River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(78)

Romy continued growling, the river a constant white noise.

“Do what you have to do,” she said.

He wiped his eyes.

“Because if you let me walk away, I’m going to tell him what I know.” She steadied the gun in her shaky hands, her finger on the trigger.

John swung to his left unexpectedly, raising his rifle in another direction.

She jumped and pointed the gun in the same direction. There was a man standing at the top of the riverbank, an older man, who was also pointing a rifle at her chest. Who was he? Another Scion? He must be. He was wearing the same leather cut. What was he doing here? Why was he aiming his rifle at her?

“Put the gun down, Hap,” John said. “This was my mistake. Let me fix it.”

“It’s your father’s mistake,” the old man said. “He should’ve taken her out a long time ago. I didn’t agree with the way he’d handled it then. And you can’t handle it now.”

“You’re wrong,” John said. “I can. I’m handling it.”

The old man held steady, keeping his weapon pointed at Becca. “We’re a team, you and I,” he said to John. “I was with you both times. I’ve got just as much at stake here as you do.”

Becca swung the gun back and forth between the men. Romy had moved and was now standing by her side. What was happening? She was beginning to understand that there was a lot more going on here than she knew. And whatever it was, it was bigger than what she’d seen.

“You may be right,” John said. “That’s why you should put the gun down and walk away. Let me take care of this one alone.”

The Scion kept his rifle pointed at Becca.

“I’m faster than you, old man,” John said. “You’ll go down long before you ever pull the trigger.”

“So that’s it? That’s how you want to do this?” the old man asked. “What about your loyalty to me and the club? You ain’t been right in the head ever since you lost Beth. Why don’t you just let me take care of this, and we’ll sit down later and figure it out.”

There was a moment when no one spoke. Becca didn’t know where to aim her gun. She felt like a small animal trapped between two predators. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

“Are we in agreement here, John?” the old man asked.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” John said, his voice deep and hoarse, pleading. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Is that your answer?” the old man asked. “You’re taking her side?”

“It’s not about taking sides,” John said.

“The hell it isn’t.”

“Just put the gun down.”

“You know I can’t do that,” the old man said, making a small movement of his head, a tiny shift of his shoulder, a signal he was eying up his shot.

Gunfire rang out.

Becca wasn’t sure if she pulled the trigger first or who did. The kick of the gun was harder than she expected, jerking her arms up and back. The old man’s body hit the ground with a thud before skidding down the embankment and stopping at the river’s edge.

The rapids raged behind her. Romy snarled. But everything else had grown quiet. The birds had stopped singing. The squirrels had stopped chattering. The bugs had stopped buzzing. The silence was deafening, or maybe it was the blasting of guns that had muted all other noise in her head. She seemed to be processing the scene in slow motion. Was she shot? She was still standing. She didn’t feel any pain. The old man wasn’t moving. She didn’t know if she’d hit him, whether he’d gone down from one bullet or two.

Romy barked. She sounded distant and far away. It was another minute or two before Becca’s head cleared. She looked up the riverbank at John. He had his rifle aimed at her again. She was shaking all over. She pulled in another sharp breath, wondering if it would be her last. But he lowered the rifle, the barrel pointing at the ground by his feet. He wasn’t going to shoot her. She knew this. She knew. She took a step toward him. He turned to walk away.

“Wait,” she called. Her arms quaked at her sides, the gun in her hand heavy and warm.

He paused and looked back at her, his rifle still aimed at the ground. He stared at her for a long moment.

She couldn’t find the words. I’m sorry, but this doesn’t change anything. But she didn’t have to say it. He understood. A deep sadness emanated from him, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, have him hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. But he turned away from her again, and this time when he walked away, she didn’t call him back.

When she could see only the tops of his shoulders, the back of his head, she called out, “There’s good in you, John Jackson!”

There’s just not enough good.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The sun was high in the sky by the time Becca reached Parker’s house and knocked on the front door. Romy panted by her side. They’d walked the couple of miles to Parker’s place, following the river downstream. A young couple had been kayaking in the direction of Dead Man’s Curve. Fishermen had dotted the shoreline, hoping for a catch. A red-tailed hawk had soared among the cumulus clouds in the blue sky above. She’d seen all of it and none of it. What had she done?