She tried to swallow but couldn’t.
“You know, Mrs. Burton, or Ms. Martin, or whatever you go by these days. You know what this means, don’t you?” His voice had changed as radically as his demeanor. There was nothing ingratiating about him now.
“You’re . . .”
“Blue. Yes. Although I’m not very fond of that silly nickname.”
The crack of a rifle shot surprised them. Both looked toward the door, although it was obvious that the sound had come from a distance.
Several seconds later, William said, “Only one shot. Dutch claims to be an excellent marksman. Seems he is.”
She sucked in a wheezing breath. “Tierney?”
“Tierney. Dead now. What a stroke of good luck.”
He took the transmitter from his pocket and turned it on. It squawked loudly. He lowered the volume.
“What are you doing?” Lilly asked. “Who are you calling?”
“Watch. I think you’ll like this. Well, you won’t actually like it. But you’ll have to agree that it’s brilliant.”
Bringing the transmitter to his mouth, he depressed the button on the side of it. “Dutch? Dutch?” he shouted frantically. “Can you hear me?”
He released the button and stared at her while he waited for a response. For several moments there was nothing but the hiss of amplified air, then Dutch’s voice filled the room. “Who’s this?”
He depressed the button. “It’s William. I heard a shot. Did you get Tierney?”
He broke off when Lilly opened her mouth to scream. He must have been anticipating that she would try something like that, because he acted swiftly, covering her mouth with his hand.
“Ritt? Where are you?”
Lilly struggled to turn her head and free her mouth. When that didn’t work, she tried biting his palm. He only pressed his hand more firmly against her mouth, holding her head against the wall beneath the bar, his fingers digging painfully into the soft ti
ssue of her cheeks.
He picked up the transmitter, depressed the button, and faked a sound that was half retch, half sob. “Dutch, I’m here, in the cabin. Did you get Tierney?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s down. Is Lilly all right?”
For effect, he made his voice crack. “No, your wife is dead. Dead! Tierney killed her!”
• • •
Tierney was lying flat on his back. When he opened his eyes, the glare of sunlight reflecting off the snow caused a piercing pain to shoot out the backs of his eyeballs straight into a nerve center inside his brain.
Dutch, I’m here, in the cabin. Did you get Tierney? No, your wife is dead. Dead! Tierney killed her!
The voice sounded tinny, unnatural. Where was it coming from?
“The son of a bitch murdered Lilly!” Dutch Burton’s roar was loud enough to shake minor avalanches of snow from tree branches.
“He’s moving, Dutch!” Wes shouted. “You only winged him.”
Suddenly Tierney remembered why he was lying flat on his back, why his shoulder hurt like hell. All the elements came together in a flash of clarity, the worst of them being that someone was claiming Lilly was dead and he had killed her.
Who would say something that categorically wrong?
Only someone trying to protect himself.