Page 249 of Things We Hide from the Light
“What makes you think I didn’t put the bug in his ear?”
“Because you’ve never had an original thought in that pea-sized brain of yours. I know none of this originated with you.”
Dilton’s lip curled, lifting his mustache. “You really have no fucking clue.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?”
He was aiming low, the weight of the gun pulling the barrel down. “Shit. You expect me to confess to everything right before I put you in the ground.”
“Why not? Tell me how smart you are before you pull that trigger again.”
“I’ll tell you as you’re bleedin’ out since I can stick around this time.”
I was ready for it. I read the twitch and watched his finger pull the trigger in slow motion. There was a click and the stupid stunned look as Dilton realized he’d already fired his last bullet.
The son of a bitch never could keep track of his rounds.
A split second later, three patches of red bloomed on Dilton’s torso. The echo of the three rapid gunshots rang out in the cavernous room and inside my head.
Dilton’s sweaty face went slack as he looked at me, then down at the holes in his chest. His lips moved but no sound came out. The red was still spreading when he dropped to his knees and then fell forward on his face.
Behind him stood an ashen-faced Wylie Ogden. His hands shook as he kept the gun trained on him.
“H-he was gonna kill you,” Wylie said in little more than a whisper.
“He was out of bullets,” I said. I don’t know if he heard me, because he was staring down at Dilton like he was afraid the man was going to get back up.
I remembered then, in Wylie’s two-decade career, the man had never had to discharge his weapon in the line of duty.
“Put the gun down, Wylie. We’re all friends here,” I said, moving toward him slowly.
“He was gonna do it,” he said again.
I heard the sirens then, the long, urgent whine drawing closer and closer.
“It’s over now,” I told him.
“It’s over,” he whispered. He let me take the gun out of his hands and then sank to his knees in the blood-soaked dust next to Tate Dilton’s body.
Dawn was just beginningto break over the trees by the time I stepped out of the barn. The long, dark night was over. A new day had begun.
The entire property was crawling with cops, feds, and other first responders.
I was surprised to see my brother push away from the side of the barn and head my way. He had a bandage over the cut on his forehead and more on his knuckles.
We stood shoulder to shoulder in the open door, taking it all in.
“You did good in there,” he said finally.
“What?”
“You heard me. You seem pretty okay at your job. When you don’t have the rule book shoved up your ass.”
It was the nicest compliment my brother had paid me since he came to my senior homecoming football game and told me I hadn’t “sucked too bad” on the field.
“Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for having my back.”
He flashed me a Knox Morgan smirk. “When are these assholes gonna learn, you don’t mess with the Morgan brothers?”
