“I can take care of you both,” he said, and a shot went off, the boom echoing around us.
I squeezed the trigger, aiming for Carson, but he remained standing. I could only hope his shot had missed too.
“Carly!” Wyatt shouted, sounding panicked.
Carson spun around and pointed his rifle at me, then fired off two shots, but I’d ducked behind the SUV as soon as I saw him turning.
“That’s five,” Marco said with a grimace.
“What?” I asked, shaking my head. I slid toward Marco at the back of the SUV.
“He has ten shots. He’s used five.” When I gave him a blank look, he said, “I know his gun. The cartridge holds ten rounds.”
“If it was a new one,” I said. And I only had three shots left. I couldn’t waste another.
Peering around the back of the car, I spotted Carson standing halfway between the tow truck and the woods, seemingly torn about which direction to take.
“Where’d you get the gun, Carly?” he said into the air.
“Don’t answer,” Marco whispered. “Try again.”
“I can’t kill him in cold blood, Marco,” I whispered back.
“It’s not cold blood when he’s actively tryin’ to shoot you first,” he said.
He was right. If he had the chance, he’d kill all three of us. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to make the remaining three shots count.
Leaning around the back of the deputy’s SUV, I lifted my gun to aim at Carson, but he was gone.
Panic gripped me and I held my handgun up to my chest, the muzzle pointed away from me and up to the sky. I needed to be prepared to shoot, but I had to be sure Wyatt wasn’t in the line of fire.
“Shit,” Marco muttered under his breath, and I turned to see Carson walking around the front of the tow truck, grinning as he strode toward us, his rifle butt tucked under his armpit, the barrel aimed at Marco. I realized I was concealed in shadow and Marco was easy pickings. Without hesitation, I lifted my gun and pointed it at Carson’s chest and pulled the trigger.
Carson grunted, then released a chuckle. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Carly.”
How could he still be talking and advancing toward us? He’d sounded like he was in pain, but he was still moving.
Marco was stretching his hand toward me in desperation, and I knew he wanted the gun. There was no denying he was a better shot, but there wasn’t time.
“I’ll go with you,” I called out. “Unlock your truck and I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t want to take you with me,” Carson said, his voice tight. “I want you dead.”
“Leave her alone, Carson,” someone said from behind me. My brain recognized the voice and struggled to understand how its owner had gotten here—until I adjusted my position slightly and caught sight of the station wagon parked at the opening of the parking lot.
“Leave her alone, Carson,” Jerry repeated in a trembling voice, holding up a handgun with a hand as shaky as mine felt. He stood at the end of Carson’s pickup, and he looked out of breath.
Carson released a short laugh and turned his attention to Jerry. “What are you doin’ here, old man? Go home.”
“You leave her alone. Carly’s a nice girl,” Jerry said.
“Don’t make me sorry I didn’t finish beatin’ your ass last year,” Carson sneered, aiming his gun at Jerry. “You worthless piece of shit.”
Anger erupted in my chest, and I stood, pointing the gun at Carson’s chest. “Don’t you call him that!”
Carson swung his attention to me, grinning like a fool. “There you are.”
He slowly lifted his gun and Jerry pulled his trigger, the shot reverberating in the cold night air. Carson remained standing, unfazed. “When was the last time you went to the firing range, old man?”
Jerry’s next round whizzed past its mark too, and Carson whipped back to shoot him.
I pulled my trigger, this time hitting Carson in the arm.
Crying out, he wheeled back to face me, and I fired another shot, hitting him dead center in his chest again.
I was out of bullets, but I’d just made a direct hit. Surely this was over.
But Carson hunched over, as though catching his breath, then stood, his face contorted in pain.
“Bulletproof vest,” Marco muttered.
Dammit. I’d just wasted three of my four shots, and even though his left arm was bleeding, I doubted it was going to stop him from killing us all.
“Leave her alone!” Jerry shouted, moving closer. “I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone else!”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” Carson said with a grunt. He was spinning around to make a run for Jerry, when something flew out of the air and struck Carson in the side of the head. Both the object and Carson fell to the pavement, and I realized it was a baseball-sized rock.
Wyatt burst out from around the front of the tow truck and sprinted for Carson, who lay moaning on his side. Wyatt picked up the rifle, tugging it from Carson’s loose grasp, and pointed it at the dazed man. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”
Jerry closed in, pointing his gun at Carson’s face, his hand shaking so badly I wasn’t sure if he’d hit his target even at the four-foot range. “You’re gonna pay for what you did. You’re gonna pay for bringin’ that poison to Drum. You’re the one who killed that boy and his mother. You didn’t pull the trigger, but you’re still responsible. Just like you killed George when he said he was gonna turn you in.”
Sirens wailed in the distance and Carson pushed to a sitting position, blood running down the side of his head.
“Don’t do it, Jerry,” Wyatt said. “You think this is what you want, but it’ll eat you up inside. Let the justice system do its job.”
Carson released a laugh. “You think I’ll stay in jail? I work for Bart Drummond.”
“Who will turn on you in a heartbeat,” Wyatt said with a sneer. “You’re about to bring disgrace to the Drummond name, and he will cut you off with a chainsaw. Didn’t you learn anything after what he did to me?”
The sirens were closer, and Wyatt was still holding Carson’s gun, so I walked over and reached for it, tugging slightly. Wyatt glanced at me, his eyes intense with fear and anger, but he must have known what I was doing because he released his grasp, letting me take the weapon. We both knew we couldn’t risk him getting in trouble for holding a gun, even if it was to protect all of us. Marco would back me up and confirm that it belonged to Carson.
Flashing lights appeared at the entrance to the parking lot and three sheriff cars pulled in.
“It’s over, Carson,” Wyatt announced with barely restrained rage. “And you’re about to go away for a very long time.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Carson launched forward, tackling Jerry to the ground, and wrestled for his gun.
I tried to point the rifle at Carson’s head, but they were rolling around too much for me to get a clear shot.
The sheriff SUVs came to a screeching halt, and deputies poured out of the vehicles, surrounding us.
“Freeze! Everyone put your hands up!” a deputy shouted.
I dropped the gun and threw my hands up, but Carson and Jerry were still tangled up and thrashing around.