going to kill us all, Carol and Olivia and—”
“Are you hurt?” Ben bellowed.
She blinked, looked up into those blazing, beautiful green eyes. “No.” That was a lie. Her side was on fire where Lawrence had kicked her, and her leg was numb. She expected that would change any minute now, and she’d really miss the numbness. But she wasn’t dead, she wasn’t shot, and both of those were big pluses.
He helped her to her feet, never letting go. That was fine with her, because her leg wouldn’t hold her weight right now. She had no intention of letting go of him anytime soon, anyway.
Lawrence was definitely dead, half of his face missing. Sela turned her face into Ben’s shoulder, sickened by the sight. Jeremy stood to one side, disarmed, pale, his focus on the rifle Trey held on him, rather than on the raised vase and wooden crutches that were also threatening him.
“Lawrence told Jeremy to kill the others, but he wouldn’t do it,” she said into Ben’s shirt, afraid they were going to execute Jeremy on the spot. Maybe they should; she didn’t know what else he’d done, if Darren was injured or dead, if Harley, who’d been at the front door when Lawrence had arrived, was alive or dead. All she knew was that if Jeremy had done as his brother ordered, Ben and Trey wouldn’t have arrived in time to save anyone.
The stench of death was strong in the room. Olivia rushed at her, crying; Ben didn’t release her, just pulled Olivia in and held her, too.
Sela tried to think of practical matters, tried to turn her thoughts away from the death that surrounded them, but for right now she was both numb and filled with a relief that pushed out everything else. Ben was alive. Carol, Olivia, Barb, and Meredith were all alive. She’d been prepared for the worst, the worst hadn’t happened, and she hadn’t yet adjusted.
It was Barb who sucked in a deep breath, surveyed the dead man on the floor, and said, “It’ll take forever to get this mess cleaned up.”
In the bedroom, Carol was crying with harsh, throat-scraping sobs. Olivia pulled free and ran into the bedroom to her grandmother. “It’s okay, Gran,” they heard her say. “It’s over. We’re fine.”
“Fine” was a stretch—a big stretch.
Other men, both members of the patrol and their own close neighbors, came into the house, one after another. Ben deposited Sela at the table, and Barb brought her some water. Sela listened to their whispered conversations. Darren had been coldcocked but would be okay, and was sitting up . . . but Harley was dead. Lawrence had cut his throat; he’d never had a chance.
Harley . . . Tears stung Sela’s eyes, and she stared down into the glass of water. He’d been such a good guy, always willing to help in any way he could. He’d been the one who would stop on the highway to aid strangers with car trouble, the one who smoked briskets and took them to families in need.
If Lawrence could die again, she thought she’d tear him apart.
Jeremy’s hands were bound with zip ties, and a couple of the men roughly took him out of the house. Sela didn’t know where they were taking him and didn’t care.
Meredith looked around the room, her eyes wide, her expression drawn with worry. “Where’s Ted?”
Ben took a deep breath, then sighed. He reached out and put his big hand on her shoulder. “He’s been shot.”
Meredith sucked in a ragged breath and slow tears dripped down her white face. “How bad is it?”
“Bad,” Ben said reluctantly. “He’s still alive, but—I’m sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The valley community reeled in the aftermath of the violence. Five of the six who’d plotted to take over were dead, but what would they do with Jeremy? He’d refused to kill the women at Carol’s, but he’d hit Darren in the head hard enough that Terry Morris, the medic, was worried. So far Darren was hanging in, but if he died that was murder. They were all hoping it was no worse than a concussion, something he could recover from.
Losing Harley hit Ben hard. He’d lost too many men in combat, but Harley had been a civilian, and that made it harder. He’d never intended to get to know any of the people here, yet here he was, up to his neck in their lives. He’d liked Harley. The man had been willing to do anything and everything for the community, and