In my periphery, I saw Reyes grin. He lifted his hands in a gesture of mutual surrender, lowered his own weapon and dropped it on the ground. Then, with the gentlest of pushes, he eased me aside. I realized what he was doing the instant Garrett raised his gun again.
“Garrett, no,” I said, but it was too late.
In the space of time it took a cobra to strike, Reyes relieved Garrett of the weapon and had it aimed at his head point-blank, an appreciative smile on his face.
Garrett blinked, realized what happened, then stumbled back with arms raised.
“Reyes, wait,” I said, a harsh warning in my voice.
“Back,” he said to Garrett, gesturing with the gun.
Garrett backed down the dark hall as Reyes pulled me into the threshold between us. He looked down at me, able to see both Garrett and me at the same time.
“I don’t kill people, Dutch,” he said, as though disappointed that I’d worried. “Unless I have to.” He said the last while studying Garrett. Without taking his eyes off him, he took my chin into his hand and placed the softest kiss on my mouth.
Then he was gone. In a heartbeat, he was out a window about the size of a postage stamp, like an animal, a blur of sleek fur and muscle.
Garrett rushed past me to the window. “Son of a bitch,” he said, biting back the anger that consumed him. He turned toward me. “Nice.”
“Hey,” I said to his back as he stalked out of the room and down the hall. “I didn’t know he was here. And you didn’t have to come in.”
“I was worried about you,” he said, an ice-cold contempt in his voice as he looked back and let his gaze wander to the front of my jeans.
I threw the oven mitts aside and refastened them quickly, but he scoffed, shaking his head, and started for the door again.
“Cookie called me,” he continued. “I cannot believe you were stupid enough to come out here by yourself.”
“Fuck you,” I said. I didn’t have to explain my actions to him.
He turned on me, anger sizzling around him. “And you’re at the scene of a crime, fucking an escaped murderer.”
“We weren’t fucking, and Reyes didn’t kill his father,” I said, frustration sharpening my voice.
“Not his father. Farley Scanlon.”
I blinked in surprise. “What? You think he killed Farley Scanlon?”
He laughed, the sound harsh as it echoed off the cheap wood paneling. “If the razor-sharp blade fits.”
“Garrett, wait,” I said, running after him as he stalked to his truck.
“We have to get the cops here before he gets too far.” He took out his phone and dialed 911.
“No,” I said, grabbing his phone before he could stop me. I closed it, hoping the call didn’t make it through.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He reached for his phone.
I jerked it back. “Keeping it for a while.” I hurried to Misery and started her up. He followed me and opened the driver’s door before I could lock it.
“Give me the phone,” he said from between clenched teeth. It was not a suggestion. The anger seething inside him had turned his aura to a smoky black. I’d never seen Garrett so furious before.
I held the phone away from him, hovering it over the passenger’s seat, which was stupid, since his reach was almost double mine.
“Charles, I swear—”
Since he couldn’t get past me and the steering wheel to the phone, he clutched on to my arm and literally dragged me out of Misery. I had no choice. I kicked his shin to divert his attention, then threw the phone as hard as I could. Garrett cursed and raised his leg, but oddly, the sound of a watery plop brought us both up short. We stilled and turned to the sound as a cold dread crept up my spine.
I stood there stunned and more than a little surprised by the fact that there was a pond beyond the tall grass and weeds. We both stared a long moment, then slowly, menacingly, Garrett turned to me, his expression hovering between shock and utter rage. Before he could do something we’d both regret, I jumped back into Misery and locked the door. A microsecond later, he pulled the handle hard enough to rock the Jeep. Considering the fact that my windows were made of plastic, I started Misery and tore out of Farley Scanlon’s lot like I had a reason to live. In my rearview, I saw Garrett stand there glowering a good ten seconds before he sprinted to his truck.
I was so dead. I was so amazingly, inarguably dead.
I called Cookie. “Hey, Cook,” I said, my voice light and airy.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Apparently I was a little too light and airy.
“Well, Reyes held me at knifepoint, but that was just a ruse to get Garrett’s gun away from him, which he did and then proceeded to hold the gun to Garrett’s head point-blank right before he kissed me, then jumped through a freaking window.”
After a long moment, Cookie said, “So, it went well?”
“Damn straight. Garrett’s a little hot under the collar right now, though. I’m giving him time to cool down. Oh, and I stole his phone and threw it into a pond, so don’t bother calling him again.” My voice turned accusative.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just so worried about you. How the heck did Reyes get out there?”
“Who the bloody hell knows? He probably ran. God, that man is fast.”
“My goodness. Garrett on one end and Reyes on the other. It’s like a really hot, melty s’more.”
“Did I mention that Garrett is really pissed?”
“Oh! I just found out that Ingrid Yost’s mother died one month before she did.”
“No way. Who’s Ingrid again?”
“Dr. Yost’s first wife?”
“Right. I knew that. Wait, how did her mother die?”
“Same way she did. Heart attack.”
“That was convenient.” Nathan Yost was turning into quite the serial killer.
“And I talked to your uncle. Are you ready?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“Nathan Yost has property in Pecos.”
“Really?” Score. “That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”
* * *
Since I had quite the drive ahead of me, I decided to call my BFF at the FBI.
“Agent Carson,” she said, all sharp and professional sounding.