One Night Standoff - By Delores Fossen Page 0,51

putting the blame on others. Report to the marshals’ office for further questioning. Oh, and if you don’t show up, there’ll be an APB out for your arrest.”

That caused Quentin to curse a blue streak.

“Hate to rush this,” Dr. Landry said, “but this patient might not hang on much longer.”

When the doctor started for the door, Quentin stepped back, probably because Harlan looked ready to knock him to the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Quentin snarled with his trademark sarcasm.

“I’ll thank you if and when this pans out,” Clayton let him know. He took Lenora by the arm and followed the doctor. Harlan and Declan were right behind them, and all of them, including the doctor, kept an eye on Quentin.

“He’s dangerous, too?” Dr. Landry asked.

“Probably.” Unlike Quentin’s, Clayton’s tone was apologetic. “I’ll make sure security has photos of both Quentin and Agent Britt. And I’ll arrange a guard for our shooter.”

“The sheriff’s already sent over a deputy,” the doctor let him know. “You don’t think that’ll be enough?”

“Not in this situation,” Clayton answered.

It hit Lenora then that the shooter was probably in just as much danger as Clayton and she were. After all, if his boss thought he was talking, or might talk to the marshals, then someone would try to eliminate him.

She glanced back at Quentin, who was still in the hall.

“Yeah,” Clayton said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “If Quentin’s still here when we finish talking with this guy, I’ll have Harlan escort him to a holding cell at the headquarters.”

Good. Lenora only wished they could hold Quentin indefinitely. Melvin and James, too. That way there’d be no more threat. Well, until Riggs hired someone else.

They wound their way through the maze of halls to the surgical ICU, and there was indeed a deputy outside one of the doors. He had a stocky build and round face. Maybe too young to face down anyone Riggs might send to silence the guy. Clayton was right to add more security.

“Marshals,” the deputy greeted. According to his name tag he was Randy Wells, and he seemed to know Harlan, Declan and Clayton. Of course, since they were all lawmen, they had probably worked some cases together.

The deputy stepped aside so they could enter. She immediately spotted the man in the bed and knew this must be the person who’d tried to kill them, but he no longer seemed a formidable foe. His watery, weak eyes opened, and the moment his gaze landed on Clayton he wiggled his fingers, motioning for him to come closer.

Lenora wasn’t sure she wanted Clayton closer to the man, but she doubted Peter Lomax was in any shape to launch another attack.

“I need a deal.” Lomax’s voice was a gravelly whisper, and each word was a struggle.

“What kind of deal?” Clayton asked.

“For my brother, Johnny.” And that’s all he said for several seconds. Lomax used that time to gather his breath. Or rather, try. He started to wheeze, prompting the doctor to check the machines.

“I have something that’ll be useful to you,” Lomax finally continued. “And I’ll trade it for a lighter sentence for my brother.”

“He took shots at us,” Clayton reminded him.

“He was following my orders.” Lomax pulled in a shallow, ragged breath. “And if you want to know whose orders I was following, then you gotta swear to give Johnny a break.”

Clayton, Harlan and Declan exchanged glances. “All right,” Clayton agreed, though Lenora had no idea if he truly would go through with it.

With his eyes barely open, Lomax studied him as if trying to decide if Clayton was telling the truth. Maybe he had his doubts, too, but if so, he didn’t voice them. Of course, he didn’t have a lot of options here. It was obvious that he was dying, and he might bargain with the devil to get what he wanted.

Lomax finally nodded. “It’s in a wall safe at my sister’s place up in Abilene.” And with that, his eyelids fluttered back down again.

“What’s in the safe?” Clayton asked when Lomax didn’t continue.

“A recording.” Lomax repeated his answer in a soundless mumble.

Clayton moved closer, until he was looming over the man. “What kind of recording?”

One of the machines made a shrill sound. “Everyone out now,” Dr. Landry ordered.

“What recording?” Clayton pressed as they moved out of the room and back into the hall with Deputy Wells. “What recording?”

But Lomax didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t draw another breath. A nurse pushed them aside and hurried into the room, shutting the door.

“I’ll