He made a chirp, something like eek, his eyes fluttering and skin going pale, his entire body going slack. Fannie was out of breath, her business unfinished, as Ray lay still and silent beneath her. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, noticing his eyes were still wide open, the same grand bemused grin on his face. “Ray?”

She grabbed his chin and shook it from side to side. “Ray. Fuck, Ray. Listen to me.”

Fannie felt a coldness spread down her neck and shoulders as she pulled away and off him, falling and tripping onto the floor into a tangle of sheets, leaving Ray lifeless and still on the grand bed.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Fannie reached for the phone and dialed the front desk, already moving over to the floor where she’d dropped her wrap dress and purse. Ray’s cell phone on the nightstand kept buzzing and buzzing as she slid back into the dress and reached for her soft suede shoes, heading toward the door.

She’d never felt more alone in her whole damn life.

*   *   *

“Goddamn, Quinn,” Lillie said, eyeing the target at the far end of the range. “You arrest any more strippers and you’ll have to get a brass pole for the exercise yard.”

“I didn’t charge the stripper,” Quinn said. “Only her boyfriend, for aggravated assault. I’m keeping her for a few hours until she calms down. Nobody will look at what happened as anything other than self-defense.”

Lillie had come down from Memphis an hour ago and wanted to shake Quinn loose from the sheriff’s office and do a little target practice. The rain had all but stopped, slowing into a gentle patter out at the range and shoot house, near the abandoned town of Burnt Oak. “How’s the dickhead boyfriend?”

“He’ll live,” Quinn said, loading twelve rounds into his lever-action Winchester, a classic cowboy gun that held .45 ammo. He picked up his cigar to watch Lillie take her next shot with her trusty .308.

“Damn shame,” Lillie said, squeezing off her shot, knocking down a small metal plate, the sound like a little bell ringing.

Quinn had secured the property not long after becoming sheriff, giving the department five acres to work on their marksmanship and tactical skills. A few years ago, he’d even had a small shoot house built to work out different scenarios for going to work in close quarters. The hills looked lush and green after the rains, a narrow shot of about two hundred and fifty yards cleared up into the woods.

“We’ve got this indoor range up in Memphis,” Lillie said. “But there’s nothing like being outside and firing your weapon. How about I take out those two turkeys and that metal chicken on the right side?”

“Be my guest.”