Page 65 of A Dangerous Heart
It had taken Isaac far too long to draw his weapon after seeing Victor towering over Clare. Far too long to pick his way silently through the woods. The gun trembled in his hand now as the memories surged.
Isaac twisted, still crouching in his hiding place, only to see Pickins drag Cody out from behind a jumbled stack of crates in the alleyway beside the saloon.
Pickins held Cody in front of him, one meaty arm around Cody’s shoulders and across his neck.
Isaac only had a glimpse of Cody’s terror-stricken face before Pickins passed out of sight. Isaac eased farther behind the wagon, mind whirling.
What was Cody doing out here?
It hit him like an unexpected punch. Cody had been sneaking around, following Isaac while he’d patrolled the streets and watched and waited for Pickins to arrive in town.
Somehow, Cody had figured that Isaac was aiming to take down the bank robber today. He must’ve followed Isaac from the hotel and been hiding behind those crates.
As the realization dawned on him, Isaac edged back from the wagon and crept quickly around the corner of the grocer’s, out of sight behind the building.
A shot fired and Isaac jumped. There was a muffled scream from nearby and sounds of other feet abandoning the boardwalk nearby.
“That you, McGraw?” Victor called from somewhere distant.
The past echoed in Isaac’s ears.
“That you, McGraw?” Pickins shouted.
Isaac’s breath was locked in his chest as he leaned his back against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next.
Isaac had been careful to disguise his movements all morning—but he hadn’t counted on Cody. If Cody had been following him up and down the streets, Pickins could’ve seen the boy. And then all of Isaac’s careful planning and the strategic hiding place outside the bank didn’t matter.
Pickins hadn’t needed to know where Isaac was.
He’d grabbed Cody.
Isaac peered around the corner to see Pickins in the center of the street, approaching the bank slowly.
Cody was pale, struggling to dislodge Pickins’s hold, toes barely dragging the ground. Pickins put the gun to the boy’s head.
And Isaac holstered his gun and stepped out onto the boardwalk in plain sight. “Let the boy go,” he called out.
Pickins turned so he was facing Isaac, but with Cody between them, only Pickins’s head and feet were in view, the only clear targets.
Too small to risk a shot, even if Isaac had his gun drawn.
Cody caught sight of Isaac, and his wide, terrified eyes locked onto his hero.
Isaac tried to silently convey that he would get the boy out of this mess. Somehow.
“Let the boy go, and I’ll walk inside the bank with you and get your money.” Isaac made his voice as reasonable as he could.
“Why should I believe you?—”
It happened before Isaac could blink.
The town marshal ran out from his office a block down the street, revolver drawn.
Pickins turned, taking Cody with him. And Isaac had a perfect shot. Back or shoulder. Isaac drew and fired, but in that split second, Pickins whirled—and brought Cody right with him.
Isaac shouted something incomprehensible even as he saw Cody’s body jerk with the bullet’s impact. The bullet Isaac had fired.
He was running into the street as Pickins fell from two shots the marshal had taken.
