Page 46 of Property of Whiskey

“Bullet?”

No answer.

The engine gets closer.

Not the van.

SUV.

Fuck.

Kaylee sees my face change.

The vehicle comes through the trees.

White. County. Cold settles through me. Not Twila’s personal SUV from this morning.

Her Interceptor.

Fuck.

The thing stops hard enough to spit gravel across the logging path. The driver’s door opens, and for one stupid second relief hits me. Then Twila Dix steps out with her weapon drawn. She plants herself behind the open driver’s door for cover, both hands steady on the gun, feet set like she expects somebody to rush her. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail now, uniform replacing the jeans and black jacket from this morning.

Badge. Gun. Eyes locked directly on me. Then her gaze moves to Kaylee, the blood on my hand, and back to me.

Every piece clicks together inside her head. “Hands where I can see them.”

Chapter Six

Whiskey

Kaylee flinches.

I slowly raise both my hands as directed. “Twila.”

“Don’t.”

“Need you to lower the gun.”

“I said hands up.”

“They’re up.”

“Step away from the girl.”

“Ain’t doing that.”

Her trigger finger stays indexed along the frame, but the knuckles of her support hand whiten.

“Whiskey.”

“Deputy.”

“Step away from her.”

“She can barely stay on the bike.”

“I can see that.”