When Lightning Strikes

"Only one way to become a hero in a bank robbery."

Ernest wet his colorless lips. Sweat broke out along his wrinkled forehead. "H-How's that?"

Killian raised his Winchester a hair, enough so that the gaping hole at the end of the barrel was fixed on Ernest's scrawny chest. "You gotta kill me or die tryin'."

Ernest swallowed hard. "Oh."

"Were you thinkin' on takin' it that far?"

The teller opened his mouth, revealing a set of yellowed teeth. He looked for a moment like he was going

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to speak, but he didn't. Nothing came out except a high-pitched squeak.

Killian nodded, almost smiled. Old Ernie wasn't going to risk his life for someone else's gold. "Good decision. Now, put all the money in those bags."

Ernest nodded and reached for the big burlap bags Purty had tossed through the bars. With shaking, sweaty hands, he shoved bills and coins into the nearest sack.

Killian lowered the rifle's barrel, but didn't draw his finger off the trigger. His narrowed eyes scanned the bank, taking in every detail, every nuance of sound or movement. Sunlight pulsed through the dusty windows overhead, illuminating the three bodies sprawled, hands behind their heads, on the cold stone floor. Purty stood in the corner, his gun pointed negligently at the people strewn like dolls at his feet. Mose was at the end of the long oak teller's counter, his twin pistols poised and ready.

It was going all right; better than Killian had thought it would. Better than usual, in fact. The break-in had gone without a hitch, and except for Ernie's momentary bout of conscience, everyone had done as they'd been as

ked. Outside, the town was as quiet as a tomb.

So why did Killian have that nagging, irritating sense that something was wrong?

It could be because of Skeeter. The man didn't have the sense God gave a goat, and he was as likely to shoot Killian as to protect him. But lookout was a damn easy job, after all. Especially in a backwater town with a fat, lazy drunkard of a sheriff. It didn't take any special brains. Just a pair of eyes, and Skeeter had that at least.

Yeah, Killian told himself for the hundredth time since he'd shoved through the bank's oak doors, guns drawn. This job was goin' along fine. Hell, they'd be outta here in less than five minutes.

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So why did he feel so unsettled? As if it were a goddamn poor day for a bank robbery. As if he were gonna have to kill someone before this thing was over ...

Lainie strolled across the street. When she stepped up onto the boardwalk, it was as if a switch had been flipped. The town burst into bustling, chatting, laughing life. Horse-drawn buggies churned down the road amid a roiling wake of dust and the catchy clip-clop cadence of moving hooves. The boardwalk creaked beneath the weight of a dozen booted feet hurrying from store to store.

The hustle and bustle of the place surprised her. Whenever she imagined an old western town, it was quiet?the crack of old leather as a cowhand climbed down from the saddle, the tinny strains of a poorly played piano through half-open saloon doors. But this was . . . more. The town had a pulsing heartbeat of sound and movement, a life she'd somehow never expected. All this time she'd thought of the West in vaguely ghost-town-like terms, but it was nothing like that. It was like New Orleans, lively and loud.

She made a mental note, praying she remembered it when she woke up, and reached for the bank's doorknob.

"Stop!" yelled a scratchy male voice.

Lainie paused and turned around. The man holding the horses was staring at her. His face was as pale as the underside of a snake, his rheumy eyes as big as quarters.

"Y-You oughtn't to go in there, miss," he stammered, swallowing hard.

Lainie couldn't help smiling. Skeeter was exactly as she'd created him?a tall, bowlegged cowhand wearing baggy, too short pants and a dirty shirt. Watery, pleasant

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eyes stared out at her from a dusty, leather-lined face. If she remembered her words correctly, he had the heart of a lion and the brain of a gnat. "You'd best be watching for the sheriff, Skeeter, and don't worry about me."

Skeeter's eyes bulged. He glanced quickly down the road, as if he expected the sheriff to materialize any second. "How'd?"

Lainie slipped inside the bank and shut the door quietly behind her.

"Who the hell are you?" The words boomed across the lobby in a voice so loud, Lainie flinched.