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Starting the engine, she swung the vehicle around, floored the gas pedal, and headed out of town after the sheriff ’s Jeep.
Lute had arrived at the farm to find a deserted ruin. The house was nothing but a roofless, burned-out shell littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. The weathered barn was barely standing and, as he learned when he looked inside, the concrete silo was infested with bats.
But the real problem was that the truck was almost out of gas.
He drove the truck and trailer into the barn, knowing that to go on would mean stalling in the open a mile or two down the road, under the hot sun. At least there was shelter here. But there was no water, no food, and no gas. Screaming every filthy word he knew, Lute kicked at the tires.
His theft of the horses and trailer had been as smooth as hot fudge over ice cream. But now he’d fallen victim to his own stupidity. A shed with plenty of gas, and all he had thought of was setting the damned place on fire.
The horses stirred in the trailer, the mare snorting anxiously. He’d brought no water for them, figuring he’d take care of that later. How long could they last in this heat? How long could he last? Somehow he had to find a way out of this mess.
There was some gas in the Vespa, but he didn’t have a hose to siphon it into the truck. Still, he could ride it down the road. This infernal cow path had to end up somewhere civilized.
Feeling better now that he had a sensible plan, Lute climbed up to unload the Vespa from the back of the pickup. He considered turning the horses loose, but the barn’s rickety walls wouldn’t hold them for long. They could push their way out and wander off while he was gone. Better to leave them locked in the trailer. If they died there because he couldn’t return . . . well, they were just horses. And if he couldn’t sell them, they weren’t any good to him anyway.
The Vespa wasn’t all that heavy, but with the trailer hitched to the back of the truck, getting it down was awkward. Lute was just lowering the scooter off the side of the truck bed when his ears caught a sound that chilled his blood. It was the unmistakable rumble of a big vehicle, maybe a half mile away but coming rapidly closer over the bumpy road.
Lute’s hands froze, letting go of the Vespa. It crashed to the ground, landing on its side. Unless the approaching vehicle belonged to a stranger, it would be someone after him—the Tylers most likely.
The Vespa didn’t appear damaged, but it wasn’t fast. Lute decided that his best chance was to stay out of sight, keep quiet, and if anybody got too close, use his pistol to scare them off.
The pistol was in the truck, under the seat. As the engine noise grew closer, he checked the clip, cocked the gun, and crouched on the floor of the cab to wait.
Sky pulled the truck to a stop fif
ty yards up the slope from the old barn. Letting the motor idle, he raised the high-powered binoculars to his eyes and peered into the sunlight.
“Think he’s in there?” Beau asked.
“He’s in there all right,” Sky said. “I can see fresh tire tracks in the dust. They lead right into the barn. I can even see his boot prints where he opened and closed the barn door. Want to look?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Beau said. “I just hope we can corral the little bastard and get the horses back without anybody getting hurt.”
Sky lowered the binoculars. “Let me go down there. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.
Beau nodded. “I’ll wait here. But take the pistol and be careful. If Lute has a gun, I wouldn’t put it past him to take a shot at you.”
“Understood. But the pistol stays here. I don’t want Lute to see me as any kind of threat. If you need to step in, I’ll let you know.”
“You won’t have to let me know. I’ll be right here covering you.” Beau switched off the ignition and stepped out of the truck. Chambering a shell in the rifle, he watched Sky stride downhill toward the barn, unarmed and exposed. A memory from Iraq flashed through his mind—an army buddy, walking toward a hut with his weapon lowered. A gentle young man, he’d glimpsed women and children inside and he hadn’t wanted to scare them. A dozen yards from the door, he’d reeled backward and fallen in the dust, his body riddled with a burst of bullets. Beau had risked his life to drag him to safety, but it was too late. His friend was already dead.
Now, watching Sky, he bit back a cry of warning. This wasn’t Iraq. Sky was Lute’s cousin, and, hopefully, he knew what he was doing. For now Beau would let him call the shots.
Sky was within shouting range of the barn. “Lute!” he called. “It’s Sky! I’m unarmed and I’m coming in to talk.”
A single bullet kicked up a puff of dirt six feet from Sky’s boots. “Don’t come any closer, Sky!” Lute bawled. “I won’t shoot you, but if you take another step, I’ll shoot one of the horses.”
Beau figured that would stop Sky, and it did. Sky stayed put, talking to Lute from where he stood. “We don’t want to hurt you, Lute. All we want is to get the horses back and find out what happened with Slade. The rest we can work out.”
There was no answer. In the silence, Beau felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.
“I mean it,” Sky shouted. “Nothing’s happened that can’t be fixed. Erin’s going to be all right. Everything you burned was insured. Walk on out now and come home with us. If you come clean, we’ll protect you from whatever else is out there to hurt you.”
Again there was no answer. But Beau glimpsed something moving through the gaps in the dilapidated boards of the barn. He was about to work his way around to approach the barn from the back side when he heard a faint metallic snick coming from the low hill behind him. It was a sound Beau knew too well. Instinctively he dropped to a crouch and swept his gaze over the brushy slope behind the truck, seeing nothing.
At that instant, all hell broke loose.
With a chattering roar and a crackle of rotten wood, a blue Vespa, with Lute hunched on the seat, exploded through the side of the barn and swung toward the road. The report of a high-powered rifle rang out from the hilltop. The Vespa bucked and went into a crazed spin that ended with the scooter lying on its side, its wheels still spinning. Lute lay sprawled beneath it, blood pooling beneath his lifeless head.
