stupid, boy?'
Slowly, Jeffrey put both of his hands in the air. He wanted to look over his shoulder. Where was Sara? Was she safe? His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he could barely hear his own voice when he told the man, 'I'm a cop.'
The weapon held steady, but the fear in the man's eyes was unmistakable. 'I know what you are.'
'My wife is in the car. I don't want her to get hurt.'
He glanced over Jeffrey's shoulder. 'I don't give a fuck who's in that car. She gets out, that's the last thing you'll ever hear.'
Jeffrey looked down the barrel of the shotgun at Al Pfeiffer, saw the way he struggled to keep the tremor out of his hands. He also saw the damage from the firebomb. Mottled skin slackened one side of his face, his left eye nearly closed from scarring. He was wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, white and finely starched, the grotesque scarring on his arms showing where the flesh had been burned off the bone. There were tears in his eyes, but Jeffrey did not know if this was from pain or fear. This close up, it looked like a combination of both.
Jeffrey took a step back, away from the pressure of the barrel against his face. 'I'm the chief of police for Grant County.'
Pfeiffer held the shotgun steady at Jeffrey's chest. 'I don't care if you're the fucking President of the United States. Get off my land.'
'Why are you scared of another cop?'
'You wouldn't be here if you didn't already know the answer to that.'
'I just want to talk.'
'Do I look like I wanna talk to you?'
'I need to know-'
'You see this gun pointing at you, boy?' The man took a step closer, the barrel of the shotgun pressing hard into Jeffrey's chest. Pfeiffer was about half a foot shorter and twenty years older, but his voice was firm when he said, 'You listenin' to me, boy?' He paused, but not for an answer. 'I done told you I ain't got nothing to say to nobody. You hear? Nothing.'
'I just-'
'You go back and tell them that, hear? You tell them Al Pfeiffer told you to fuck on off back to the hell you came from.'
'If you could just-'
'You get off my property!' the old man screamed. 'You get into that fancy car of yours and if you ever come back, I'll chop you up and throw you to the gators. You got that?'
Jeffrey knew better than to argue, especially since he was entirely confident that Al Pfeiffer was more than prepared to carry out his threat. 'I got you.'
'Now, get,' Pfeiffer said, using the barrel to push Jeffrey away.
Jeffrey walked backward, not wanting to turn his back on the man until he absolutely had to. Fury was something he could handle, but fear made people irrational. Jeffrey didn't want to be in range of that shotgun if Al Pfeiffer decided letting Jeffrey go scot-free wasn't the right course of action.
Which, the moment Jeffrey turned around, is exactly what the man did.
The first shot must have been fired into the air, but it was loud enough to make Jeffrey hunch his shoulders. He heard Sara scream, then the second shot cracked the air. This one was a more direct warning, scattering the gravel about six inches from where Jeffrey stood. He scrambled to get out of the way, slipping on the loose stone, falling hard on his palms.
'Shit,' he cursed, making himself stand. It wasn't going to be like this, not with him biting dirt while some madman played target practice. Jeffrey held up his hands in the air, yelling, 'You're gonna have to shoot me in the back, if that's the kind of man you are.'
The shotgun pumped again, loading another shell.
'No!' Sara screamed, pounding her fists against the window. 'Jeffrey!'
He walked toward the car, hands in the air, this time leaving his back as a clear target. He stared at Sara. Her fists froze mid-strike, inches from the window. There was a valet key in the center console. She had to know that. He had told her when he put it there and she'd made some joke about having to drive to Atlanta before they'd find a valet to use it.
Sara's mouth moved. He read the words. 'Hurry, hurry, hurry…'
An eternity seemed to pass as Jeffrey closed the twenty feet between himself and the car. His back felt white-hot, more from the bull's-eye painted on it than from the blazing sun.
While time had slowed down as he walked to the car, the clock started ticking as soon as he got behind the wheel. He fumbled with the keyfob, and Sara snatched it out of his hand, starting the car herself.
'Go,' she begged. 'Hurry.'
He threw the car into reverse and punched his foot on the gas. A quick look showed him that Al Pfeiffer was still holding his stance, legs spread, back straight, shotgun pointed into the air. The bastard had a smug smile on his face as he watched the retreat. Jeffrey let off the gas a little as he reversed out of the driveway, letting the man know he shouldn't get too cocky just yet.
Jeffrey headed straight out the way they had come. The car bumped against the curve as he pulled back onto the main road. He chanced a look at Sara. She was clutching the door handle so hard that her knuckles had turned white.
As soon as they passed the post office, she told him, 'Pull over.'
Jeffrey slowed the car, afraid she was going to be sick.
'Pull over,' she repeated, opening the door.
He slammed on the brakes. Sara didn't even wait for the car to stop before jumping out.
Jeffrey slid across the seats, following her. 'Are you-'
She turned on him, slapping him square across the face. For a full ten seconds, Jeffrey was too stunned to react. She had never hit him, never so much as raised her hand.
He rubbed his face, felt the inside of his cheek with his tongue. 'You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?'
Sara paced in front of him, cupping her hands over her mouth. He knew that she couldn't yell when she was this angry. Her words got caught in her throat and her tone went so low that she could barely make a sound.
'Sara-'
'You asshole,' she whispered. 'You stupid, arrogant
Jeffrey smiled because he knew that it would irritate the shit out of her. He had no idea what she was mad about, but he knew that if she slapped him again, there was going to be a real problem.
He glanced at the road as a green pickup truck drove by, slowing for the show. They hadn't seen another car since they'd entered Dug Rut. This was probably the biggest thing to hit town since the stop sign had been installed at the end of Main Street.
Sara waited for the truck to pass before asking, 'Why did you slow down?'
'When did I-' He stopped. The driveway. He had slowed when he'd seen that smug look on Al Pfeiffer's face.
'You couldn't let him get the best of you, could you? You just had to slow down and goad him on.' She shook her head, tears welling into her eyes. 'You're just as bad as Lena. You
