Salkehatchie Secret by C. Hope Clark

Author:C. Hope Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc.
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Slade

THE FOUR MEN clenched like dogs stiff with hair raised, glowers hot and lasered as though waiting for one to make the first move so all had an excuse to pounce.

“Stop!” I yelled, arms out. Then without thought I extracted my internal badge from my pocket and held it up like I’d seen on television. The black leather wallet and plastic shield that interviewed employees for disciplinary action, meant squat when it came to locking up bad guys. But with any luck it would shock them back to reality. “Everyone zip it up and back off!”

I poked it back in my pocket before anyone could read it, then being more comfortable with my back to St. Clair than the militia boys in the doorway, I moved to leave. Reaching down deep for the chutzpah I hoped I owned, I pushed out enough defiance to get Wayne and me out of this double-wide. “Get out of my damn way unless you want to be charged with kidnapping a federal agent. Isn’t one dead agent enough for you?”

“Nobody killed that girl,” Merrick said. “She died from the hornets.”

I threw attention at St. Clair. “While on a three a.m. stroll in his woods?”

“The why and when ain’t our problem.” The coolness in which Merrick spoke shot an alarm up my back. He was suddenly nothing like the bored, annoyed guy who showed Callie and me tractors and bush hogs. The contrast made my nerves dance.

Atwood assumed the chest-out stance of a nightclub bouncer. St. Clair crossed his arms from behind his desk. “Merrick is right,” he said.

Jesus, these standoffs.

“Out of my way,” I said.

They didn’t move.

Wayne had risen when I did, but instead of following me, he leaned on St. Clair’s desk. “There is no situation in which threatening us will bode well for you. Is that clear?”

Seconds passed between them.

“Let ’em pass,” St. Clair said, and the men parted.

I slid through, smelling their scents, the cramped space permitting only inches between us. Wayne’s cowboy boots followed, the footfalls serious. We made it to the trailer’s porch, thankfully, unescorted. Someone latched the door behind us.

I certainly didn’t feel like enough of a threat to them to warrant that.

The dogs came running from across the acres, tongues lolling, the planted rye parting at their chests and rippling around them. They were much more welcoming than the beings in the trailer.

Wayne took my elbow, his long legs taking strides that made me trot. “Walk to the truck. Don’t look back.”

My heart kicked the inside of my ribs, breath puffing like a steam engine in the cold morning air. “Nobody seemed armed.” Then unable to heed his warning, I tried to peer back.

Wayne snatched me forward. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. No doubt they’re armed.”

“So I’m supposed to let them shoot me in the back versus the front?”

A shrill whistle sounded, making two rises and falls. The dogs stopped in their tracks barely ten yards from us and assumed a stance.

“What was that?”

“Damn it, keep walking,” Wayne said.

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