Page 37 of Deadly Deception
Pops huffed and answered, “That would be a very poor barrier design. Thesetheoreticalbullets should fall to the ground.”
“That’s excellent news, Warlock Holland.” Franklin released a deep breath and his shoulders finally relaxed. “That is excellent news indeed.”
By now, the entire exit was blocked and there was a backup of cars behind us. Another police vehicle entered the fray and Sheriff Henson stepped out. He stood slightly behind his car door as another officer filled him in on the situation, or at least what was known of the current situation. Witnesses from surrounding vehicles were out of their cars, arms gesticulating this way and that as they gave their statements. Thankfully, it didn’t look like anyone had been injured.
Sheriff Henson’s eyes widened before narrowing in thought. His lips pinched and his cheeks flushed. Franklin and I silently watched as the sheriff pulled out his phone. Within a matterof seconds, Franklin’s phone rang. We didn’t need caller ID to figure out who was on the other end.
“Sorry, Pops, but I need to go. We’ll talk later.” I ended the call before Pops could answer. I’d pay for that later, but right now, I had more pressing matters. Pops was in California. Sheriff Henson was just outside our door, and a soon-to-fail boundary was all that stood between us. Proximity was everything in this situation, and Sheriff Henson had dibs.
Chapter
Twelve
Franklin
I couldn’t believe it. Twenty-three bullets and the rental SUV didn’t have so much as a scratch on it. So far, my security deposit was safe. But if the latest incident was any indication regarding how the rest of our stay in the Midwest was going to go, I didn’t hold out a lot of hope of getting that money back.
“Why would someone do this?” Tompkins asked. His question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular. In fact, I thought he was simply speaking his thoughts out loud. A lot of us did that when trying to figure out a case. Looked like Boone and I’d landed in that dubious category. The burning question wasn’t just why, but where did we fit in?
“Who knew we were on our way to the station?” I asked. Sheriff Henson, Tompkins, Boone, and I were crammed into his office. Technically, Boone and I were about an hour late. Just like Warlock Holland said, the barrier dissipated approximately twenty minutes after it was activated. The bullets sticking within it tumbled to the ground. The exit was open again and the innocent people who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time had all been sent on their way. They’d have interesting stories to tell when they got to work.
Boone gave a better description than me of the vehicle who’d pulled up beside us. It was a white, extended cab truck. Newer model or at least in decent shape, according to Boone. All I could remember was the thundering base thudding through our SUV. Unfortunately, Boone couldn’t recall any specifics about the shooter. He thought the assailant was male but couldn’t be certain. Understandably, Boone’s overriding memory was the barrel of the gun aimed our direction. If not for Boone’s quick thinking and actions, we’d both be dead. It was a humbling and terrifying thought.
Boone’s fingers tightened around mine. He hadn’t released his hold on my hand since we sat down, and I had no compulsion to loosen my grip either. My heart was still racing. Right now I was intrack these fuckers down and destroy their assesmode. Later tonight, when the adrenaline wore off, I’d be on that precarious cliff of falling apart. My own mortality was frightening but thinking about losing Boone… That was what was unacceptable. That was the true fear threatening my ability to reason.
“It wasn’t a secret,” Henson answered my question after a few seconds of careful thought. “Honestly, I’m not sure who did or didn’t know. At this point, I don’t believe we could get an accurate accounting.”
The sheriff looked like he’d hardly slept the night before. He was still impeccably groomed and his cologne was just as potent as ever, but there were signs he couldn’t hide without the aid of make-up or a charm. It looked like the sheriff hadn’t chosen either option.
“Shit, I never even considered keeping it on a need-to-know basis,” Sheriff Henson chastised himself.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Alfonse. I doubt I would have done any different.” Tompkins attempted to console him. I wasn’t so certain I agreed, but let it be. It looked like Henson was beatinghimself up enough. Ganging up on him wouldn’t improve the situation. Henson struck me as the type of man who learned from his mistakes and didn’t repeat them often.
I considered the situation and said, “We can’t say for certain it was someone in the precinct. Boone and I could have been followed from the hotel. We were on the interstate for most of the trip. Waiting until we exited to make their move would have been logical.”
Boone sounded quieter than usual when he said, “That’s true, but I think it’s safe to assume that whoever attacked us did so because of the DeWayne Foster case.”
“Or all the other bodies you found,” Tompkins suggested. “It could be regarding something we’ve yet to find out—something someone is afraid we’ll discover.”
The room grew quiet. My eyes connected with Henson’s, and we shared an understanding look. When he nodded, I knew we were on the same page. “That does make the most sense. It still doesn’t rule out DeWayne Foster, but going after Erasmus and Franklin after the fact doesn’t make much sense. Whoever did this, they’re trying to protect their ass and that means protecting a secret. Given that they went after our visiting necromancer, it makes me think this has something to do with raising the dead.” Henson gave me a wry grin and added, “No offense, Detective O’Hare, but I think in this instance, you were collateral damage and not the intended victim.”
I shook my head. “No offense taken, although I’d rather them come after me instead of Boone.”
“That’s bullshit,” Boone scolded me. When I glanced his direction, Boone’s eyes were narrowed and simmering with anger. “My life is not more important than yours. You need to stop thinking that way. You don’t want to lose me? That’s fan-fucking-tastic. But don’t you think for a minute that I don’t feel the same way and suggesting that you be the one…” Booneinhaled deeply and said, “That doesn’t offer me an ounce of calm. Do you understand me, Franklin O’Hare?”
It wasn’t his pops Boone was channeling, but his momma. Lydia Boone was a force to be reckoned with.
I squeezed Boone’s hand and said, “I’ll remember. I’m sorry.”
“Damn straight you’re sorry,” Boone huffed but the anger was gone, replaced by weary sadness. “In the spirit of honesty, I am getting sick of being shot at. It’s not nearly as exciting as the movies make it seem.”
Henson leaned forward, arm on his desk and asked, “You’ve been shot at before?”
Boone waved him off. “It’s a long story, but yes.”
Henson’s eyebrows rose as he leaned back into his chair. “Speaking from personal experience, getting shot at is never a fun time.”
“No, it certainly is not,” Boone agreed. He sounded agitated and his leg bounced as he tried to remain seated. Boone looked like he had something on his mind, but I had no idea what. Finally, he said, “I think I need to stretch my legs, and I’d like to check in on Navarre if that’s okay.”
