuffing it into his waistband. “Shotgun, too.”
Callie stepped over to the shotgun and kicked it in his direction. He bent down and scooped it up, then tucked his gun away and ratcheted a round into the shotgun’s chamber. “Now I want you to take those ropes and tie Grandpa and his little love muffin up.”
“And if I refuse?”
Landry pointed the shotgun at Billy Boy and pulled the trigger. Billy Boy immediately stopped moving.
And breathing.
Jonah, who was still crouched next to Meg on the sofa, visibly flinched and got to his feet again, staring at Landry in disbelief. “You just killed that boy in cold blood.”
“Indeed I did.” Landry looked at Callie. “That answer your question?”
His ability to shoot an unarmed man told her everything she needed to know about him. All this time she’d thought Megan was the sociopath. But looking at Bickham, she saw nothing behind his dark eyes but emptiness. The body he inhabited contained neither heart nor soul.
Jonah said, “Why are you doing this, Landry?”
“Does it really make a difference?”
“I think I have a right to know.”
“A right?” Landry laughed. “Now that’s just like you, isn’t it, Jonah? You think you have a right to know and do and say just about anything you want. Because you have money. You’re the big, rich man with all the privileges.”
“You want some of that money? Is that it?”
“Honestly? I couldn’t care less. I’m here for Gloria. She’s tired of waiting around for you to kick the bucket.”
“So that’s it, is it? The two of you did this together?”
Landry laughed again. “As you well know, Jonah, this ain’t t
he only thing the two of us did together. And I’m sorry to say that that mental case you’re fawning over right now is the fruit of my loins.”
“That’s no way for a father to talk.”
“Father? You never let me be a father to her. You were too ashamed to think some cowboy like me had soiled your bloodline.” He gestured. “Callie here knows a little bit about that.”
Jonah didn’t respond and Callie said nothing.
“Gloria didn’t want that little headache anymore than I did. You’re the one insisted she be born. And now look what we’ve got—a murdering psychopath.”
Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, Callie thought.
“I don’t get it,” she said to Landry. “If you haven’t been trying to protect Meg all this time, what have you been up to?”
“Trying to finish what we started yesterday afternoon. Claim Gloria’s inheritance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I can see where you’d be confused, all these people trying to muddy up the waters with their own idiotic agendas. But the truth is simple enough. Megan here contacted me and wanted me to help her get her boyfriend out of a jam. And Gloria and I knew this was our perfect opportunity to clean some house and lay the blame on Little Miss Nutbucket and her friends.”
“How can you talk like that?” Jonah hissed. “She’s your own daughter, for godsakes.”
“Didn’t we just cover that ground? Keep up, Jonah. Your last few minutes alive, I want you to understand just how much your own daughter hates you.”
“I know I haven’t been the perfect father.”
“Perfect father?” He huffed a chuckle. “Ask Callie here something about that. You go and knock up her ma, barely eighteen years old, then pretend like she don’t even exist. How far from perfect you think that qualifies for?”
The knot tightened in Callie’s stomach but Jonah looked indignant. “Where did you hear that ludicrous story?”
“Where else? From Gloria.”
Callie frowned. “You said my mother told you that.”
Landry shrugged. “So maybe I embellished a little.”
“Or a lot,” Jonah said. “Don’t believe a word of this, Callie. I never went near your mother.”
“It don’t make a whole lot of difference,” Landry said. “In a few minutes you’ll all be dead anyway, and Meg and her friends will take the blame so Gloria can collect her rightful inheritance.”
“I don’t get it,” Callie said. “If Gloria’s behind all this, how did she get shot?”
Landry smiled. “That was just our way of convincing you folks that our story was true. I gotta say I didn’t want her going inside that burning house, but she’s a brave little filly, and she figured that would seal the deal.”
“Not to spoil your fun, but aren’t you forgetting something?”
“And what would that be?”
“Sheriff Mercer and Deputy Wilcox. They know you were the one trying to kill us in the woods.”
Landry shrugged again. “They’ve got no proof Gloria had anything to do with it, and she’s all I really care about. That’s why I’ve stayed at Pritchard Ranch as long as I have.” He smiled. “Besides, I was only trying to scare you folks off out of concern for Jonah. I knew these psychopaths had ahold of him, and didn’t want your interference getting him killed.”
“You think anyone will buy that nonsense?”
“You throw enough money at people, they’ll buy anything. I may do a little time, but it’s nothing I can’t handle and Gloria will be waiting for me when I get out.” His expression hardened and he gestured with the shotgun. “Enough chitchat. Show and tell is over. I think it’s time you do what I told you and start tying these two up.”
He stepped backward in the doorway, bent down and picked something up from the porch, then dropped it on the floor in front of her.
It was a large canister of kerosene.
“And when you’re done,” he said. “my little psychopath of a daughter is gonna start another fire.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When he came awake, Harlan smelled smoke.
His head was pounding, a sharp wet pain coming from the back of his cranium, the night air cutting into it like a rusty blade.
He groaned involuntarily, and a voice above him said, “So you’re alive after all. Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough.”
Landry Bickham.
Hands grabbed Harlan’s jacket collar and Bickham started dragging him through the dirt, the smoke swirling around them now, getting thicker with each step.
Harlan’s world was spinning, nausea rolling through his stomach in waves. He wanted to fight back, but his strength had been drained by the blow, his muscles weak, his limbs refusing to cooperate.
Bickham kept dragging him, the dirt and rock cutting into his back, and Harlan twisted slightly trying to see where they were headed, wondering where Callie was, worried that she might be hurt.
Or worse.
He caught a glimpse of the cabin, smoke billowing out of its windows, and something thudded in his stomach. He didn’t know what had happened here, but the fact that Bickham was still alive and on the loose was not a good sign.
“You must be wondering what you got yourself into, Marshal. We’re working on a little weeny roast, and you’re the weeny. But don’t worry, I’ll tell ’em how you managed to save me right before the place went up.”
They approached the open doorway and Harlan knew this was his chance to make a move.
But could he do it? Did he have the strength?
There was only one way to find out.
As they passed through the doorway, Harlan felt the heat of the flames and willed his muscles into motion. Throwing his arms out, he grabbed hold of the doorframe with both hands, bringing Bickham to an abrupt halt.
Bickham stumbled slightly and released Harlan’s collar, and now Harlan twisted onto his stomach and lunged forward, grabbing Landry’s leg.
Bickham cursed and tried to kick him loose, but Harlan hung on, pulling out and upward, sending Landry sprawling. He hit the floor with a thud, and it was only then that Harlan realized the entire interior of the cabin was ablaze, flames crawling up the walls toward the roof.
Harlan willed himself to his feet, the room spinning, the fire growing around him. But now Bickham was upright and fumbling for his gun, gripping it with both hands as he aimed it in Harlan’s direction.
He fired and Harlan dropped to the ground again, narrowly avoiding the hit. Something cracked above him and a piece of the cabin wall came loose, splinters of fiery wood showering down toward him.
Harlan scrambled out of the way, and saw that Bickham was getting to his feet now, trying to clear smoke from his eyes as he pointed the barrel of the gun in Harlan’s direction again.
The flames were growing in intensity and there was no place for Harlan to go. No way to avoid the shot.
But just as Landry was about to pull the trigger, there was another loud crack and a chunk of the roof caved in, a blackened, flaming beam of wood dropping down toward him. He snapped his head upward, saw what was coming and dove, but the edge of the beam caught his shoulder, knocking him forward.
He skidded across the floor, flames jutting up from the back of his jacket. He screamed in horror as he struggled to pull it off, then suddenly, another beam fell, the roof crashing down on him, the flames consuming him like a ravenous beast.
Harlan watched it all in a kind of stunned slow motion, but he didn’t waste any time mourning the man’s death. He knew that Callie and the others had to be in this cabin somewhere and he needed to get to them, fast.
Climbing to his feet again, he spun around and saw two doors, one of them already engulfed in flames. Fighting the smoke, he staggered to the door on his left, hoping and praying he had the right one. He pressed his hands against it, feeling for heat, then threw the door open.
He saw Callie cuffed to a bed post, her terrified face lit up by the flames. And to his s
urprise, Jonah Pritchard and his granddaughter Megan were sitting on the floor next to her, both bound with ropes. Pritchard was coughing violently, choking on the smoke.
As the flames started to eat up the doorway behind him, Harlan crossed to them, surprise and relief in Callie’s eyes.
“Thank God,” she said. “Thank God you’re alive.”
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Just the smoke. You need to get Jonah out of here.”
“First things first,” he said, then grabbed hold of the cuffs with one hand as he reached into the watch pocket of his jeans with the other, fumbling for the key.
It wasn’t there.
“The key,” he said. “I don’t have the key.”
“Landry. He must have taken it from you. That’s how he got loose.”
Harlan yanked at the cuffs, but they were securely fastened to the wooden bed post, impossible to break. Jonah started coughing again and Callie gestured. “I’ll be all right for a few minutes. You really need to get Meg and Jonah out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ll be fine. Just hurry.”
The smoke was growing thicker. Harlan swiveled around and found the window, then crossed to it and shoved it open, smoke immediately swirling toward it as cool air rushed in. Returning to Jonah, he quickly untied his bonds then pulled the old man to his feet.
There was no time to untie Meg.
“I’ll get your granddaughter,” he said. “Wait outside the window.”
Jonah stifled a cough and nodded, then hurried across the room and climbed through the window, turning back to wait for Harlan. Harlan scooped Megan up in his arms and she groaned, but offered little resistance as he carried her through the smoke and handed her off to Jonah.
“Can you handle her alone?” he asked.
Jonah coughed, nodded. “I think so.”
“Get as far away from this place as you can,” Harlan said, then took a gulp of the fresh air and turned around, swaying slightly, the pain from his head injury weakening his knees.
Fighting his way through the smoke, he crossed back to Callie who was coughing violently now, struggling to free herself from the cuffs.
A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews Page 14