“Is he still alive?” Anthony asked, not moving.
“Yes,” Paul hissed, “but he won’t be for long. He f**king shot himself in the head!”
“No,” Anthony said softly. “He didn’t.” Anthony stepped forward. The back door had just slammed shut. Lauren was out of the cabin. She was safe. “I want you to stand up, keep your hands where I can see them, and back the hell away from him.”
Paul stared at him. “Are you crazy? He needs my help!”
“What he needs is for you to get back. Now, I’m telling you for the last time…” His fingers tightened around the weapon. “Move the hell away from him.”
Paul shook his head. “He shot—”
“A left-handed man wouldn’t use his right hand to kill himself.”
Paul frowned, then looked down at Wesley.
“You should know which hand your friend uses,” Anthony pushed, as he aimed dead center at Paul’s forehead. “That was just sloppy. Maybe we got here too soon for you, and you had to act fast. You were so rushed that you made a mistake.”
Paul was still staring at Wesley. “He is left-handed,” he whispered. “He always threw the football with…”
“You didn’t back away.” The guy really needed to. “And I can’t see your other hand.”
Paul’s head snapped up. “You think I did this?”
Hell, yes, he did.
“I didn’t! I got a garbled phone message from him, saying to meet him out here. I just got to the cabin, and I found him like this.”
Bullshit. “You were in the cabin when the shot was fired.”
“No, I was outside, I saw you pull up. I ran in—” He lunged to his feet.
Anthony prepared to fire.
Lauren shoved open the back door. “Jim! Matt!”
They weren’t there.
She stumbled to a halt, catching herself before she fell down the back steps.
“Matt?” Lauren called again, her right hand gripping her cell phone. She’d shoved the gun into her waistband while she called for help. Now she fumbled fast, grabbing for the weapon once more.
The marshals should have been there, but they weren’t.
“Lauren…help…”
It wasn’t a voice from her nightmares. It was a real voice—weak and thready and coming from the darkness of the woods that edged toward the swamp.
“Hel—” The word ended in a garbled gasp.
Lauren jumped off the steps. “Matt!”
She ran through the dark when her legs slammed into something warm and soft. She tumbled to her knees, letting out a cry as she fell. She twisted around and yanked out her phone, using it as a flashlight. The light hit—
Jim. Bloody, unconscious—please, please, please not dead.
A twig snapped behind her. Lauren whipped her head toward the sound and saw the knife coming right at her.
She screamed.
And then felt something sharp slice across her throat.
A knife.
Anthony froze. Had that been a scream? The sound faded away as quickly as it had come, but every muscle in his body tensed.
Lauren should have been back inside by now. She should have returned with Jim and Matt.
“Why isn’t Lauren here?” Paul asked. He’d jumped to his feet, but hadn’t advanced on Anthony. The guy had finally lifted his hands—showing he had no weapon, and he stood, still as a statue, a few feet away from Anthony.
Anthony glanced toward the back door. Lauren.
“Cuff yourself,” Anthony snarled as his eyes snapped back to Paul.
Paul blinked at him. “What?”
“You’ve got your cuffs on you. I see ’em at your hip. Cuff yourself!”
Paul pulled out the cuffs. Snapped them in place as he glared at Anthony.
“Now don’t f**king move,” Anthony ordered. “Because if you run out after me, I will put a bullet in your head.” He wasn’t staying in that room any longer.
Lauren should have returned.
Where was she?
He ran for the back door. Shoved it open. No Lauren. No Matt. No—
Jim was on the ground. The glow from Anthony’s flashlight made it look like black liquid soaked Jim’s clothes, but he knew what that blackness was.
Anthony hurtled off the porch and flew to the marshal’s side. He put his fingers to his throat.
Dead.
Jim was dead. Where was Matt? Lauren?
“Help…” A low, weak plea from the line of trees to the right that led farther into the swamp. Tightening his hold on his weapon, Anthony followed the sound. His flashlight cut through the trees, both helping him to see and making him a target.
There wasn’t any choice. He needed the light.
“Help…”
Christ. The light landed on Matt. Like Jim, blood soaked Matt’s clothes, but he was still alive. Barely.
So much blood.
“He got…Lauren…” Blood dripped down Matt’s face. “Heard…him…take…”
“Who is it?” Anthony demanded. “Who the f**k has her?”
It couldn’t be Paul, he’d left him cuffed inside. Wesley Hawthorne was struggling to survive, so who the hell—
“Me,” a hard voice said from the darkness.
A hard…familiar voice.
Anthony surged to his feet and turned toward the taunting voice.
Kyle rushed into the cabin, shoving aside the already broken door, with Cadence right on his heels. Her partner had his gun ready as he swept the room.
It was too damn dark. She grabbed for the light switch, but nothing happened.
Kyle had already gotten out his flashlight. She fumbled for hers and saw—
The detective—Paul—trying to unlock a pair of handcuffs. Wesley Hawthorne was at his feet, a bloody mess.
“Freeze!” Kyle roared.
Paul’s shoulders stiffened. “Not again.” He looked up. “It’s not f**king me!” He raised his cuffed hands and pointed toward the back door. “Ross went out that way. Lauren’s missing…go find her!”
Emotion shook beneath his words. She wanted to believe the guy, but she couldn’t ignore the wounded man at his feet. Cautiously, Cadence advanced so she could check on Wesley.
When she got a good look at him, her breath hissed out. With that kind of trauma, the guy was lucky to still be breathing. Actually, she wasn’t quite sure how he was still breathing.
“Cadence?” Kyle stood protectively over her, his weapon drawn.
“It wasn’t me!” Paul screamed. “Look, Ross is out there. The other marshals should have been helping him, but something happened. If you won’t help them, I will.” He lunged forward and slammed into the barrel of Kyle’s gun.