Once he can’t use me as collateral anymore, we’ll get out of here just fine.
Holt looks at me oddly for a second, then nods.
A small thing, but it’s there.
Slowly, he lowers his arms, and Alaska follows suit.
Every last one of Declan’s men bristle, shoulders going up hard as they take aim.
“Calm down,” Holt says, casually laying his hands on the saddle horn. I can’t see a gun on him anywhere, but if he’s smart, he’s packing. “My arms are just getting tired.”
Declan makes an irritated noise. “Do you not realize how serious the situation is?”
“Sure do,” Holt says. “No reason we can’t be comfortable, though. We came to talk. Don’t need guns to do that. We can all get what we want and walk away from here nice and peaceful.”
“And if I tell you I don’t need you anymore?” Declan says. “Your girlfriend’s been pretty chatty.”
“Has she?” Holt asks mildly. “I’m sure anyone would talk if they’d been tossed around as much as Libby. I just might have to change my mind about getting violent.”
I feel a vicious grin splitting my lips.
Even with the gun pressed against my temple, I dig my fingers into Declan’s arm. “You don’t get to kill him. I’m gonna do it first. One bullet for every time he smacked me.”
“Fuck, you really don’t shut up,” Declan mutters, jamming the pistol harder against my skin, grinding the metal into me. “The two of you don’t understand when you’re at a disadvantage, do you?”
“We’re not,” Holt answers, shrugging. “It’s simple, Eckhard. You hurt Libby, I don’t tell you shit. You can’t force me to say a thing. I don’t respond well to torture and shit-talkin’ threats. Just makes me more ornery. And if you put a bullet in my brain, well, won’t be talking then, will I?”
Declan looks like he might explode.
Holt tilts his head, his gaze flicking past us toward the graveyard. “Looks like you think you can make dead folks talk. How’s that been working for you?”
“Don’t you people ever get sick of the sound of your own voices?” Declan snarls.
“No.” Holt grins. “Want to hear a few more ways you’re fucked if you don’t stop screwing around and do things my way?”
Declan’s chest rises and falls heavily against my back in a deep, long-suffering sigh.
“Do enlighten me,” he mutters.
I almost grin.
I kinda know how he feels.
Except this is part of what I love about Holt.
And he’s in full snake charmer mode, smooth and casual, his velvety-rich voice hypnotic and rolling.
“The thing is,” he continues, “you haven’t figured out you’re interfering with an active crime scene. Sheriff Langley’s been all over this place. Once he realizes you’ve fucked up his investigation, you’re in jail for obstruction and probably a lot more.”
He lies so smoothly he almost makes me believe it, if I didn’t know it was pure bull.
But the next part isn’t as he glances at one of the men holding a gun on him.
A man with a sleeveless shirt on.
He’s sporting a bared bicep, grimy with dirt and sweat from digging…all wrapped up in a bloodied bandage.
“Hey, friend,” Holt says. “Sorry you took a bullet.”
The man flinches, eyes widening, giving himself away.
Oh, hell. It’s one of the assholes who attacked me. The man I shot.
“I hate to tell you this, but you left a little DNA evidence back at Libby’s place. The cops have it. They’ll trace it back to you, and then nail you right to Declan. Is this scumbag worth jail time? Does he owe you that much money?”
“Shut up!” Declan snarls, though whether at Holt or the white-faced, stricken-looking man, I don’t know. Not until he adds, “Don’t fucking answer him.”
“Why not?” Holt asks blandly. “You’ve put these guys in a bad position, Declan. After swindling them out of their money, too. All this work for nothing. Treating them like your flunkies. Making them dig all over hell when what you’re looking for isn’t even buried in the ground.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Declan’s arm tightens on my neck, and I let out a little wheeze. “I know about the old silver mines around here. I’ve seen their equipment. I know they’d hide it in secret caches until they were ready to sell so no one would pocket it. It’s in all those old books lying around. You told me you fucking know where the silver is.”
He lets out an angry, guttural grunt, grinding that pistol against my temple again.
“I lied,” Holt says bluntly.
I swear to God, my life flashes before my eyes when I feel Declan’s hand shifting and can tell his finger’s tightening on the trigger.
Before he can yell, though, Holt holds a hand up. “Don’t get stupid. We can still talk. Just let me get something out of my saddlebag. I ain’t going for a weapon, so don’t shoot.”