Chapter 42

42

Gene’s head pounded. He tried to shove the pain away, to get Chantal behind him even further. All he could focus on was the damned gun in the man’s hands. The gun pointed directly at Chantal.

They were right in front of a diner full of cops—and this guy had a gun pointed right at them. “What’s this about?”

“Shut up. I’ll do the talking. I’m sorry about this. This wasn’t how I saw this going. Not that I really saw it going much of anywhere. Just… I had to do it, you understand. You got sisters, Hiller, I know you do. Saw that little thing, that little one, just recently, too. You’d do what you had to, to protect her, right? To make things right?”

The man just kept rambling. Sweat was pouring down the guy’s neck. But the hand he had on the gun never wavered.

And it was aimed at the woman Gene would love for eternity.

Very few things in his life had ever truly scared him. The day he had almost lost Greer, the day he had carried Chantal through the land his family had ranched for generations unconscious in his arms, the moment he had watched those bastards take her, hurt her—those were defining moments in his life. This was another.

“I’m not going to let you hurt her, Wright. I just want to put that out there.”

“No, I suppose you won’t. Or you will try to stop me.” Wright looked toward the diner window. “They will, I’m sure. Know a bunch of them are inside right now. Saw them. But I got a point to prove. A man has to prove something sometimes. Even if it’s just to himself, Hiller. Even if it’s just to himself.”

“What’s this about, Detective Wright? Who?” Chantal asked quietly.

The man’s hand flexed on the grip. But he never lowered it, never moved it away from his target.

Chantal.

Why would he have a problem with Chantal?

“Why her, Wright? Tell me. Help me understand. You said sisters. Tell me about yours.”