Page 82 of I'll Be There
He pulled into a space and sat in the cab blankly, not sure what to do.
After a minute, he tucked his gun into his belt. Reached for the door handle.
A shot cracked the air.
Conner jerked, slammed open the door, and spilled out, staying low.
The noise startled a few gulls, who pierced the air with their cries. The wind blew in, hued thickly with the scent of the fire down the shore, the lightest tinge of pine and birch. Silence wove into the dark lot, save the buzzing of the overhead lights that puddled luminescence at his feet.
He crawled around to the front of the truck, into the darkness. “Blankenship!”
His voice pinged against the two outbuildings that served as the facilities, came back to him.
His gut coiled. What if Blankenship sent him here so he could track down Liza...
Conner got up, rounded to the driver’s door and had it open when lights creased the entrance, turned down into the lot.
He shut the door, pulled out his gun, stepped back and waited.
The lights careened across the pavement, a glare that made him put up his arm in protection. The car stopped—a sedan, probably a rental.
The driver door opened, and Conner fixed his barrel on Blankenship as he climbed out.
Blankenship held up his hand. “Not so fast there, cowboy.”
Conner fought the burr in his throat, the punch of his heartbeat as he watched Blankenship open the passenger door.
Please, not Liza—
Blankenship grabbed something, pulled someone out onto the pavement, writhing, groaning. Dragged him into the light.
Micah. Shot in his leg, bleeding through the tourniquet high and tight on his thigh.
“Kill him, Conner.”
“Or...” Blankenship pulled out the rifle and set the barrel against Micah’s head. “You could put down the gun.”
Conner clenched his jaw so tight he could break molars. But he crouched and set his gun on the pavement, raised his hands. “Let him go. He has nothing to do with this—”
“I’m so tired of you Young men lying to me,” Blankenship said.
“You did it, didn’t you? Killed Justin?”
Blankenship just stared at him, as if trying to sort through his answer.
Micah’s eyes closed, his face contorted and whitening under the raw light.
“C’mon! Just tell me the truth! He caught onto your connection with the SOF and was going to rat you out. You set up a meet and killed him. He trusted—”
And right there, he stopped. Because Justin would have never set up a meet with someone he didn’t trust, or let him get the drop on him.
Not like, apparently, Conner did.
Blankenship was shaking his head even as the gears clicked into place. Blankenship wasn’t here for—
A shot popped the air, and the rifle in Blankenship’s grip spun out, skittered across the pavement. Blankenship hit the ground, stunned, maybe even hurt.
It took just that long for Micah to roll away from Blankenship’s grip, for Conner to pick up his gun. “Stop!”
