Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

At least safe for hand-to-hand combat.

But Bishop drew his weapon.

Ian wanted to roll his eyes, because now he was going to have to get serious.

“Hank, don’t!” Savannah yelled, her voice edged with shrill panic. “Jesus, stop this.”

“Shut up,” he yelled back, then told Ian, “Jail or hell? You decide.”

“Great line. But I’m not interested in either.”

In his peripheral vision, the passenger’s door swung open. Savannah boldly strode right toward Bishop.

“Get back in the truck.”

Ian and Hank yelled it in stereo. Ian was sure he’d look back on this moment and laugh. But probably not for a long time.

He grabbed her arm and stepped in front of her, still facing Hank.

“Put your gun away.” Savannah’s icy order matched the weather.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do,” he bit out.

“Do it.” Her voice shook a little. “Or I’ll break out the pictures from Halloween three years ago.”

Both Hank and Ian looked at her.

“What fuckin’ pictures?” Hank said just as the same thought crossed Ian’s mind. “You’re full of—”

“And I’ll circulate them all over town. All over the media. No one will ever look at you the same again.” She was trembling, her arm shivering in Ian’s grip. “Your deputies, the mayor, the city council, the entire community—”

“You crazy bitch,” Hank yelled. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Ian wanted to pick up Savannah and carry her back to the truck, but he let the confrontation draw out a little longer, curious about these pictures.

“I’m talking about an emergency room visit Halloween night,” she yelled, her eyes bright with anger. “I’m talking about twenty-six stitches and bruises in five different shades of purple. I’m talking about medical records documenting your drunken rampage. I’m talking about the reason I walked out on you.”

Bishop’s expression shifted from fury to concern. “You don’t have any fucking pictures.”

“Want to test that theory?” she spat at him. “Go ahead. Take Ian to jail.”

“Whoa now, hold on,” Ian tried to add a little levity to the moment. “I’d really rather just go home—”

“I hoped I’d never have to expose you as the bastard you are and myself as the pathetic idiot who gave up everything for you,” Savannah spoke over Ian and stepped out from behind him. “Hoped you’d somehow snap out of this violent, narcissistic streak. But you’ve pushed me too far, Hank. You’re not going to hurt Ian just because you can, and you’ll never take Jamison from me.” Her hands fisted as she leaned closer to Bishop, clearly unintimidated by the Glock still pointed their direction. “Try and watch how fast the news and the photos spread. Watch all the hero worship you enjoy around this town dry up. And before you think of just getting rid of me, know Audrey has everything. She’s been begging to use it against you for years.”

Holy shit. This woman wasn’t just smart, she had balls.

The next few moments seemed to stretch into an eternity. An eternity with the fuse to a bomb burning shorter and shorter. Ian shifted to put his body between the two again, but kept his mouth shut. Savannah had this handled on an emotional and intellectual level. But he kept his muscles coiled tight, ready to take over on a physical level if Bishop didn’t holster his weapon in the next five seconds.

Four. Three. Two.

Bishop lowered his arms.

Ian turned to Savannah and met her gaze deliberately. “In the truck. Please.”

She hesitated. Cut another look at Bishop.

“You heard him.” Bishop holstered his weapon and stabbed his finger toward the truck. “Get back where you belong.”