Chapters (78)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Acknowledgments
- Discover More
- About the Author
- Also by Owen Laukkanen
Joy said nothing. He kept his grip on the rifle. He would have to duck and turn, fast, he decided. Throw himself to the ground and come up firing. He had reloaded with a fresh magazine when they came into the woods off of the boat; if he played this right, he could surprise Whitmer, take out his legs. The deputy had relaxed a little bit. He was already thinking he’d won.
Stupid.
“Got nothing to say for yourself, huh?” Whitmer continued. “I guess where you’re from, that kind of behavior is normal. You all just kill a man, instead of talking things out.”
“It worked,” Joy replied. “You and your colleagues needed motivation. I provided it, and now we’ve nearly solved your problem.”
“My problem.” Whitmer spat. “Mr. Joy, I don’t give two shits about that product you all are trying to move. You attacked my family, and if Okafor takes offense with how I choose to deal with that, he’s welcome to come up to Makah County himself to square up with me like a man. But in the meantime, I’m fixing to solve my problem right now, with this gun in my hand.”
Joy kept his voice calm. “If you lower that pistol now, Deputy, I’ll forget this happened. We can continue to seek out the widow and her companion, and we can find your missing shipment. I won’t bring this back to Mr. Okafor, and you and your friends can carry on with your lives. If not…”
He shrugged, and the pain in his shoulder was real, though he forced himself not to show it.
“If not, Deputy, then I’m afraid you won’t like how this problem is solved.”
Whitmer sneered. “You’ve got a real way with words, Mr. Joy,” he said, advancing a step. “But I’m afraid you can’t talk yourself out of this one.”
Now was the time. Joy tightened his grip on his rifle, tensed his legs, and prepared to drop. Found a nice place to land, a clear patch of dirt. Whitmer was still speaking. Joy tuned him out.
Three.
Two.
BOOM.
A gunshot. Deafening. Joy ducked, instinctive, rolled away like he’d planned. Came up twisting around on his wounded shoulder, swearing from the pain, curling around with the rifle to find Whitmer and bury him. But Whitmer was gone.
Correction: Whitmer was already on the ground, howling and clutching at his midsection. He’d dropped the pistol, his hands bloody where he gripped at his stomach. He writhed on the ground, screaming. Another explosion, and a sapling near Joy’s head disintegrated.
Whitmer hadn’t fired, Joy realized. Those weren’t pistol rounds.
This was a shotgun.
* * *