Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

“And you.” Jake swings his stony gaze to Fletcher. “You were there when our moms died.” The tendons in his forearms strain beneath the skin. “You covered the whole thing up. Always wiping John’s ass and cleaning up his shit.”

“Calm down.” Fletcher moves closer to Mary’s chair and grips her shoulder. “Lower the gun, Jake. I’m not the enemy here.”

No, he’s worse. People trust him. The town loves him. There’s no indication of evil intent, no hint of corruption. He wears his badge and deals death by way of a knife in the back.

There’s a special place in hell for Sheriff Fletcher.

“I want to hear you say it.” Jake inches away from me, putting Fletcher and Mary in his line of sight. “Admit you covered up their deaths.”

The sheriff blinks rapidly and rubs a hand down his pants near the hip holster, his gaze darting between Mary and the exits.

Nervous energy pulses and tugs at the air. Quickening breaths, dilated pupils, erratic eye contact, facial tics—it strangles every expression in the room.

We’re reaching the breaking point.

The tension in the room is strung so tightly it wraps my chest in rubber bands and restricts my breathing.

The only thing holding me together is the ever-present caress of Lorne’s gaze. It touches me continuously, always watchful, always protecting.

He has an innate way of loving me with his eyes. As he stares at me, the guns and chaos fuzz into the backdrop until all I feel is his intense, dominating presence.

He came for me.

He saved me from a fate worse than death.

He risked his life and his freedom. For me.

I don’t know how he knew to go to Fletcher for my location. It’s clear Fletcher isn’t here by choice. He seems only intent on keeping himself and Mary alive.

Jake continues to roar at him, poking the already edgy and unpredictable man, who also happens to be professionally trained in apprehending violent threats.

But I understand Jake’s need for closure. He deserves answers about his mother.

Lorne, on the other hand, hasn’t spoken or moved. I’m not sure he’s breathing behind that pointed gun.

I’ve experienced the full spectrum of his moods, but this is the coldest I’ve ever seen him. He’s chillingly quiet and detached, as if he shut down all parts of himself except the imperative to get me out of here.

Is he waiting for a clear shot to take down John? I don’t know how he can do that without John pulling the trigger.

Paralyzing fear shivers through my body. My feet tremble, and I clench my fists, fighting back the burning wetness in my eyes.

John wants me alive, but he’d kill me to save himself. He would shoot Lorne in a heartbeat. His loyalty to Fletcher is questionable. If he’s capable of love at all, Jake is the only one in this room safe from his gun.

If only I could disarm John without starting a gunfight.

His thumb slithers along my arm, making my flesh crawl. I jerk my shoulder and knock away his hand. The movement loosens the bracelet from my bicep and sends it sliding to my wrist.

“Don’t move.” His thumb returns to my arm.

I curl my fingers around the guitar strings and meet Lorne’s eyes.

His gaze lowers to the bracelet and comes back, his face smooth and unreadable.

If you loosen the coil, the strings will unravel and return to their original shape.

I heard that Hitler used piano strings to hang people. Would guitar strings work the same way?

Across the room, Fletcher gives Jake vague answers about the car accident, his tone biting and nervous.

I hold my hand against my stomach and discreetly unravel the bracelet. It only takes a little bending of the fastening and the strings instantly spill out of their circular shape. As they straighten, I switch them to one hand and lower them out of view at my side.

Lorne watches it all. His gun doesn’t waver, his eyes giving nothing away.

“Put down your weapons.” John digs the gun against my ribs, his arm clenching around my back. “We can discuss this without killing one another.”

There are too many guns with too many flaring emotions. My heart thumps wildly. I’m trying to remain calm, but every second lasts an eternity as I stand perfectly still, terrified I’ll set off the first bullet.

“You killed two innocent women!” Jake’s temper spirals out of control, seemingly fueled by years of harbored resentment.

“Jake.” John’s voice booms through the room. “Put down the goddamn gun and let’s talk.”

“I’ve already decided your fate, John,” Jake snarls. “I’m just trying to determine whether the sheriff will go with you.”

I hold my breath, heart hammering.

Mary snaps out of the chair, her broken arm forgotten as she whirls on Jake.

“This hasn’t been easy for my husband.” Her chest rises and falls with vehemence.

I tighten my fingers around the guitar strings, my heart in my throat as I wait for the right moment.