Saint Columb County Road…
“Oh shit! Ohshit!” Ben shrieked. “I can’t believe I killed him!”
Fury had a red film falling in front of Lawrence’s eyeswhen he whipped his SUV behind a billboard advert of some prick in a cowboy hat hawking Milkybars. The placement of the signage seemed ridiculous since they were on a narrow service road that couldn’t see more than a handful of cars even on its best day. Nosing his vehicle into the bushes, Lawrence winced at the screech of branches against the paint.
Goddamn Ben! GoddamnBen!Not only hadLawrence’s cockup of a brother shot a man in cold blood—a man whowasn’tChristian Watson—but now Lawrence’s brand-new Peugeot was taking a beating because of the appearance of Ben’s latent homicidal tendencies.
Slamming his SUV into Park, Lawrence turned on his younger brother. “You soddingwanker!” he roared. “Why did you have to go and shoot that bastard?”
Instead of answering, Benglanced around, his eyes rolling wildly. “What are youdoing?” His face was a dark shade of red. Ben had a vein that ran up the center of his forehead like a garden snake. When he got mad or scared, it grew to the size of an anaconda. “We don’t need tohide! We need to get the feck out of here!”
“And gowhere?” Lawrence gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “You wannahop a flight and flee the country? And then what? Live on what money?”
“Jesus.” Ben rubbed a shaking hand over his face. “I’m buggered. I’m well and truly buggered.”
“Yeah, mate,” Lawrence agreed. “And you’ve buggered me as well. You’re a murderer, and I’m an accomplice.” He posed his initial question again. “Why did you hafta go and shoot him?”
“Didn’t mean to. Was an accident.” Benlooked like a wild Scottish pony ready to bolt. “I was nervous. Didn’t expect you to act like you were gonna slot Watson.”
It hadn’t been an act.
In that moment, fury—and the memory of their older brother—had outweighed all of Lawrence’s rational thoughts. That Watson had been standing there, so defiant, so arrogant, when the eldest Michelson brothercouldn’tbecause he was rotting sixfeet underground—not to mention what had happenedafterthe Michelsons had covered his casket in dirt—had struck Lawrence as the ultimate injustice. He had been determined to balance the scales. An eye for an eye, and damn the consequences.
He hadn’t snapped out of his bloodthirsty trance until he heard Ben’s weapon bark and turned to see some wanker in a white shirt go down like a sack ofpotatoes.
“And those blokes…” Ben shuddered. “Did you see how quickly they moved? That whole time I thought we were seconds away from having them waylay us and turn our own weapons against us. When I heard that door open and that guy shout…” He swallowed. “Instinct took over. I protected my six and took a shot before I had time to think.”
“And a helluva shot it was.”
“You say thatlike it’s a good thing.”
“Not good that you’ve screwed us over, but good that all those hours at the firing range paid off.”
Ben laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I guess they did, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” Lawrence shook his head in wonder. Of all the things for his twat of a little brother to excel at. Too bad it’d landed them in a world of trouble. “But now we gotta figure outwhat we’re gonna do.”
“I could say it was self-defense.”
Lawrence snorted. “With five witnesses who will claim the contrary? Not sure any jury will believe you, Brother.”
Ben shook his head. It caused a curl of hair to flop over his left eyebrow, reminding Lawrence of when Ben was a boy with big eyes and a penchant for lying in their back garden to watch the butterflies flit aroundtheir mother’s rosebushes. The two eldest Michelson boys had always been sword fighting with sticks or playing at being soldiers by hiding in the bushes and ambushing their fat tabby cat, but Ben had been the gentle soul. The dreamer.
All the anger drained from Lawrence in that moment. He knew without a doubt that he would do whatever it took to save Ben’s sorry hide. He hadn’t been therefor his older brother. He would make up for that by being there for his younger one.
“But wait…” The fire of an idea sparked in Ben’s eyes. “We could say we went to Port Isaac to confront Watson about our brother after we saw the news program. And then we could say we heard the explosion and saw Watson and his mates acting suspicious. Andthenwe could say we decided to follow ’em to see whatthey were on about. We could say that when we saw they were about to hop a flight and flee the country, we thought it was our duty as constables to stop them and ask them some questions. We can say one of ’em attacked me, and in the confusion, I fired a wild shot and accidentally slotted that bloke. It’s close enough to the truth to be believable.”
Ben looked altogether pleased with himself.But the merits of his argument flew out the window when the sound of an engine reached Lawrence’s ear and a flash of green caught his eye.
The old truck.
Watson and his friends were loaded inside and flying down the access road like the hounds of hell were baying at their heels. They were fleeing the scene. They were fleeing the bloody scene!
Suddenly, the solution to all Lawrence’sproblems presented itself.
He shoved his Peugeot into gear and slowly backed from behind the billboard, careful to wait until the farm truck was too far ahead to see his maneuver. Once he could barely keep sight of the vehicle, he stomped on the gas in pursuit.
“What the hell?” Ben blinked in astonishment.
