A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews (19 page)

Billy wasn’t convinced. “This is a working ranch, right?”

“Right.”

“And you expect me and Brett to waltz in there and start threatening you when he’s surrounded by all these people who work for him? I can imagine some of those ranch hands are pretty tough.”

“Nothing to worry about,” she said.

“How you figure?”

“I’ve got a man on the inside. He’ll make sure the place is cleared out shortly after we get there. He’s Grandpa’s right-hand man and pretty much runs the show around there.”

“Man on the inside,” Billy said suspiciously. “This isn’t some guy you’re sleeping with, is it?”

Meg scrunched her nose at him. “Ew, give me some credit, Billy. He’s my real father. Only nobody knows I know that.”

“Real father? I thought your parents were divorced. Wasn’t your daddy some guy named Breen?”

“Yeah, except he was just a friend of Grandpa’s. He was only pretending to be my father because Grandpa didn’t want anyone knowing my real dad was some lowlife ranch hand.”

What the heck?

“You got one seriously screwed up family, you know that?”

“Tell me about it.”

“So if your real dad is such a lowlife, how come gramps keeps him around?”

“What can I say,” Meg told him with a shrug. “Everybody loves Landry.”

E
VERYBODY LOVES
L
ANDRY
, huh? Everybody but Billy, maybe. When they showed up at the ranch, he’d taken an instant dislike to the man. Didn’t like the way the guy kept sizing him up as if he was trying to decide whether or not Billy was good enough for Meg—which was a laugh considering how seriously twisted everyone on Pritchard Planet was.

Whatever the case, Megan’s plan turned out to be just as worthless as Billy had suspected it was. Old man Pritchard wasn’t buying any of it, not from the get-go, and before they knew it a couple of sheriffs showed up towing none other than Marshal Harlan Cole along with them.

All because Meg had gotten the bright idea to hijack a truck, then rob the guy and torch him on the highway.

To Billy’s surprise, however, Pritchard covered for them. Then after the cops left, all hell broke loose in the Pritchard mansion and poor Brett wound up dead.

Seemed Landry had some kind of lamebrained scheme of his own, which included double-crossing Meg, Billy and even Grandpa Moneybags with that shotgun he was holding. Maybe he figured he’d just kill everybody, starting with Brett, then blame it on Meg and Billy and pocket that Pritchard money for himself.

How exactly that was supposed to work was beyond Billy’s ability to reason, but there it was, a complete mess by any definition. And in all the confusion, Meg and Billy just barely managed to grab some horses and get the heck out of Dodge, taking Grandpa along with them before this Landry fool shot them all.

Now here they were in some remote freaking cabin—Meg’s idea again—trying to get Grandpa to cooperate and sign the papers she’d stolen from his safe. But Grandpa was no pushover. Grandpa was probably one of the orneriest, most infuriating people Billy Boy had ever had to deal with.

“Come on, Pritchard, you’re what? Eighty-three years old?”

Pritchard said nothing.

“What’ve you got to live for anyway? Even your own granddaughter wants you dead.”

He glanced over at Meg, who had been sitting by the fireplace for a good hour, her head in her hands as she rocked back and forth in her chair. The closer they’d gotten to this place, the more subdued she’d become, as if some very bad memories were coming back to her, and she couldn’t quite handle the weight.

Pritchard finally broke his silence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Megan loves me.”

“If you believe that, pops, you are one deluded old cowboy.”

“She loves me and she knows it. Always has, always will. Isn’t that right, Meg?”

Meg didn’t respond to him. Just kept rocking. Billy was really starting to get worried about her.

Pritchard looked at him intently now. “Even if I do sign this paper, it won’t mean a thing. You and Meg are wanted by the law. What makes you think she’d even have a chance to get to these funds?”

“What are you talking about? They’re hers, ain’t they?”

“I always knew that girl wasn’t college material, but I never figured she’d hook up with somebody quite as idiotic as you.”

All right, Billy thought. That was enough. He ratcheted the shotgun and pressed the barrel to the back of Pritchard’s head. “Last chance, gramps. Sign it or die.”

“Is that what you want, Megan? You want him to shoot me? You know how much I love you. I’ve showed you that every chance I got. I’ve always been your sweet Grandpa J, remember?”

Billy expected Meg to go on rocking, but she surprised him when she suddenly stopped. She looked up at Pritchard, and there was pain in her eyes like he’d never seen before. Like the eyes of a puppy who’s been tortured and can’t quite figure why.

But there was also heat there. Anger. “My sweet Grandpa J?” she said. “My sweet Grandpa J?”

“Remember you used to call me that when I tucked you into bed at night?”

Billy watched as Meg’s face went though half a dozen different emotions before settling on what he could only describe as pure, unadulterated rage.

She jumped to her feet, her face beet red, shouting,
“My sweet Grandpa J?”
Then she looked at Billy like a rabid skunk and said, “Shoot him, Billy!”

Billy took a small step backward. “What?”

“I don’t care if he signs the paper. Just shoot him. Pull that trigger and shoot him!”

“What about the money?”

She took a step toward them now. “Did you hear what I just told you? I don’t
care
about the money. It’s dirty money anyway. A payoff for his guilty conscience. He’s a sick, disgusting old man. So just shoot him now, before I take that shotgun and do it myself.”

That was when the door to the bedroom flew open and the lady sheriff pointed a gun at Billy.

“Drop the weapon right now, Lyman, or the only one who gets shot is you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Billy Boy didn’t drop the shotgun. Not right away. And Callie was starting to wonder if he ever would.

She was also starting to wonder where Harlan was. He should’ve been here by now. She’d waited as long as she could outside the back window, before circling around to one of the bedrooms and climbing in, knowing the closed door would give her cover.

She’d stood next to the door, listening to the two men long enough to get a broad idea of what Billy Boy was up to, and it still hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. And since she hadn’t seen their friend Brett in the room, she’d assumed that it was
his
body burnt to a crisp back at the Pritchard Ranch. Which meant both Landry and Gloria had lied.

But why? To protect Meg?

If so, then why had Gloria claimed Meg was the one who had pulled the trigger?

Try as she might, Callie hadn’t been able to figure it out. And all she’d wanted was to get this whole sordid affair over and done with. Get all these idiots squared away and dumped in a jail cell where they belonged, and let some other poor fool sort through the mess.

Then she could go home, see how Nana Jean was doing and finally sit down with Harlan—where the heck
was
he?—to listen to what he had to say.

That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

But with Megan screaming for Lyman to pull the trigger, Callie had figured she had only seconds to act, so, Harlan or no Harlan, she’d done what she had to do. She’d burst into the room, trained her Glock on Billy Boy and hoped and prayed he had enough brains to be cooperative.

“I mean it, Lyman, drop the weapon.
Now.
”

For a moment there, Callie thought everything would be all right. From the look in Billy Boy’s eyes he seemed to know that this was a done deal, that he might as well give it up and take his chances with a jury. And old Jonah looked relieved, even thankful.

But now Meg was shouting even louder, nearly frothing at the mouth. “Don’t listen to her, Billy! Shoot him. Shoot that old monster!”

And when Callie told her to shut up and sit back down, Meg scowled at her and charged, coming at her like a ball of intense white heat.

Callie had no choice but to turn the Glock on her and fire. She aimed for the calf, hit a solid piece of flesh and Meg went down to the floor hard, howling in agony.

But apparently this was a deal breaker, because now Billy Boy swung around in a rage and pointed the shotgun at Callie. “What’d you go and do
that
for?”

He was at such close range that the blast would cut her right in two, and as his finger wrapped around the trigger, she went into a dive.

Suddenly Jonah Pritchard leapt out of the chair and tackled the kid, knocking him to floor.

The shotgun went off, shattering a window, and now Jonah was straddling Billy, starting to pound the living daylights out of him. Hitting his head and face over and over again.

Callie rolled and got to her feet and pointed the Glock at them, “Enough!” she shouted. “That’s enough, Jonah! I think he got the message.”

Jonah stopped and nodded, Billy Boy bleeding and barely able to move, but alive and breathing.

As Callie kicked the shotgun aside, Jonah got to his feet and went to Meg, crouching down to check her wounded leg. The moment he touched her, however, she jerked away from him. “Leave me alone, you creep!”

Jonah said, “I don’t know what your mother told you, girl, I don’t know how she managed to poison your mind, but I’ve never laid a finger on you.”

“I know what you did,” she cried. “I remember it.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, because it never happened. Not once. Not ever. I’d kill myself before I’d hurt you.”

Jonah seemed quite adamant about this and Callie didn’t know what to make of him. Was he telling the truth? Had Gloria implanted false memories in Meg’s brain just to get her daughter hating a father she’d long resented?

If so, it had to be one the cruelest forms of child abuse Callie had ever encountered.

Jonah untucked his shirt tails and tore off a strip of fabric, tying it around Meg’s leg to stem the bleeding. Then he picked her up and took her over to the sofa near the fireplace and laid her down.

He looked up at Callie. “She’s losing blood. We need to get her to a hospital.”

He was right, of course, but this wasn’t Callie’s first concern. She was worried about Harlan. Even after the shotgun blast, he hadn’t made an appearance.

So where was he?

The question was answered a split second later as the cabin door burst open.

Landry Bickham stood in the doorway, smiling that Landry smile, a big black gun in his hand pointed directly at Callie.

“Nice to see you again, Cal.” He tossed some rope to the middle of the room. “Now it’s
your
turn to get tied up.”

C
ALLIE WAS AT A LOSS
. How could Landry have gotten loose? He’d been cuffed and hog-tied to a tree.

Her heart was beating uncontrollably. And not in a good way. “Where’s Marshal Cole?” she asked him.

Landry gestured. “Back there in the dark, taking a little nap.”

“Is he alive?”

“I hit him pretty hard,” Landry said. “Woulda shot him, too, but I didn’t want to attract any attention.”

Callie felt sick. Felt tears dampening her eyes. “You son of a—”

“Now, now, Cal, if it makes you feel any better, you won’t much care in a few minutes time.” He gestured. “You might as well put that gun down. You won’t be able to use it. Not before I use mine.”

Callie wanted to smack that smile off his face. She hesitated, then crouched down and set her Glock on the floor.

“Now kick it over here,” he said.

She did as she was told and he picked it up, stuffing it into his waistband. “Shotgun, too.”

Callie stepped over to the shotgun and kicked it in his direction. He bent down and scooped it up, then tucked his gun away and ratcheted a round into the shotgun’s chamber. “Now I want you to take those ropes and tie Grandpa and his little love muffin up.”

“And if I refuse?”

Landry pointed the shotgun at Billy Boy and pulled the trigger. Billy Boy immediately stopped moving.

And breathing.

Jonah, who was still crouched next to Meg on the sofa, visibly flinched and got to his feet again, staring at Landry in disbelief. “You just killed that boy in cold blood.”

“Indeed I did.” Landry looked at Callie. “That answer your question?”

His ability to shoot an unarmed man told her everything she needed to know about him. All this time she’d thought
Megan
was the sociopath. But looking at Bickham, she saw nothing behind his dark eyes but emptiness. The body he inhabited contained neither heart nor soul.