Page 19 of Hidden Truths

He took one step back toward the still open door, captured a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision, dodged and caught a wrench on the side of the temple.

Lights exploded in his head.

He dropped like a rock.

Seconds later, he came back to consciousness. He knew it was seconds later because someone was breathing harshly in his ear, pulling him across that disgusting carpet toward the blocked back door. The room was dark; the front door had been closed. There was no way for anyone to know he was in here or what was happening.

He reacted without warning, twisting, sweeping his left arm behind the knees and slamming the man—it was a man—to the floor.

The fight instinct was strong, his thoughts swift and logical.

Last night someone had tried to get in that back door. Last night there had been more than one man. Was there more than one in here? He rolled across that carpet—when he got out of this mess, he’d have to sterilize his whole body—to the bed. He reached under and grabbed the tire iron.

Someone rushed him.

He didn’t have time for a solid swing, but swept the tire iron up and at the man’s knees.

The guy screamed, went down, whimpering, cursing.

Max knew the voice.

Jack Shales.

I’m going to get out of this piece-of-shit little town.

Dangerous guy. Frustrated, enraged, desperate. Jack pulled a pistol from a side holster and took quick aim.

Max flung himself to one side as a shot blasted at him. It barely missed him, and a second click made him freeze in position. “Don’t shoot me.” He looked into Jack’s face, hoping Jack couldn’t cold-bloodedly pull the trigger. “I’m Max Di Luca. I’m the football player you admired.”

“You always had everything you wanted. Came from a rich family. Had the body to play football. Why did you have to come here and screw everything up? No one cared she was gone. No one cared I made a fortune. Then you…” Jack staggered to his feet, rubbing one knee, but he kept that pistol pointed at Max. “You came and poked and prodded until people asked questions.”

Max squinted, trying not to see the pistol, trying to see the man behind it. “Why would you go to the trouble to get Mara Philippi out? Of all the people, why her?”

“She had the money. She had the power. She promised us—”

“Us?”

“Warden Arbuckle and me. She promised we’d be part of her team. We would make a fortune. I could leave here and never return.” Jack squinted at him, his pale blue eyes rabid with hope, and aimed the pistol at Max’s chest. “You didn’t have time to tell anyone the truth. I’m not going to get caught. I’m not.”

“Of course I told someone. As soon as I was out of the prison, I let my friend in DC know. Look at my phone.” Which was out of Max’s reach. “You’ll see. There’s a text and a confirmation.”

“No.” Jack panted as if he had run a long way. “No. You can’t tell me I’m going to die here. I want out. I hate this town. I hate that woman. I hate—”

The door slammed open. Light flooded the room.

Max saw the outline of a woman’s figure holding a shotgun. He curled up into a little ball, made himself a small target.

The shotgun blasted.

Blood spattered everywhere.

Jack fell.

In a voice mixed with amazement and annoyance, Elyse said, “He was actually going to leave. I never thought he’d have the guts.”

Max peered around, felt ill. “Those are definitely his guts.”

Elyse pointed the shotgun at him.

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