Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Then his gaze softened. He glanced around at Taylor, at me, at himself. And he sighed and nodded. Thanks. And beneath the gratitude, that pull, that deep longing.
We tore our eyes away and I carried on suturing. But we couldn’t fight this. Not forever.
I finally finished, cut the thread and the three of us walked back out into the ER. Colt was preparing to leave. Two of his men were carrying the guy with the leg wounds, who was panting and growling with pain. Earl and Lloyd pulled up in their police SUV just as they were loading him into a pickup.
Corrigan waved them over and we huddled in a quiet corner, out of earshot of the patients. “It’s all done now,” he told Earl. “But we had another run-in with that guy.”
Earl cursed and looked over his shoulder at Colt. “Sorry I wasn’t here.”
I patted Earl’s arm. “You can’t be here all the time. You’ve got a whole town to protect.”
“I’m gonna stop by more,” he said. “I insist.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lloyd rolling his eyes, but he was smirking, too. The affection between the pupil and his mentor was easy to see. The two had been partnered together for over a year now and I got the impression that Earl was almost like a father to the young guy. But it felt like there was something I was missing. Why was Earl so keen to spend even more time here, when he already came around so often? He kept casting furtive glances towards the back of the ER, but when I followed his gaze, there was nothing obvious he was looking at. Just the critical care beds, the fire exit, Maggie balanced halfway up a ladder fixing a light—
“I think something’s going on,” said Corrigan. “That Colt guy is unstable. Dangerous. He’s got guys following him around, but they’re not just a bunch of thugs: I saw a tattoo on the leg guy, two crossed rifles with a clenched fist. Colt had the same one, mixed in with all that other ink. They’re an organized gang...or something else. And Colt’s son, Seth, he’s in it, too.”
“But he doesn’t want to be,” said Taylor.
“And they’re bringing in extra people,” said Corrigan. “People who aren’t part of the gang. Like that old guy yesterday, he was an ex-con from Florida.”
“Like Colt’s putting together a crew,” said Lloyd quietly. “For a job.”
We all went silent for a moment as that sank in. “Here?” I said at last. “What is there to steal in Mount Mercy?” Our bank is tiny, a one-room place with a couple of staff.
“Today, one comes in with razor wire wrapped round him and one’s fallen from a height. Like they were trying to get over a wall, someplace really secure.” Corrigan looked at Earl. “You know anywhere around here that looks like that?”
Earl thought about it. “The mining company, maybe? They have pretty high walls. I’ll do a drive by and check.” He frowned. “That tattoo: two crossed rifles? Clenched fist?”
Corrigan nodded.
Earl narrowed his eyes. “I swear, I’ve heard of that somewhere. Let me check it out. C’mon, Lloyd.” And he pulled his peaked cap onto his head and headed off towards his cruiser, Lloyd hurrying behind him. Cold wind blew in as the automatic doors slid open and I wrapped my arms around myself. The doors shut, but the chill remained.
Colt and his men had invaded our sleepy little town. They were planning something awful. And with the town cut off by the snow, no one from outside could come to protect us.
We were on our own.
22
Colt
IT WAS COLD, as I slammed Seth up against the dumpster. Cold enough that the breath that exploded out of his lungs was a white cloud and my spittle damn near froze on my lips.
But I’ve never minded the cold. Cold strengthens a man, just like sieving out the ice crystals to strengthen liquor. It was a hell of a lot colder in that prison yard in Denver, with nothing to do to keep warm but trudge back and forth...and plan.
“What did you tell that blonde bitch?” I snarled. He was struggling, but I held him easily, didn’t matter that he was thirty years younger. He’d gotten soft, without me around. I pressed my thumb hard into his windpipe.
“Nothing!” he wheezed. “Swear!”
I pressed harder, cutting off his air completely. I knew I should kill him, family or not. I’d seen the way he looked at her, even though he knew she was one of them, part of that government machine.
I could feel the life going out of him, second by second. His skin was turning blue, his eyes pleading. But he didn’t try to kick me or grab for me. He was still more scared of me than he was of death and that was something.