“Your game’s up, Coulter. You can keep running, but we have you cornered now. And red-handed too, it seems.” The man’s voice held an irritating combination of high nasal and low menace.
Enough to send a shiver down Gil’s back as he set down the crates behind him, then let the light move closer. His heart pounded an urgent rhythm. Would it be better to run? He could probably get down the rope ahead of Jedidiah. But if the man had that rifle from last night—or any weapon—he might use it.
Maybe Gil could bluff his way out of the situation. He could lean on whatever leverage he had as McPharland’s son-in-law.
The lantern drew closer, illuminating Jedidiah's wiry frame and those of two other men flanking him. Big men, from what Gil could make out in the shadows. Jedidiah’s eyes glinted with a wicked satisfaction.
"What's this about, Jedidiah?" Gil forced a casual tone, as if he had every right to be here.
Shadows from the flickering lantern skewed his predatory smile. "Looks like we caught ourselves a thief. Boss ain't gonna be happy about this, Coulter."
It appeared he wouldn’t be able to pretend he wasn’t carrying out crates. Maybe a show of bravery would be a better tact. "I'm no thief. Just taking what belongs to my family."
"Is that so?" Jedidiah stepped closer, his henchmen coming too. "Funny, I don't recall the boss saying anything about you Coulters having a claim on our goods."
Before Gil could answer, the man on the left stepped forward. Gil shifted but didn’t see the flash of movement from the other guard until it was too late.
A fist slammed into his gut. The air whooshed from his lungs, and he doubled over, gasping as he forced himself back up.
A punch to his face helped raise him, striking his jaw with a crack and whipping his head backward.
Pain roared through him as his body caught up with the blows, but he had to fight. His vision blurred, but he could see the looming outline of a man in front of him.
He struck out, putting force to the blow. His fist hit flesh—but not hard enough.
A jab landed on the other side of his face. His cheek lit on fire and his head pounded.
A boot slammed into his gut, throwing him backward.
He landed on the edge of a crate, falling sideways as he scrambled to pull himself together. His forehead slammed into the stone floor. Pain exploded.
There’d be no fighting his way out of this.
He pulled his knees close and curled into a ball.
A hand gripped his arm and hauled him up.
Gil’s body screamed with pain. But he forced himself to open his eyes and see what they would do to him. At least he’d know where the next blow came from.
Jedidiah’s face was only an outline through the blurry haze. "If the boss didn't want you kept alive so bad, I'd end you right here.” His mocking, nasal tone grated. “But don't worry, we'll make sure you learn your place real good."
Another blow exploded into his jaw, and Gil squeezed his eyes against the pain. The men weren’t finished with him, and each punch and kick sent fresh waves of torment through him.
He was helpless to protect himself. They might not plan to kill him, but he felt an inch from following Ezekiel to the grave.
What would happen to Jess? And the baby?
He bent as much as he could with the men still holding him up.
God, help Jess. If you take me away, send someone else to get her out of here.
Jess's footsteps echoed through the empty apartment.
Where was Gil?
The funeral had been a blur, listening to all the stories the men told about Ezekiel. She’d been so focused on them, she’d not realized when Gil slipped away.
How had she not felt him leave?
