At the Crossroads (Buckhorn, Montana #3)(20)

“That one,” Eric said, pointing to Tyrell dead on the floor. “He was calling the cops. What was I supposed to do?”

Gene snatched the phone from his hand and quickly checked before letting out a curse that rattled in the rafters. “He didn’t call anyone! He was filming the two of you eating like pigs!” Gene shoved the phone at Eric, his disgusted glare shifting across the room in Bobby’s direction. “Fortunately, the damned fool didn’t have the sense to call the cops. I thought you collected all the phones?”

“He said he didn’t have his,” Bobby whined, looking terrified. “I frisked him. He didn’t have it on him, I swear.”

Gene was shaking his head, looking as if he wanted to shoot both men. Culhane held his breath, thinking Gene wouldn’t stop there if he did. Worse, when Bobby had put the gun to Alexis’s head, Culhane had realized where he’d seen him before. He suddenly needed this man alive. Bobby had known Jana, Culhane’s so-called wife. That’s where he’d seen the man—coming out of her apartment the day she disappeared leaving enough blood on the kitchen floor that the sheriff was convinced Culhane had murdered her.

“You okay?” Culhane whispered as Alexis sat down again next to him at the counter. That had been a close call. He was still shaken. Bobby had come so close to shooting her.

“Fine,” she whispered back.

She didn’t look fine. She looked pale as if sick to her stomach. He could see that she was also disappointed that their plan hadn’t worked. It would have—if not for Tyrell, who now lay dead next to his father. They, unlike father and son, were both still alive. But they’d missed their chance.

Culhane told himself that maybe the three men would leave now—before the baby started crying again or someone else did something stupid—as if anyone in this café could get that lucky today.

EARL RAY SLID into the booth, set down the bag of medical supplies on the table and took Bessie in his arms. “It’s all right,” he whispered, holding her tight. He said the words, even though nothing was all right. Worse, he couldn’t make it all right, and they both knew it.

Soon he would have to go back out to the van with the medical supplies. He prayed he would find Gene’s brother Gus still alive. He would do what he could to ease the man’s suffering and hope the men would leave before Gus died. Too much was riding on the men leaving. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, and that’s what frightened him the most.

Bessie quit crying in his arms and looked up at him. He thumbed away her tears and smiled into her beautiful face. “I love you.”

He saw her eyes widen in surprise. He’d never said the words before, but she had to know how he felt, didn’t she? “I love you. I have for so long. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before.”

“I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. He’d known that. He just hadn’t done anything about it. Hadn’t felt he could. He’d thought it would be an insult to his marriage, to his deceased wife, to the man he believed himself to be. He used to wish that he’d died with Tory. For so long, he’d wondered why he was still here without her. But over time, he’d found he could be useful to those who needed his help. And he’d found love again.

But he’d felt guilty for loving Bessie. That’s why he’d never said those three consequential words until today. After everything that happened here today, though, he made himself a promise that if they lived through this...

“Come on,” Gene ordered, jabbing him in the shoulder with the barrel end of his gun.

Earl Ray let go of Bessie slowly, his gaze holding hers. “I’ll be back.” She nodded, but he could see the terror in her eyes. She knew that this might be the last time they saw each other, and it was why he’d finally told her how he felt. If he went out to the van and Gus was dead, he likely wouldn’t be coming back.

He slid out of the booth, taking the medical supplies with him. The worst part wasn’t dying. The worst was that he wouldn’t have any chance of protecting Bessie from these men. Since taking the drugs, Gene was even more on a hair trigger. In his life, he’d seen men do horrible things. Gene was the kind who, in his grief and guilt, would be looking for someone to blame for this other than himself. He would kill everyone before leaving here. And he would do it without a shred of regret.

Earl Ray walked out the front door, Gene right behind and prodding him with the gun. He fought the urge to look back, to see Bessie’s face one more time. It had taken years to heal after losing his wife. Bessie had helped with her cheerful smiles each morning, her baking and her loyalty and patience with him.

He felt the crack open in his heart and had to steady himself as he neared the van. He’d known he couldn’t tell Bessie everything he felt back in the café, but now he wished he’d tried. He knew it would take years to express everything he felt. At least she knew that he loved her. He’d said the words he doubted she had ever expected to hear after all this time. He only wished he’d said them sooner. Not just said them but acted on them. It would be the second-biggest regret of his life.

He stopped at the van, letting Gene open the side-panel door, and climbed inside. With relief, he saw the rise and fall of Gus’s chest and quickly went to work bandaging the man and trying to ease his pain.

Outside the van, Gene paced and ate his way through the candy bars, before getting into the pills again. Earl Ray found himself gauging the man’s mood. Drugs, like alcohol, affected people differently. With Gene, though, he thought the man would be a mean drunk, which meant one thing.