Not One of Us(83)

Oliver took a few more cautious steps forward when the unexpected broke loose. A flock of swamp sparrows screeched in a treetop above Oliver, their wings flapping madly, rustling leaves and limbs in their haste to flee from human intruders. Cash raised his right arm, his gun gleaming silver in the sunlight. He stared straight at Oliver.

“Drop your weapon!” Oliver commanded.

Cash raised his left hand to support and steady the gun in his right hand and squinted, adjusting the weapon’s sights. I could hardly breathe. Blood pounded through my ears, loud as the gulf’s current. I raised my own gun, ready to shoot.

The crack of gunfire exploded in the remote bayou air. Time slowed to the pace of molasses. My breath was deep and heavy as I struggled to gulp oxygen. I caught the splay of sunshine on the sandy soil, the roar of the Atlantic from nearby, an unnatural metallic scent intruding in the salty air. Oliver still stood. Cash did not. He crumpled to the ground, bleeding.

A single scream erupted from the cabin, breaking my momentary stupor.

“Let’s go!” Oliver commanded.

I raced past him, determined to get to Jori. At the small front window I faced the worst-case scenario I’d envisioned on the drive over. Jori was seated in a chair, her hands bound behind her back. Buddy Munford turned toward me, his eyes widening. In his hands, he held a gun.





Chapter 37


JORI


An explosion of gunfire filled the cabin.

“The hell?” Uncle Buddy half turned toward the front window.

A crimson stain mushroomed from Cash’s shoulder, and he fell onto the dirt. What was happening? Was there a third person involved in this dirty business? Deputy Blackwell stepped into view, her gun raised as she faced the window.

Tegan had found me. She or her partner must have shot Cash. I spared no pity for the man who seemed to delight in partnering with my uncle’s depraved killings. Would Uncle Buddy still shoot me now that she’d arrived? I was still far from being out of danger. My body responded faster than my brain as it grappled with everything going down around me. I instinctually dropped to the floor, providing Tegan a clear shot.

Another gunshot exploded, and I screamed. Shards of glass rained down on me. Who had fired first and was still alive—Uncle Buddy or Tegan? Please God, let it be Tegan. Images paraded through my mind in quick succession—Deacon, Clotille, Louis, Raymond. I even pictured Jackson as a young child, which I remembered from an old photograph particularly beloved by Aunt Tressie. Was I going to be the next to die? Heavy thuds pounded on the front door, and then it burst open, banging against the wall. Tegan and Lieutenant Oliver entered, guns drawn. They were alive. I was alive. Then that meant my uncle had either been shot or had run away.

“Jori? Are you okay?”

I struggled to a seated position and tried to find my uncle. What had been Uncle Buddy’s head was mostly splattered across the opposite wall. Bile rose in my throat. I opened my mouth to answer Tegan but couldn’t speak. She was by my side in an instant, flinging an arm across my shoulders. “Thank God. You’re alive. How bad are you hurt?”

“H-how did you find me?”

A two-way radio crackled in the air, and deep, disembodied voices filled the tiny room as Lieutenant Oliver barked out orders.

“We tracked you from your first text,” she explained. “Then followed you from a distance. Let me untie your hands.”

Sirens sounded, growing closer by the second. I nodded, barely registering the chaos around me, still stunned that I wasn’t the one shot. I kept my face averted from what was left of my uncle.

“Let’s get out of here. Can you walk?” Tegan helped me stand and stumble toward the open doorway.

“Don’t look back,” she warned. She needn’t have worried. I had no intention of doing so. Lieutenant Oliver came to my other side and put his strong arm around me as well. Together, all three of us walked out of the cabin with its blood-smeared walls and into the sunlight and fresh air that smelled of ocean.

Alive.

Tegan guided me toward their vehicle. Now that the danger had passed, the remote cabin—which had seemed an impenetrable death trap minutes ago—was a buzz of activity. Radios crackled, and sirens blared, announcing the swift arrival of more cops. My entire body trembled as though ice coursed through my veins.

“Thank you.” My voice was choked and broken, but I needed to talk. “They were going to kill me. Just like they killed my cousin, the Cormiers, and Raymond Strickland.”

Lieutenant Oliver gave a low whistle. “Munford and Johnson were responsible for all those murders? Are you sure?”

“Positive. My uncle confessed to everything.”

Lieutenant Oliver nodded. “We’ll get all the details at the office. Unless you need to go home first?”

I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to give my statement before heading home. “Let’s get it over with. While everything’s still fresh in my memory.”

As though I would ever forget a word that had been spoken. Still, I wanted to talk it out with them.

Tegan draped an arm over my shoulders. Its weight was solid, comforting. “It’s you we should be thanking. You’re the one who solved these crimes.”

So many deaths. So many ruined lives. At least now Zach, Mimi, and I were safe.

Or . . . were we? I hadn’t told the cops everything yet. Maybe I never would.