Chapter 32 #2
I looked at her sharply. She shook her head, a clear signal not to say anything in front of Phelan.
I filed that reaction away for later. Was it just the fact that the guy’s name was Ryan? We’d been trying to find a Ryan who worked for Crosshairs for a while now.
Or was it something more?
Phelan seemed oblivious to Keira’s response.
“The night of your shooting, Ryan Garrett was at the roadhouse. I’d gone out for drinks with some friends, and Garrett showed up, lurking at the bar like he was watching me.
There’s always somebody from Crosshairs showing up near me, even when I don’t want them to.
It’s intimidation. A reminder that they think they own me now. ”
“But they have no problem with you harassing innocent servers?” Keira asked. “Like Misty at the roadhouse?”
“That’s not something they’d concern themselves with. Trust me, they do worse than I’d ever dream of. Besides, Garrett was my minder that night, but he took off early.”
“Garrett left early,” Keira repeated, eyes distant.
I leaned into her. “Could this Garrett be the man who offered you a drink that night? The one wearing a Crosshairs ring?”
She nodded slowly. Then reached into the pocket of her cardigan, where she’d stowed her phone. Thumbing the screen, she jumped down from her seat on the table and held up the phone to Phelan.
“Is this him?”
It was the photo she’d taken of Woodson and his mystery buddy outside the strip club. Phelan glanced at it and nodded.
“Yeah. That’s the two of them. Woodson and Garrett.”
“You think Ryan Garrett was involved in Keira’s shooting?” I asked.
“Maybe. Garrett didn’t show up anymore at my house after that night.
Someone mentioned he’d been injured, but nobody would give me details.
They told me to shut my mouth about Garrett ever being around me.
But after I heard about the shooting, I wondered if Garrett was involved somehow.
Because he’d been there at the roadhouse too. ”
On the night of the shooting, Keira had returned fire on her attackers. She’d hit one of them. The police hadn’t found any DNA matches, which meant it couldn’t be Woodson’s blood. He’d been convicted of a felony, so Woodson’s DNA was definitely in the law enforcement databases.
But we didn’t know anything about this Ryan Garrett guy. River hadn’t even turned up Garrett’s name while researching Crosshairs Security.
It sounded like Keira had shot Garrett. It must’ve been a minor wound. He was healed up now. He’d looked perfectly healthy outside the strip club several weeks ago.
“I could go to Sheriff Douglas with what I know,” Phelan said. “If you can clear the way first. Guarantee my safety. If Crosshairs finds out I’m talking, they’ll kill me. Help me so I can help you.”
“I don’t know if it’s worth my time yet.” Keira had her arms wrapped over her middle, fingers tapping at her side. “Tell us more about Woodson. The day Dean and I came to see you at your home, someone followed us in an SUV. Tried to run us off the road. Was it Woodson?”
Phelan opened his mouth to answer.
Then his head snapped back, a spray of blood erupting. The crack of the gunshot registered a split second later. Then another.
Fuck. We were under fire.
I grabbed Keira and pulled her down beneath the picnic table as Phelan collapsed. My mind was already moving, calculating angles, trying to locate the shooter. Clearly, Keira was doing the same, because she drew her weapon and returned fire.
Movement in the trees. Someone running through the brush. But they were moving away. Trying to escape.
I launched myself up and toward the sound.
“Dean!” Keira shouted behind me.
“Call the police!” I shouted back. “Try to help Phelan!” She had her gun, and she could defend herself if necessary. Leaving her behind went against every instinct, but I had to trust that she was ready for a fight.
I had to stop that shooter. No way would I let him get away. Not this time.
The forest was a blur around me as I ran. Branches whipped at my face. The sleeve of my new shirt snagged on something and tore, but I didn’t slow down. The shooter was ahead, weaving through the trees. I caught glimpses of movement, the flutter of dark fabric.
And a demon mask. A swirl of colors and grotesque features, turning back to look at me.
The shooter raised a gun and fired. I threw myself sideways, bark exploding from the tree beside me.
The shooter fired again. And again. He was panicking, firing wildly.
Then there was a loud oomph as the guy tripped and fell.
I sprinted to close the distance between us, my lungs burning. As he rolled over and tried to get up, I launched myself at him. Drove him into the ground.
The gun flew from his hand, skittering out of sight on the forest floor. We rolled, grappling. The guy was strong, but I hadn’t run that obstacle course a thousand times in the last couple of months for nothing.
A fist connected with my jaw. I returned it, felt cartilage give under my knuckles. The shooter tried to get free and scramble away, but I caught him and slammed him back down.
The guy’s arm raised. A blade glinted in his hand.
The knife came at my ribs. I twisted, felt it scrape across my side instead of plunging in. I caught the wrist holding the knife, wrenched hard. Bone cracked, and the shooter screamed behind the mask, the sound muffled and distorted.
I pulled the knife free and didn’t hesitate.
The blade drove into the shooter’s side, finding the soft space between his ribs. Once. Twice. The body beneath me went rigid, then slack. I stayed on top of him for a moment, breathing hard. Then I reached down and pulled off the mask.
Nox Woodson stared up at nothing, his eyes already glazing over.