Page 80 of The Killing Plains

The dogs were almost on her. Colly instinctively flipped onto her belly to protect her throat and vital organs. As she scrambled for the pistol, a pair of massive jaws closed on her ankle. Even through her boot, the crushing pressure sent a shock of pain up her calf. The second dog went for the back of her neck but was hindered by her thick ponytail. It clamped down on a mouthful of hair, nearly ripping it from her scalp.

As Colly struggled to pull away, a voice shouted, “Tank, Trigger—heel.”

Immediately, the dogs released her. Colly rolled onto her back. Jace Hoyer stood blinking in front of the now-open tent flap, a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. His mud-colored hair was disheveled, and he wore nothing but faded cutoffs and a pair of unlaced boots.

The dogs had run to stand beside him, but they stared at her, whining eagerly and ready to lunge on command.

Hoyer stepped forward. “How’d you find me? Jolene don’t even know about this place.”

Colly raised herself cautiously on her elbows. “Why’d you run off, Jace? It looks bad.”

He pointed the shotgun at her chest. “I’mdoing the asking. Don’t reckon you came out here alone. Where’s your sidekick?”

Great question, Colly thought, fighting the urge to glance towards the woods. There was no way to reach her pistol; even if she could, she’d never be able to get Hoyer and both dogs before they got her first. She could only stall for time and hope Avery turned up.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jace. It’s not worth it.”

“I got nothin’ to lose—I’d rather get sent up for killing a cop than a kid.” Hoyer racked the shotgun.

Colly felt a bead of sweat roll between her shoulder blades. “So it’s true you killed Denny?”

“Truth’s got nothin’ to do with it. I’m being set up. There’s no fighting the Newlands—y’all get what you want.”

“No one’s setting you up, Jace.”

“Then why’d that purple-haired bitch take pictures of my truck yesterday?”

“Maybe the bitch wants to find out why you’re lying to us,” shouted a disembodied voice.

Hoyer wheeled around as the pit bulls lunged, snarling, towards the thicket across the road. Seizing the unexpected opportunity, Colly groped beneath the squad car for her pistol. As her hand closed on it, she heard two sharp gunshots and a chorus of terrified yelps.

She scrambled to her feet. The dogs were racing back towards their owner with their tails tucked. Two puffs of dust rose from the center of the dirt track, where the bullets had struck.

“Next shots won’t miss,” said the voice from the trees.

“Kill my dogs and I’ll gut you,” Hoyer screamed, waving his shotgun wildly at the dense wall of juniper.

Colly aimed at his back. “Drop it or I’ll shoot, Jace.”

Hoyer froze. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed.

Colly’s hands were sweaty on the gun grip. “Don’t do it, don’t do it,” she murmured. To her relief, after several seconds, Hoyer put down the shotgun.

Avery stepped out of the thicket. Her uniform was filthy, her hair mussed. A deep, bleeding scratch cut across the white scar on her cheek.

She trained her pistol on Hoyer. “Kick the gun away.”

He obeyed, and Avery moved closer. “Now, put those dogs inside your truck—slow, or I shoot them.”

Glowering, Hoyer seized the pit bulls by their collars and towed them towards the door of the pickup.

“Sorry I’m late to the party,” Avery said a few moments later as she snapped the handcuffs on Hoyer. “Terrain’s rougher than I thought.”

“Worked out okay.” Colly holstered her gun. “Sit him down.”

Avery jerked Hoyer to his feet and pushed him onto the tailgate of his pickup. Above their heads, they heard the low rumble of approaching thunder.

“What do you want from me? I ain’t done nothin’,” Hoyer grumbled.

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