Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(80)
She kicked the cabinet door shut and opened the pantry door, pulling her Beretta out of the gun belt. She released the magazine, checked that it was fully loaded, then slapped it back up into the butt of the gun. She grabbed a box of ammunition off the shelf and tucked it into her sweatshirt pocket. She pulled her barn coat over her sweatshirt and kneeled down by the back door in the kitchen to lace up her hiking boots. Chester nuzzled her arm with his nose, excited for a walk.
Holding the gun in her right hand, she left Chester, whining and pawing at the back door, and walked out into the cool night. It was a walk she’d taken a hundred times, mostly to absorb the desert and forget whatever was troubling her. But hatred pushed through her body with a ferocity she didn’t trust. She tried to focus on the blood that pulsed rhythmically at her temples, but as the light from the house faded behind her, the thoughts in her head turned black. At that moment, her ability to recognize good in the world had been obliterated.
Her nose was running from the cold, but she was hot inside the barn coat. She unzipped it and kept walking toward the mountains, stopping roughly two miles from the house. The stars lit up the dusty ground and cast deep shadows that mixed with the scrub and pine trees at the base of the black mountain before her.
Josie lifted her gun from her side and fired at a downed pine tree twenty feet from her. She shot ten bullets, then stopped, the ringing in her ears finally masking the storm blowing through her head. Sparks from the gun jumped into the night air. She walked five steps forward, raised the gun again, and emptied the final seven shots. She knelt in the dirt, released the magazine, and slipped the gun behind her bent knee so she could reload. Josie pulled the tray of bullets out of the box, her movements instinctive in the dark, and pushed sixteen bullets into the magazine. Feeling the flat side of the magazine with her left thumb, she then pushed it back into the gun and heard the click.
Josie stood, turned to her left, and fired another ten rounds into the downed tree, feeling the recoil up her arm into her chest, the impact satisfying. She imagined the Bishop standing in front of her, a large, imposing man with dark eyes. The bullet would exit her gun, and at the very moment she felt the release and power in her own body, he would feel it in his, straight into his heart. She would only come back to life when his ended. She closed her eyes, pulling the trigger slower now, imagining the penetration with each shot, his dead body hitting the ground.
Once her gun was empty, Josie knelt back on the ground and started the process again. Halfway through the reload she noticed headlights approaching from Dell’s ranch. She cursed and shoved the ammunition box back into her sweatshirt pocket. She couldn’t deal with Dell right now.
As the pickup approached she stood and waved her hands in the air slowly to catch his attention.
He pulled the truck to a stop and jumped out, his expression terrified. “What’s going on out here?”
“Nothing is going on. And what if it was? What the hell are you doing driving up into the middle of a gunfight?”
He looked confused. “What are you talking about? What gunfight?”
Josie turned from him, the blood pounding inside her head.
“What are you doing out here?” he yelled. “Look at me!”
Josie turned and faced him. “It’s none of your goddamned business what I’m doing! And, if you hear gunfire in the middle of the desert the last thing you do is drive your truck into the middle of it. You understand that, right? You don’t come out here and risk getting your head blown off in the middle of someone else’s fight!”
He stood motionless, staring at her, his anxiety clear in the moonlight. “You can’t operate like this. You can’t go around shooting up the hillside in the middle of the night. You scared the hell out of me.”
She closed her eyes. His judgment was too much. “Just go home, Dell. You don’t want to be near me right now.”
Her eyes remained closed and she hoped he would turn and leave. After several seconds she felt his hand lightly on her shoulder. She gritted her teeth, unprepared to receive sympathy or even human contact from anyone.
He placed his other hand on her shoulder and she said nothing. He finally stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She remained stiff, her back tight, her eyes closed.
He held her tighter and placed a hand behind her head, pulling her face into his shoulder. He whispered into her hair, “This is not your fault, Josie. None of it.”
Josie stood rigid for a long while, until she finally let her guard begin to slip. She pressed her face farther into him, unable to speak, unable to put her rage into words.
“What happened to Dillon?” He paused and took a deep breath. “What happened to that young woman? That wasn’t you. That evil had nothing to do with you. You can’t transfer the blame. You’re one of the good guys.” He sighed into her hair and she felt his body tense from the physical touch that she knew was making him uncomfortable.
He ran his hand down the side of her hair, then pulled the loose hair tie out and threw it onto the ground. He stroked her hair, gently patting her back, and she felt her body settle, slowly, the anger receding.
She remained still, her arms at her sides, her eyes closed. “I don’t believe in anyone. I don’t feel anything but hate.”
She felt his arms tighten around her.
“You’re in a bad place. Stuck inside your head.” He rested his forehead on top of her head and sighed heavily. “You can’t stay there. I spent too many years of my life stuck in that place. All that hate takes your strength. Leaves you nothing to fight with. It makes you see things that aren’t there.” He moved his hands up to her shoulders and she knew he was about to pull away.