Harper was crouched over Foster Dean’s body, securing Dean’s weapon.
Luka paused, assessing the situation. No other weapons or threats. Harper’s mother was standing with her brother, John, pale and visibly shaken, while Matthew hovered near Dean. It was the first time Luka had seen the man of God appear uncertain or hesitant.
“Call an ambulance,” he ordered John. “Then wait for me outside.”
John nodded and escorted his mother through the kitchen. Luka turned his attention to Dean. The former DEA agent had a gunshot wound to his chest and a second to his gut. Harper was placing pressure on them with a lace doily she’d pulled off the back of the sofa.
“Dr. Wright’s outside in my car,” he told Matthew as he took over for Harper, who ran into the kitchen and returned with an armful of towels. “Go get her, tell her we need her trauma kit.”
The sound of sirens echoed through the night. His back-up, about time.
“Wait,” Harper said as her father turned to leave. “Luka, he knows where Beth and her baby are.”
Luka nodded. “Harper, go with him. Leah needs to see the baby right away. The ERT medic can stabilize Dean until she’s treated the baby.”
Dean made a grunting noise of protest at this. Luka pushed harder, wadding the dishtowel deep into the wound. “Hold still, Dean. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”
Harper and her father left. Luka leaned closer to the former DEA agent. “Just us. For a minute at most. Want to tell me anything? Could go a long way to help you out.”
Dean shook his head. “I talk, I’m dead,” he gasped.
“You don’t, you’re dead. You know the Zapatas have the reach, they can get to you anywhere. Your only hope is the feds, witness protection.” Luka hated himself for even making the offer. But he had little to no evidence to nail Dean for the murders and a wit-sec deal would include at least some jail time in addition to testifying against the cartel. Which might mean that instead of locking up one killer, they would end up getting several off the streets, not to mention putting a serious dent into the Zapata family’s flow of money and drugs.
Dean considered it. Luka heard the banging of doors both front and back as the ERT made their entry. “Scene’s clear,” he shouted. “Get your medic back here.”
“They’ll know,” Dean whispered.
“No. I’ll make sure of it. I have a friend at the FBI, let me give her a call.”
“How?” Dean’s breathing had turned shallow and rapid, his color ashen. Shock, Luka realized. It was now or never.
“If I can, are you in? You’ll give up everything you know?”
“Yes.” Dean managed a nod. “But how?”
“Easy. We’ll take you out in a body bag.”
Dean’s eyes went wide, either with pain or surprise, Luka wasn’t sure. But then the wounded man managed a throaty chuckle. “Fake my death. Just like Spence.”
The ERT’s medic arrived, quickly assessing the situation and opening his trauma kit. “Just like Spence,” Luka told Dean as he moved out of the medic’s way. “Leave it to me.”
Forty-Five
Leah braced herself against the wall as the door slammed open. To her surprise, it was a middle-aged woman and a man in his early thirties who charged into the room.
“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded.
The woman motioned to him to hush. She stepped forward. “I’m Reverend Harper’s wife, Rachel. This is his church and this is his son, John.” She took another step toward Leah, which blocked her view of John. “How can we help you?”
Did they know about Beth and the baby? Leah wondered. Surely the reverend would have trusted his own wife and son—but then she remembered how Luka had said the reverend refused to say anything, even to Harper, his daughter, after she told him the baby’s life was in danger.
When Leah said nothing, the man, John, pulled a gun out from behind his back. “Told you we might need this,” he said to his mother. Then he gestured to Leah. “Move away. I know my father stashed her in there. We just want the girl.”
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Rachel added in a conciliatory tone that Leah did not trust, not for a moment.
“The girl can’t help you,” she tried bluffing. “She doesn’t know anything about where the gold is. Spencer killed himself before he could tell her where it was.”
John cocked his head. “See, now we know you’re lying. We heard Spencer tell my father that if anything happened to him, he was to get the girl out and that the gold would protect her and the baby. Of course, at the time, he didn’t expect the baby to be born right when he was leaving to fake his own death.”
Leah frowned. “Wait. You heard—how? And how did you know he was leaving, much less what he was going to do?”
Rachel nudged John hard. “You talk too much.”
“You were there,” Leah said, shock flooding over her. “You killed Spencer?”
“It was an accident,” John said. “Now open the door and get the girl. The police will be here any minute.”
Harper appeared in the doorway, the reverend right behind her. “The police are here. Put the gun down, John.”
She held her own pistol aimed at John, but in such a small room, that also meant it was aimed toward Leah. The reverend didn’t help matters as he pushed past Harper to confront his son. “You were there when Spencer died? You need to tell the truth, John. What happened?”
“Don’t say a word,” Rachel snapped, squaring off with her husband. And blocking any shot Harper had, Leah couldn’t help but notice. She scanned the area closest to her, searching for a weapon, but the only things close to hand were the life-sized sheep clustered among
