Page 31 of Nowhere to Hide
Silence filled the room while Edward read. Like a collective inhale that was yet to be released.
What would the crazy man do next? What did he want? How would they get rid of him?
His thoughts made Ryan smile. This really was the most powerful he’d ever felt in his life. And the whiskey was acting as a friend, moving in to warm him and calm his mind.
Edward tossed the letter to the floor. “Rubbish. This Teresa woman is full of lies. We’re not brothers.”
“How dare you say her name and make such an accusation!” It didn’t matter that Ryan had briefly entertained that exactthing. He flew around to the front of the couch and hauled Edward to his feet. “I should shoot you right in the head.”
“You shoot me, and you’ll never see a dime.”
“Edward,” Ashley yelled.
“This isn’t about money!” Ryan gripped his hair. It was hard to focus. The whiskey was quickly turning to foe and muddying things. He shouldn’t have given in. He had been five years sober until his aunt’s bombshell. The letter. The tell-all. How was he ever supposed to forgive her for keeping the truth from him all these years? What hurt the most about Edward’s accusations was he was right about her on one level. His aunt was a liar from the day she took him in until the day she died. By omission or blatantly, it didn’t matter.
“Right. Well, I don’t believe you. You invade my home, wave a gun around, and give us some sob story. You’re just like everyone else in the world looking for a payday off the Hansons. Enough is enough. My father just died!”
Ryan lunged toward Edward when he was tackled from behind. The security guard.
His arm still holding the gun was raised high above his head, but he couldn’t bring it down. The damn security guy had him locked in a vise-like grip around the torso. Still, Ryan tried to free himself, gain some distance. Abram clawed at Ryan’s waistband, trying to get his gun back.
He twisted against the man, but the guard’s strength and positioning provided him with the upper hand. Next thing, Ryan was flung face down onto the floor. He quickly writhed over onto his back. He held the gun on the man’s face. “Back off or I will shoot you between the eyes.”
“Abram, take the gun from his hands and shoot him!” Edward egged on his security guy but didn’t move from his position on the couch to assist.
My half-brother, with his sheltered, privileged fucking life!
It distracted his opponent just enough that Ryan slammed the butt of his gun into the security guard’s groin.
The man faltered backward with a wail, giving Ryan enough leeway to get to his feet. But the guard wasn’t dazed for long. He came at Ryan, nostrils flaring, reaching for the weapon in his hand.
Enough is enough!There was no way in hell Ryan was going to allow him to take him down. Today would be successful. It was all that Ryan could accept. The whiskey swam in his head, giving him a sense of empowerment and invincibility.
The guard, too, seemed to find renewed energy. His grip on Ryan’s arm was stronger than before. As Ryan fought to maintain his hold on the gun, his arm swung around in a wide circle with the guard’s. In Ryan’s haste to keep his grip solid on his weapon, his finger slipped over the trigger. Pulled back.
Time stopped.
High piercing screams followed.
The security guard retreated. His attention was no longer on Ryan, but on Edward, and the big, red hole in his chest.
“What have you done?” Ashley cried out.
Ryan stood there watching blood pouring from the wound, and he felt nothing.
EIGHTEEN
1:50 PM
Officer Moore walked into the Bottoms Up Pub. For mid-afternoon, most tables and stools were vacant. The exceptions were filled with solo drinkers and a few couples. Like most pubs, its fare was comfort food, and it offered several beers on tap.
Moore walked to the counter, garnering the attention of a barfly. He was in his fifties, scruffy with bloodshot eyes. The whiskey in his hands wasn’t his first of the day. Probably not even his second.
Another man in his fifties was behind the bar, but he was clear-eyed, clean-shaven, and nicely dressed. His eyes were a piercing silver when they assessed her and the uniform.
“Officer Moore,” he said, reading her name off her tag. “What’s your poison today?” The hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth.
“Nothing. I’m on the job. I’m looking to speak with the manager.” It was always best to focus on the job, get right to the point, minimize distractions. She didn’t drink much anyhow. Maybe that was due to her uncle’s tragic story.
