She didn’t know which was worse. Knowing Bogaloosa had killed her mother, or knowing that Roy was using that glorious, shining rage against her. To get her to kill Bogaloosa.

And truthfully, it didn’t matter. Her plan would still work. She would just add another step.

She would do what Roy wanted her to do. And more. We can do hard things.

She was no longer the girl she had been. That girl was long gone. Shed like a skin that no longer fit.

In her towering fury, Helene was bright and shiny and new.

She turned back to Roy. It was as if he had read her mind, had seen the evolution of her thoughts from then to now. That new wild, gleeful smile had spread across his face.

She matched it, tooth for tooth.

“Give me the gun, Roy.”

He took his big automatic from his holster and held it out.

“Not yours,” she said. “The revolver.”

“I thought you might want that one.” He fished it from his pocket.

She took it in her hand, felt the cracked walnut grip against her palm. “This was my daddy’s gun.”

“I saved it for you,” he said. “For this exact perfect moment.”

She remembered the times she had stood with her daddy behind their old house and he had taught her to shoot tin cans at twenty paces. The gun felt good, heavy, familiar. She checked the cylinder as she’d been taught. “Only two bullets?”

“One to start and one to finish.” Roy stood easily with his automatic hanging down at the end of his arm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She snapped the cylinder shut, then thumbed back the hammer and pointed the pistol at Bogaloosa. One-handed, with her elbow bent, not the way her daddy had taught her. “Like this?”

“You’re six feet away,” Roy said. “You can’t miss.”

She no longer doubted that she could do it. Whatever she had to do.

70

PETER

Peter’s knee was on fire, but he covered the distance as fast as he could. June could have gone ahead, but she kept pace beside him, and Peter was glad. He would have happily given his life to end Roy’s, but he wouldn’t sacrifice June. Never June.

He slowed as they came to the farm. The yard lights were dark, but the lights from the house cast a dim glow across the area. Another four-door sheriff’s pickup was parked in the open. He spotted a forlorn shape on the ground by the barn door. Even at thirty yards, Peter knew a dead body when he saw one.

He scanned for Lewis and Bobbie, but didn’t find them. It would be smart to wait. June’s hand on his arm told him the same thing.

He heard voices from the house. The windows were bright, one of them brighter where the dirty glass had been broken out. He put his lips to June’s ear and patted the rifle in her hand. “Stay here. Look through the scope. If you see Roy and have a shot, take it.”