Page 140 of Double Bucked

“Every Sunday at 2:00 p.m. They play it on the Turner Classics.”

“Alright.”

“He never kills people. The good guys don’t kill. They always just knock them out.”

His lips thin. “Do you know jiujitsu?”

“No, but?—”

“Krav Maga?”

“Well, no?—”

“Kung fu?”

“C’mon…”

“Take the gun. If it’s Claire’s life or theirs, you’ll wish you had it.”

He tries to force it at me again, but I lift my palms. “There’s always another choice.”

“Maybe in the movies.”

I clasp my hand on my shoulder and guide him around so we’re both facing the mirror. “I want you to look at yourself,” I tell him, “and then look at me.” The contrast is stark. Everett in his dark clothes and tall hunch. Me in soft leather with a bright spot of color where my yellow handkerchief collars my throat. I touch his shoulder. “Outlaw,” I say, naming him. Then I pat my own chest. “Hero.”

Everett scowls at our reflections, which really just proves my point.

Only outlaws scowl.

“You carry the gun.” I give him a pat on the back. “And I’ll just?—”

“Stand there and look pretty?”

“Find another way.”

He slips his gun back into his holster. I can feel him stewing. I push out the door and step outside. We’re met with a crowd, and I’ve got to blink against the burst of sun to readjust.

Three cars outside. All police. Sheriff Holden stands out front, a grim look on his face.

Relief spreads through my veins. I lift my hands. “That’s what I’m talking about!” I say. “We’ve got backup!” I smack Everett on the chest. “See? Told you it would work out.”

But he’s stiff. “Riley,” he says, “I don’t think?—”

“Sheriff Holden!” I clip down the steps, arms outstretched. “You’ve got no idea how good it is to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Sheriff Holden grunts. Then he takes his gun out of his side holster and points it at me. “Hands up. You’re under arrest for the murder of Randall Preacher.”

“Holden, what?—?”

I don’t get it out before Officer West comes up behind me. He slams me up against the hood of the car. The hood is hot against my cheek, and I feel my arms yanked behind me before a pair of cuffs gets snapped on my wrists.

“Son of a…bitch…”

I watch as Everett puts his hands behind his back and they snap cuffs on him, too.

His eyes meet mine. Those blues are looking at me like this is all my fault.

Now, how the heck is this my?—?

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