Climbing to the ground, he closed the door behind him and turned on the flashlight. The night air was chilly through his denim jacket, the full moon veiled by drifting clouds. The distant wail of a coyote echoed across the sage flats as Will walked around to the passenger side of the truck.
The pickup had come to rest at a cockeyed angle, probably blown a tire, which he’d need to change. In the beam of the flashlight, he could see what he’d hit. It was the engine block for some kind of vehicle, most likely fallen off the back of a flatbed because the fool driver hadn’t bothered to tie it down. Heavy and solid, its edges were sharp enough to puncture a tire, which was just what had happened. If he hadn’t been distracted by the announcement on the radio, he might have seen it in time to stop.
Erin rolled down the window. “What is it?” she asked. “Is it an animal?”
“No, just a big, nasty chunk of metal. But I’ll have to change the tire.”
“Can I help? I can hold the light for you.”
“No, just stay put. I’ll be fine.”
He’d stuck the .38 in his belt and was walking around to get the spare and the jack when he saw it—a single headlight approaching fast down the long, straight road from the direction of town, maybe half a mile away. It looked like a motorcycle, sounded like one, too.
Will turned off the flashlight and laid it on the ground. One hand drew the weapon out of his belt. “Close the window, lock the doors, and get down,” he ordered Erin. He caught the flash of her frightened eyes as she obeyed. He’d probably scared her for nothing, but he couldn’t take any chances.
The motorcycle was slowing down. Maybe the rider was just some Good Samaritan wanting to help. But Will couldn’t lay odds on that. He might be safer inside the truck, but that could expose Erin to more danger. Right now, his daughter’s safety was the only thing that mattered.
A few yards ahead of the truck, the motorcycle pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. The rider swung off his machine. He wore a black leather jacket with a dark helmet, the visor pulled down to obscure his face. His right hand held a small pistol with the look of a cheap Saturday-night special. He had to be the robber. Will waited in the shadows, gripping the .38, as the man approached and spoke.
“What the hell happened here? We were supposed to meet down by the crossroad.” His whiny-pitched voice sounded vaguely Eastern, and strangely familiar. “Never mind, I got the package on the bike. Show me the money, and we’re good.”
Will stepped into the moonlight, his pistol leveled at the man’s chest. “Hands where I can see them, mister. Now, nice and slow, drop your weapon. Then kick it over here toward me.”
“Shit, you’re not—” The motorcyclist froze in surprise. He dropped the gun on the ground. As he kicked it toward Will, his hand flashed. Suddenly there was a knife in it. As his arm flexed for the throw, Will pulled the trigger. The .38 roared, striking the man squarely in the chest. He toppled backward, dead by the time he hit the ground.
Will stared down at the bleeding body, cursing out loud. He’d never meant to kill the stupid jackass, but he’d had little choice, especially with Erin to protect.
“Daddy?” Erin had rolled down the window partway. Her voice sounded thin and scared. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, honey. Close the window and stay in the truck. Don’t try to look. I’ll come around.” Leaving the body where it lay, he circled behind the truck to the driver’s side. Once inside, he reached across the console and gathered his daughter in his arms. She clung to him, trembling.
Will felt shaken, too, when he thought about what he’d just done. His younger brother, Beau, who’d been an army sniper in Iraq, had never revealed how many kills he’d made. But for Will, this was a first. He’d never taken a human life before. Now, even though he’d killed a criminal in self-defense, the thought sickened him.
Erin pulled away as he released her. She’d be all right, Will told himself. She was strong, like Tori. “You need to call the sheriff, Daddy,” she said.
“I know. But first I’m going to call your mother.”
Will reached for the cell phone in his pocket. As an afterthought, he climbed out of the truck again and closed the door. His conversation with Tori could easily get emotional. It might be better not to have Erin listening.
His legs felt unsteady. Leaning against the side of the cab, he scrolled to Tori’s number and pressed the call button. The phone rang, once, then again. Maybe she’d turned it off, the better to enjoy her new boyfriend. But no, it wouldn’t be like Tori to do that, not even on a date. She had clients who needed her. More important, she had a daughter.
Will was waiting for his ex-wife’s voice message to come on when she picked up. “Will?” He could sense her tension. “What is it? Is Erin all right?”
“Erin’s fine,” Will said. “But I need you to come and get her. There was an . . . incident on the way to the ranch. The truck’s stuck on the road with a blown tire, and I can’t leave.”
“An incident, you say? What happened, Will? What are you not telling me?”
“I’ll explain later. Erin said you had a date. Hell, bring him along if you want. I don’t care. Whatever you’re doing, just drop it and get here. Now.”
“I’m on my way. Tell Erin I’m coming.” She ended the call without saying good-bye.
Will waited a couple of minutes, then called 911. The night dispatcher who answered his call was a woman whose voice he recognized.
“Carly, this is Will Tyler,” he said. “Tell the sheriff he can stop looking for that convenience store robber on the motorcycle. I just shot him.”
“Is he dead?”
“As a doornail. I need somebody to come, pronto.”