Page 132 of The Secrets She Keeps

Pulled a handgun.

“Gun!” Gunnar yelled.

But it was too damned late.

Fire went through his chest fast.

And Gunnar hit his knees.

92

Shit.That car right there—the one with the Barratt-Handley logo. It had people in it. Two of them.

Trey stopped where he was, right there at the end of the drive at Number Eight Hendricks, and stared at the two men in the interior of that car.

Shit.

They had seen. Knew what Trey and the boys had just done.

One pulled something up to his face. It was a phone.

It was definitely a phone.

He was calling for help. Calling the fucking cops.

There were cops driving around in here too. Not ones he knew either. They’d just circled the block before. They were too damned fucking close.

“What do we do?” Tuell asked beside him.

“What do you think we do? We take care of the fucking problem like we have every other time someone sees something they shouldn’t.”

Trey pulled up his gun, aimed.

And fired.

Turned to the next guy in that car when he opened the door. Tried to run.

And fired. The guy fell to the ground, his damned head landing in the seat of his fucking car.

All that target practice had finally paid off. Now, he had one more thing todobefore he left Finley Creek forever.

He just hoped she was ready for him.

93

Powell heardwhat sounded like fireworks as she opened the refrigerator to grab the condiments. Fireworks weren’t all that unusual in Hughes Heights. Sometimes, families rented the pavilions just over the greenway from her family. She and her brothers used to be so excited when they’d get to see surprise displays after bedtime. She remembered lying in her bed, looking out from her balcony so many times, thinking it was magic. And that the fireworks were just for her.

She had had the most idyllic childhood. She wanted to give her child that same kind of life. The dinners with Grandma and Grandpa would be a definite priority too. Powell couldn’t wait.

Her father came out of his office, a look of concern on his face, his phone still in his hand. He came to her; he wrapped one hand around her arm. “Powell, get away from the window. Right now.”

Her mom came around the kitchen peninsula, a worried look on her face. “Mason, what is it? The fireworks?”

“Those weren’t fireworks.” He wrapped his arm around Powell’s shoulders. He pulled her from the front window andnudged her away. “Get to the back living room. Stay away from the windows. Where is Erickson?”

If they weren’t fireworks. That meant… “Gunnar’s outside. He saw Daniel outside, and he went outside. They were going to my house next door. Gunnar and Daniel. Gunnar’s outside.”

Powell turned toward the back door.

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