Claire stepped back to where she could keep an eye on Tom and stay out of his reach in case she needed to run for help.
“What’s up, boss?” Hank said to Charley, though his gaze slid to Tom and back.
Charley snorted. “That’s a laugh, Hank. We all know who your real boss is. Tom here has been paying you to spy on me, and I just caught you red-handed at it.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tom exhaled and put his hands on his hips. “Might as well give it up, Hank. Charley here’s sussed us out. You’re the only one he talked to about that case of strangles, and I just blew up at him about it.”
Hank hefted the hammer and glowered at Tom. “Thanks a whole hell of a lot for blowing my cover. You promised you’d keep whatever information I gave you to yourself.”
“That was before Charley pulled that dirty trick on me. Cost me a bundle.”
Charley grinned. “C’mon, Tom, you lost only one day’s worth of rides, and I bet you’ve already rescheduled most of them. And you’ve got a shiny clean stable to boot.”
“Fuck off,” Tom and Hank said to him in unison.
“And you’re fired,” Tom said to Hank. “You should’ve checked the facts before telling me anything.”
Hank stepped menacingly toward Tom. “You bastard! How the hell was I supposed to check on it when the horse wasn’t even here? This is all your fault for coming over here. If you hadn’t, my cover wouldn’t have been blown.”
“No matter whose fault it is, you’re no good to me anymore.”
Hank aimed a wad of spit at Tom’s boots. “Good riddance. Charley’s a better boss anyway.”
As Hank slapped the hammer head against his other palm, Claire flashed back on the fact that Gil had hit Kyle in the head with one. She peered at Hank, whose pretty-boy face was now twisted in rage. Could he be driven to use the lethal tool in anger, too?
“I’m firing you, too, Hank,” Charley said.
Hank reeled to glare at him. “Fuck why? I’ve been working my tail off for you!”
“Because I can’t trust you. You’ve already lied to me, shown me that I can’t rely on your loyalty.” Charley shook his head. “No, you screwed yourself, Hank, by dipping your hand into two tills at once.”
Hank swung his hammer against the board he had just nailed in, cracking it. His expression got even darker and meaner, and Claire could swear steam was blowing out of his ears.
Then something clicked in her brain. Since Hank used to work openly for Tom, he probably owned one of those yellow and red checked shirts. And Kyle Mendoza’s death helped him in two ways. First, by moving Hank into the lead guide spot, where he made more money in tips. And second, by ingratiating him with Tom Lindall, by discrediting Charley’s stable. That is, if Tom had asked him to do it, or if he told Tom about it later. The question was, how involved was Tom?
Yes, all of the signs pointed to Hank, who looked ready to kill someone now. Claire had to warn her brother. “Charley?”
“Not now, Claire.” Charley glowered at Hank and waved a hand toward the stable. “Get your things and report to me at the trailer. I’ll get your back pay ready.”
He turned and walked toward the trailer.
Hank’s face turned absolutely livid, and a low-throated growl rose in his throat.
Eyes wide, Tom stepped back.
“Charley, watch out!” Claire screamed, just as Hank threw the hammer.
Turning at her scream, Charley ducked. The hammer missed his head and hit his shoulder. He spun, roared with pain and grabbed his shoulder.
Before he could recover, Hank leapt on him, throwing him to the ground. He pummeled Charley with his fists.
Tom ran over and grabbed one of Hank’s arms, spinning him around. “Stop that!”
Hank swung at Tom, connecting with his jaw and sending him reeling. He turned back to Charley.
But Charley had used the diversion to scramble to his feet, wincing as he put pressure on his sore shoulder. He was ready for Hank and threw a punch into his gut.
Letting out an “oof,” Hank doubled over.
Charley swept a boot against the back of Hank’s legs, crumpling them so he slammed down onto his knees. Then he and Tom worked in tandem to pin Hank’s arms behind him.
Hank struggled and cursed, but hobbled and on his knees, he couldn’t escape.
Tom kicked him in the rear. “That’s for sucker-punching me!”
“I’ll get some rope,” Claire yelled and ran for the barn.
“I don’t think we’ll need it,” Charley said. “We’ll just hold him, maybe get a few licks in, till he cools down.”
Oh yes, they’ll need it, Claire thought as she chugged for the barn. Charley didn’t realize he and Tom were holding onto a killer. She yelled over her shoulder, “Don’t let go of him, no matter what!”
Then she had another gut-sinking thought. If Hank did the killing at Tom’s behest, would Tom turn on Charley, too? But why would Tom have grabbed Hank in the first place, if Hank had killed for him? She needed to tell Charley he couldn’t trust either of them. But she didn’t have time to explain it yet. And why weren’t the cops here yet? Jessica was supposed to have called them.
Claire ran into the barn, where Brittany stood in the alley between the stalls with Gunpowder. She was tightening the girth on Gunpowder’s saddle.
“I need rope,” Claire said between huffs.
“In the tack room,” Brittany replied. “What’s going on? I heard yelling outside.” She swung onto Gunpowder’s back and took the reins.
Claire ran to the tack room, grabbed a lariat, and ran out. “Follow me,” she said. “We may need your help.”
She ran out of the barn. Brittany kicked Gunpowder into a trot to follow her.
When Claire arrived back at the corral, Charley and Tom were holding Hank down on the ground, face down with his arms still pinned behind his back. Charley glanced at her. “I told you we didn’t need that.”
Claire started unwinding the lariat while she caught her breath. “Yes, you do. I think Hank’s the one who killed Kyle.”
“What?” Charley raised a brow at Claire.
“The hell, I did!” Hank yelled.
Tom gaped at her. That look of surprise seemed genuine, but maybe he was just surprised she had found out.
She opened her mouth to explain what she meant to Charley and to warn him about Tom, but Brittany had arrived on Gunpowder. The horse let out a piercing scream. He reared up, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Brittany held on to Gunpowder’s mane for dear life.
Charley let go of Hank and ran to Gunpowder’s head. Saying “Whoa, whoa, boy,” he pulled down on Gunpowder’s bridle until the horse was back on four hoofs.
Brittany slid off Gunpowder’s back and backed away, confusion showing on her face. “Why’d he do that?”
Claire realized Gunpowder was scared of Hank, the man who had gored him with the hay fork. She yelled, “Get Gunpowder away from Hank!”
In the meantime, Hank had twisted out of Tom’s grasp and leapt to his feet. He threw a roundhouse punch that landed in Tom’s gut and toppled the older man to his knees. Instead of running away from Gunpowder, though, as Claire expected, Hank ran for Brittany. He threw an arm around her chest, yanked a buck knife out of his pocket, and held it to her neck.
Brittany’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t struggle.
Smart girl, Claire thought. Don’t make him hurt you.
“What the hell are you doing?” Charley yelled at Hank.
“Get that fucking horse away from me,” Hank yelled back. He stepped back, yanking Brittany with him. The action caused the knife to nick her neck, drawing blood.
Claire didn’t think it was possible, but Brittany’s eyes got even wider.
“Careful!” Claire yelled at Hank. She grabbed Gunpowder’s reins. Between her pulling on the reins and Charley tugging on the harness, they turned the horse so he was facing away from Hank. They led Gunpowder a few yards away.
Gunpowder snorted and pawed the ground. He kept trying to turn his head to look at Hank, as if making sure his former tormentor was still far away from him.
Charley faced Hank again. “What’s going on here?”
Hank ignored him and yelled at Tom, “Get over there with them.”
Tom pushed himself to his feet while holding onto his stomach. His face was greenish pale, and he was sweating, but his mouth was set in a determined hard line. He gingerly stepped toward Charley and Claire.
Hank started walking backward toward the parking lot, dragging Brittany with him while the rest of them watched warily.
“Hank’s already killed once,” Claire whispered to Charley, once Hank was out of earshot. “He could very well kill Brittany.”
“What makes you say that?” Charley’s quiet voice was tinged with confusion and anger.
“I’ll explain later,” Claire said. “Right now, we’ve got to figure out how to get Brittany away from him.”
Brittany stumbled and almost fell, but Hank yanked her to his chest. He quickly had the knife back against her throat.
They were far enough away by then that Claire couldn’t see Brittany’s expression clearly. She wondered if the young woman had really tripped or was testing Hank. Careful, girl.
Charley’s brow furrowed. “Jessica must have called the police by now.”
“How do you know she saw all this?” Tom asked through gritted teeth, his hand still clutching his stomach.
“We don’t.” Claire rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I thought you were the killer, and I told her to call them when you drove up. Sorry.”
“Hey, I don’t care,” Tom said. “As long as they get here in time to keep Hank from hurting Brittany.”
“They won’t. He’s almost to his car,” Charley said. “It’s up to us. What can we do?”
“Got any weapons?” Tom asked.
Charley shook his head, but then Claire remembered the new wrangler, Kat, and her concealed carry permit. “Where’s Kat?”
Charley nodded in understanding. He pointed toward the back pasture. “Out bringing in some mares.”
“Start talking to Hank,” Claire inched around Gunpowder, so the horse blocked her view of Hank and Brittany out in the parking lot, and theirs of her. “Slow him down, try to convince him to let go of Brittany, and I’ll get Kat.”
Claire hunched down and ran for the barn. Charley moved Gunpowder to continue to screen her, then handed the reins to Tom.
“Let her go,” Charley yelled at Hank while walking toward the parking lot. “She’s got no part in this.”
“Fuck you,” Hank yelled back.
Tom pulled Gunpowder into the corral and latched the gate, then followed Charley.
“You don’t need her,” Tom yelled. “We’re not stopping you—”
Claire rounded the barn and couldn’t make out the rest. Her heart lifted, though, as she spotted a wiry, dark-haired woman approaching the pasture gate on horseback with three unsaddled mares ahead of her.
Claire ran toward her. “Are you Kat? Do you have a gun?”
Kat slid off her mount and put a hand on the gate. Looking confused, she said, “Who are you?”
“Charley’s sister, and we’ve got a situation. I need you to come with me.”
Kat pushed the unsaddled mares aside, then opened the gate and led her horse through it and reclosed the gate. She looped her horse’s reins over the pasture fence rail and ran behind Claire to the back of the office trailer. “What’s going on?”
Between huffs, Claire said, “Hank’s the killer, and he’s got Brittany at knifepoint.”
Kat gasped.
“Jessica called the police,” Claire continued, “but they aren’t here yet. We can’t let Hank get away with Brittany. So, where’s your gun?”
Kat pulled a small pistol out of a concealed holster under her shirt and tucked into the back waistband of her jeans. “I’m not a great shot. I don’t want to hurt Brittany.”
“We’ll hope for an opening. Maybe when they’re getting in Hank’s car.” Claire signaled for Kat to follow her.
They ran along the back of the trailer until they reached the other end. Claire peeked around the side and signaled Kat to do the same. They could see most of the parking lot. Both the driver’s door and the rear passenger door of Hank’s car were open. Hank pulled Brittany off the hood of his car, and Claire could see he had tied her hands behind her back with his belt.
Charley and Tom were still hollering at him. Their voices were nearer, so they had gotten closer to the parking lot, probably hoping to rush Hank as soon as he was distracted and away from Brittany.
“Get back or I cut her,” Hank yelled at them while pulling Brittany toward the open rear car door, the knife still at her neck.
“Okay, okay, we’re moving back,” Charley yelled, frustration and fear in his voice. “Don’t hurt her.”
Hank told Brittany to get in and slide over. He pushed her head down toward the seat, then whacked her head with the butt of his buck knife. Brittany’s whole body slumped.
“Shit!” Kat said between clenched teeth.
“Oh, God. I hope she’s just unconscious.” Claire clutched Kat’s free arm. “As soon as he steps away from her, shoot him!”
Kat stared at her and licked her lips. “My aim’s not that good, and I’ve never shot a person.”
Claire gave a grim nod. “Do your best.”
Footsteps clattered toward the parking lot.
“I can still kill her!” Hank hollered while holding his knife against Brittany’s throat. “Get back.”
While Charley and Tom backtracked, Kat squinted at the parking lot and raised the pistol in her right hand. Her hand shook. She transferred the pistol to her left hand, wiped her right on her jeans then transferred the gun back. She sighted on Hank.
Seemingly satisfied that Charley and Tom were far enough away, Hank slammed Brittany’s door shut and rushed toward the open driver’s door.
“Now!” Claire yelled at Kat.
Nothing. Hank jumped into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
“Shoot him!”
Nothing. Kat was frozen in fear.
Hank started the car engine.
Impressions flooded Claire’s senses as time slowed. Heavy steps thudded in sync with her rapid heartbeat. Those and a shout of “Get him!” told her that Charley and Tom were running for the car. But they were too far away.
A bead of sweat trickled down her hairline. A horsefly buzzed her ear.
Claire’s whole body snapped to attention. She grabbed the gun out of Kat’s hand and fired it toward where Hank sat, reversing the car out of the parking spot.
Blam!
The bullet pinged off the hood.
Blam!
A low hiss signaled that that bullet had gone through a tire. The car was still moving.
Blam!
That bullet slammed into the car door just below Hank’s arm.
“Shit!” Hank braked and threw the buck knife out the open car window onto the pavement. He raised his hands. “I give up! Don’t shoot!”
Claire stopped. In the silence that followed, she heard Kat gasping beside her. Or was that herself ?
“You done shooting, Annie Oakley?” Charley yelled at Claire. Now in view, he and Tom had both stopped running and were staring at her.
She stood shakily and walked toward Hank’s car, holding the gun as steadily as she could on the panic-faced man. “I hope so.”
nineteen:
the wrap-up
Charley and
Tom held Hank down on the parking lot pavement while Claire quickly wound the rope Tom had brought down from the corral around Hank’s wrists. Digging up old memories of Girl Scout knots, she tied it securely while Hank kept up a steady stream of curses aimed at sending her straight to hell.
She ignored his invectives and calmly pulled the remaining length down to his ankles and began wrapping it around them. After she finished cinching the knot on Hank’s ankles, she walked to the back of Hank’s car.
“How’s Brittany?”
Brittany lay on the back seat, her hand holding a compress against her head, while Jessica wrapped tape around it. A bandage covered the knife nick on Brittany’s neck. Kat had untied Brittany’s hands and was kneeling next to her legs, anxiously watching Jessica administer to the girl. Jessica had run out of the trailer after hearing shots. When she found out what had happened, she rushed back inside and came running down to the parking lot with the first-aid kit.
“This bump’s pretty nasty,” Jessica said. “And she’s got a cut on it, much worse than the one on her neck. But the bleeding’s slowed down. It will be okay until the ambulance gets her to the hospital and they stitch it up.” Jessica stood and looked over her handiwork. “I’m more worried about concussion. Do you hurt anywhere else, Brittany?”
“I’m just banged up some, from when he threw me in the car.” Brittany flung her arm over her face, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I thought he was going to kill me for sure. Thank God you guys rescued me!”
When she made a move to sit up, Jessica pressed down on her shoulder. “Stay there until the paramedics come. We don’t want you to get dizzy and black out again.”
Kat looked up at Claire, a sheepish expression on her face. “Sorry I froze back there. I’ve just had the gun a few weeks, and I’m still not comfortable with it.”
“I’ve been there,” Claire said. “I don’t think you can ever get truly comfortable with using one, especially against a person.”
Kat pursed her lips and nodded. “But if I’m going to conceal-carry, I should try. I’ll work on it.”
Claire knelt next to Brittany’s head and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.”
3 A Basket of Trouble Page 23
