“She’s down there.” Nikki pointed with the shotgun. “In the sanctuary, or whatever Jeanne called it.”
He turned his head toward the shack and the swamp surrounding it as if he could see for himself. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who came here and trespassed.”
She wasn’t about to be derailed. “You don’t know about her?”
“A woman hanging in Mom’s shed? How the hell would I? And … and I don’t believe it.” He tried to struggle to his feet, then winced in pain, sucking air through his teeth. “I really need an ambulance. That damned dog near broke my arm. Maybe bit through an artery!”
“Listen, Granger. No matter what you say, the plain truth is that you’ve got a dead woman in your mom’s hut, and you’re here, threatening me with a damned shotgun. So, the way I see it, you’ve got a helluva lot of explaining to do.”
Her attitude must have finally convinced him that she wasn’t bluffing.
Even in the weird half light, she noticed that his eyes rounded. “No.” He was shaking his head. “I mean … no! No. Jesus, I don’t know what you’re even talking about!”
The dawning awareness on his face and the fear that followed—fear because he was trying to save his own skin—convinced her that he might be telling the truth. But he was dangerous.
Nikki kept the shotgun trained on him, while Arlo, quivering to be let loose and attack again, sat at attention next to her. His unblinking gaze was fixed on Granger, as if he were waiting for the man to make one wrong move.
Or for Nikki to say, “Sic ’em.”
“How do you know Naomi Kittle?” she demanded.
“I don’t!”
“Then how did she end up here?”
“Are you serious? I don’t know! Jesus, aren’t you listening?”
The pulsing wail of distant sirens filled the night.
“Oh, yeah, Granger,” she assured him. “I’m serious, all right. Serious as hell. And you’d better start telling me everything you know,because the cops are coming. You hear them, right? They’re going to have a lot more questions, so you better start talking and fast because you’re in big trouble, here. Really big.”
Pierce didn’t know whether to hug his wife or strangle her as he jogged into the clearing with Sol beside him, two other deputies on their heels.
What the hell was Nikki doing running around in the swamp after nightfall? And alone, to boot.
Even if, as she’d explained when she’d finally called him back, she was with the dog.
So what?
She was still putting her life at risk. But now she didn’t have just herself to think about, or even him … now there was Chloe.
He reached the clearing where Nikki stood, shotgun and some kind of axe beside her, Arlo standing at attention while she was talking with—or interviewing?—Granger LaRoux. Possibly interfering with his investigation?
She needed to back off.
As angry as he’d been, as scared to death after her frantic call, all Pierce now felt was a major sense of relief that she was alive.
This time.
But if she were a cat, she’d be quickly running out of her nine lives. In fact, was probably at eleven or twelve already. Maybe more.
As if she’d read his thoughts, she held up a hand. Though her face showed how relieved and glad she was to see him, she still held Pierce at bay. “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I know you’re mad at me, but Granger here was just explaining to me why he thinks it’s okay to threaten a reporter with a shotgun.”
“I was going to say, ‘Thank God, you’re alive.’”
