Page 59 of I'll Be There
“I wasn’t fleeing—I was chasing down the shooter!”
“What—” Liza said as Kyle continued the accusations.
“He then accosted a man in the parking lot. A man who was later found fatally killed in a car wreck.”
Conner swallowed. Yeah, that might have been their fault.
“And a truck with US plates belonging to one Conner Young was identified leaving the scene at a high-speed chase.”
“We were following him—like I said, he was the shooter.” Although Conner put a little less oomph into his explanation.
“The shooter,” Liza repeated on a wisp of breath.
He met her eyes, the crazywhat’s-going-ontilt of her head.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
He nodded, no words.
“Unfinished business?” Liza said softly.
“I can explain.”
“Start with me,” Kyle said.
Conner slipped his hand into his pocket and palmed the phone. “Fine. But I come with you peacefully, no cuffs. No reason to make this into something.”
Kyle considered him, glanced at Liza, back to Conner. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Conner leaned down and kissed Liza on the forehead. “I really can explain.”
She met his eyes and offered a sad smile. “I know.”
He started to follow Kyle out the door, but Liza stopped them. “Kyle, Conner has to be at the church tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. For our wedding rehearsal.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you do too.”
Kyle’s mouth tightened around the edges. “I’ll be there.”
Oh, what a small, very, very small town she lived in. “Me too,” Conner said as he slipped Danny’s phone into Micah’s waiting hand.
Then he followed Kyle out into the parking lot and got into the cruiser.
Kyle slid into the front seat. Met Conner’s gaze in the mirror. “For Liza’s sake, I’m listening.”
Just what she needed to sleep. The image of Conner shooting someone—no, Kyle didn’t say he’d actuallyshothim, but what did Conner say about going to Canada to meet a woman?
Liza had kept Micah there by the sheer force of her gaze, daring him to leave her in the hospital room after her fiancé was carted off—thankfully, not in cuffs—by the local law.
Aka, handsome Kyle Hueston, who’d married sweet Emma, and played in the local band, the Blue Monkeys.
Her wedding band, to be precise.
For a wedding that was looking like it might not happen.
So, as Kyle took the groom away, Jim Micah had stood by her bed, holding a cell phone in his grip, tapping it as if itching to move, but planted there like the good friend-slash-soldier he was.
“So how much of that—Conner involved in a shooting and possible vehicular homicide—is true?”
Micah sighed. “All of it?”
