“Third floor, northeast corner suite. Jenkins Municipal Consulting.” Rowan’s hand found the door handle. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The hallway, in the darkness, with only the exit signs for illumination, felt like a tomb.
Rowan moved past door after door—Sterling & Associates, Mountain West Development, Pioneer Realty Group. At the northeast corner, brass letters spelled out Jenkins Municipal Consulting beside a door of frosted glass that revealed lights burning in the office beyond.
Bingo.
Rowan reached for the door handle, then stopped.
He’s desperate. And desperate men do terrible things.
Not a plea, but a warning, maybe.
He turned the handle, stepped into the reception area, and hit the deck.
The muzzle flash lit up the space like lightning, and the bullet meant for his heart only creased his upper arm.
Rowan rolled behind a leather sofa as another shot splintered the doorframe where his head had been. “Hey, Dad. We need to talk.”
“Too late, kid.” Alden’s voice came from somewhere deeper in the office suite, probably from behind his massive oak desk. “You always were too stubborn to know when to walk away.”
Blood seeped through Rowan’s shirt where the bullet had scored his bicep. Didn’t even feel it. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
Really. Because if Saxon had him lit up on GPS, so did the police. This didn’t have to end with either of them in a body bag.
Another shot punched through the sofa’s leather upholstery, sending stuffing floating through the air. Alden was moving.
“You should be grateful I took you and your mother in.” Alden’s voice had shifted to the left, probably near the windows. “I took care of you.”
Now he was trying to egg Rowan on. Deep breath. No one gets hurt…
Rowan belly-crawled toward the reception desk, staying low as glass shattered somewhere behind him. “Is that what you call breaking a kid’s ribs?”
He popped up from behind the desk, spotting Alden’s silhouette against the window.
There you are.
He picked up a heavy glass paperweight and hurled it with deadly accuracy. It struck the window beside Alden’s head, spider-webbing the glass and sending the older man scrambling for new cover.
“You were mouthy. No respect.”
Rowan moved deeper into the office, using the maze of furniture and equipment to stay hidden. “So that’s your excuse? Only cowards beat up on their kids.”
“Coward?” Alden’s laugh held no humor. “It took sacrifice and courage to build what I have.”
“You mean what I have.”
“No, son. That land is mine. You died. The deed has my name.”
“I don’t care about the land?—”
“It belongs to me! Your dad promised me that land!”
Rowan froze. “What?—”
