Page 61 of Killer on the Homestead
He sighed. She could just imagine the expression on his face. Frustrated resignation. “Yeah, okay. You be careful too, huh?”
“Sure, that’s me.”
He chuckled. “Uh-huh. Watch your back, Red. Give me a call when you’re done with the detectives.”
She should say no. She’d call him when she wanted. She didn’t have tocheck inwith him. Her job was dangerous, and if he was really so into this and waiting for her to trust him, he’d have to accept that.
But that would inevitably hurt his feelings in this moment, and if she hurt his feelings, she’d be thinking aboutthattoday, instead of what she needed to be thinking about. Which was how Terry Boothe might be connected to all this.
“I will. ’Bye.”
“’Bye.”
She ended the call on an irritated sigh. Not sure who or what she was irritated with, except maybe just this clutching, twisting feeling in her chest that was a tangle of feelings she most assuredly didn’t want.
But had, for some damn reason.
She drove away from the hospital, which was more centrally located in the county, out north back toward the police station. She heard a faint shuffle of noise behind her. Confused, she turned her head a little to peek in the back. And saw something wholly unexpected.
A gun. Pointed at her head.
Held by the man of the hour, who was sitting up from a crouched position behind her seat.
Terry, who was in the back seat of her truck, with a gun pulled on her. She’d been so distracted by everything happening, shehadn’t paidattention. He’d beenhidingback there? For how long?
“Keep driving,” Terry ordered.
Rosalie said nothing as her mind whirled. She turned her gaze back to the road, to driving.
Terry had been at the hospital—that was the only time he could have gotten into her truck.Maybeat the ranch, but that just didn’t add up. He’d been at the hospital.
He’d done something to Owen.Hewas the reason for his crash. He had to be.
“You tried to kill that poor boy. Twice?” She flicked a glance at him in the rearview mirror.
“Drive,” he said again. His eyes were flat, his hand on the gun was steady. This was no panicked move. It was planned, and Terry was in charge of himself.
So Rosalie had to be in charge of herself. “Sure. Where are we driving to, boss?”
“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose into this. Should have let trash like Hunter Villanova lay. It doesn’t give me any joy to do this, but you ruined my plans.”
A cold chill snuck up Rosalie’s spine. She could handle a gun being pointed in her direction. Maybe it was misplaced confidence, but she figured she was in the driver’s seat, so to speak, so she could get out of this.
But Terry havingplansalarmed her.Plansspoke to time putting this all together, whatever this all was. Something she couldn’t even begin to guess at. She swallowed her nerves. “What kind of plans, Ter?”
“You’re going to turn around at the cut-through here. You’re going to drive me back to the Kirk Ranch. And when we get where we’re going, you’re going to call that boyfriend of yours. I’ll spare Norman and Natalie, because it makes sense to. But you two? You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
Rosalie forced herself to laugh even though her throat was dry. “You think you’re going to kill Duncanandme and get away with it?”
“I don’t think I am. I know I am. I’ve got a plan, and since I know yours, mine’ll win out. Go on then. Turn at the cut-through.”
Like hell she would. As they came to the cut-through in the highway, Rosalie did everything at once—ducked her head away from the gun, jerked the wheel in the opposite direction toward the ditch instead of the cut-through, and hit the accelerator down to the floor.
When the truck crashed into the ditch, pain exploded in her head, but it wasn’t a gunshot, so there was that.
Chapter Eighteen
Duncan hated the roiling feeling of betrayal in his gut. Hated worrying that a man who’d been his father’s friend and right-hand man for…forever, really, might have… What? Murdered a kid? Shoved drugs down Owen’s mouth?
