He hung onto Taylor as release rippledthrough him, so sharp, so bright, so intense it blinded him for afew seconds. Reaction nearly made his knees give way. He and Taylorclung to each other, which was all that saved him from sitting downin the mud. The rain peppered down harder and harder. Will openedhis eyes and Taylor was smiling at him, looking more warmed andrelaxed than he had in days, maybe weeks — despite the fact thathis hair was plastered to his head, his skin shining.
Will opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure whathe was going to say, but two rifle shots, clear as the crack ofdoom, echoed through the valley, ringing off the mountains androlling away into silence.
Hunters.
It could easily be hunters.
But it wasn’t. He could feel it in hisbones, in that sick coldness pooling in his gut. That was instinct.The same instinct that had Taylor moving away from him, alert,tense, trying to place the direction of the shots in relation tothe house.
“Is the house over those hills?” askedTaylor, watching Will.
Will nodded, already getting behind thewheel. His legs were shaking, whether from recent sex or fear, hewasn’t sure. Taylor ran around the front of the SUV and jumped inbeside him. “My SIG is in my knapsack.”
“My backup piece is in the glovecompartment.”
Handguns against a rifle. Those were notgood odds.
The SUV bumped and bounced over the roughterrain as Will headed for the dirt road that led out of thevalley. Taylor was on his cell phone to the Columbia CountySheriff’s Department.
“It could be a hunter,” Will said for thesake of argument, but Taylor did not relay this info.
He disconnected and said, “Your dad mightnot even be at the house. He was going to drive into Mist Bend forgroceries for the Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, remember?”
Will nodded grimly. The thought of Grantthere on his own was not a lot more comforting.
“You want me to try and contact theMarshal’s Service?” Taylor asked.
“By the time you get through, we’ll bethere,” Will said. He realized that until that moment it hadn’tcrossed his mind that this could be anything but Jem Dooley seekingvengeance. But of course Taylor was right. It was even odds thatthis attack — if attack it was — had to do with Cousin Dennis.
And the idea of Grant trying to deal withmob hit men was even more terrifying than the idea of Grantsquaring off against Jem Dooley.
Will stomped on the accelerator and the LandCruiser slammed onto the road. Taylor had dragged his knapsack intothe front and was checking his weapon. He opened the glovecompartment and pulled out Will’s backup weapon. His calm focussteadied Will. This was what they did. This was who they were. Andthe fact that this time it was personal — family — was beside thepoint.
It didn’t feel beside the point. It feltlike the longest drive of his life. The car smelled of sex and rainand fish. Will was sure he would never forget the scent of theseseemingly endless miles.
Suddenly the elastic band of road snappedand they were racing up over the final rise.
He didn’t see the red Corolla until it wasalmost too late. It came flying over the top of the hill and nearlycrashed into them. Will jerked the wheel left, the Corolla careenedright, skidded off the dirt road and went out of control down thehillside. It shredded the brush and crashed into an oak tree.
“What the hell was that?” Taylor said.
Good question. Will shook his head andpulled off the road into the grass. Taylor passed him his SIG. Theygot out into the rain. There was no movement inside the Corolla.Steam rose from the crumpled hood.
Will turned. He could see his father’s housein the valley below. There were no lights, but smoke drifted fromthe fireplace chimney, pale against the stormy skies. He heard thecrack of a rifle coming from the direction of the house, but atfirst couldn’t place where the shooter was. Then he located Granthunkered down on the back deck with a carbine.
At the same time he heard the sound ofanother vehicle racing up the road toward them. Will identified theangry lug of a truck engine in need of a tune-up before he spottedthe white pickup hurtling their way.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Taylordropping down in a speed kneeling position. He stepped out into theroad and brought his weapon up.
The pickup crested the hill. Will got a goodlook at the three men wedged inside the truck cab at about the sameinstant they got a good look at him. The truck swerved wildly,tried to complete a 360 and drove off the side of the hill. Thepickup rolled once and slid on its cab to a stop at the bottom ofthe road.
Taylor rose, lowering his pistol. “What isthis, some kind of demolition derby?”
“Let’s find out,” Will said. “I’ll take thepickup. You take the Corolla?”
Taylor frowned, staring down at the upsidedown truck. The engine was still running, tires spinning. Shoutsand curses floated from the cab. “You sure you don’t need ahand?”
Will gestured to Grant running from thehouse, carbine in hand. “Under control.”
Taylor nodded and turned, jogging down thehillside to the smashed Corolla.
Will started down the road to the pickup.The Dooleys, bloodied but largely unhurt, were crawling from thewreckage of their truck when Will reached them. He reached in andturned off the engine. A small arsenal of weapons lay scatteredaround the cab.
As Grant jogged up, Will said, “Youokay?”
“Sure. Luckily none of these jerk-offs canshoot straight.”
That seemed to touch a sore spot and theDooleys began snarling obscenities again.
“I’m going to sue you!” Tobe shouted atWill. At least Will thought it was Tobe. He’d gone to school withTobe, but it was hard to keep all the facial hair and camostraight. Every one of them looked about a decade older than theirnatural years.
“That ought to be an interesting courtcase,” Will replied. To Grant, he said, “Do me a favor and startcollecting these guns and knives and whatever else they’ve gotstashed in there.” He turned back
