“He got shot. He says it’s a through and through, but they’re working on him now.”
Winchester’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Don’t you thinkyou should have led with that?”
“Sorry, I—”
“Where is he?” demands Winchester.
I point in the direction I came from. “Over there.”
“How many are dead and injured?” asks Ghost.
“Three dead and six injured.” He looks past me to a body in the field. “Whoever did this, they’re not stopping. We need to find them first. Information is ammo,” he says quietly.
“Exactly,” I reply. “And right now, we’re shooting blanks, but maybe I have something on film.”
Winchester studies me, his eyes assessing, deciding if I can be trusted. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a set of keys.
“It’s the old red truck parked down there.” He points toward his vehicle. “Make sure you clear it with the cops before you leave.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll be seeing you, Lucy’s sister.”
“Gwen.”
“I know.” Winchester smirks then goes back to his MC brothers, and I head for Sheriff Roy Baker.
He’s standing next to a couple of his men. The sheriff sees me coming, and his lips turn down in distaste.
“Excuse me, Sheriff?” He nods. “I was wondering if I could go?”
“Have you given a statement?”
“No, but—”
“Then no.” The sheriff moves away from me with a dismissive flick of his hand.
Not wanting to be here any longer than I need to, I chase after him. “Well, perhaps I could ask you a few questions, Sheriff?”
He stops moving and turns to face me. “Questions?”
“Yes, sir. For instance, have the police got any suspects in the assassination attempt on the Royal Bastards?”
“Assassination attempt?” He rolls his eyes. “Seems more like the usual gun play between these fellas. You mark my words.”
“Ahh, so the local PD already has a bias against the Royal Bastards and has jumped to conclusions without any evidence to back it up?”
Sheriff Roy Baker frowns. “You can go. Leave your name and address with Officer Murphy, and don’t leave town.”
“Can I get an official statement from you, Sheriff?”
“Not at this time. Now, go.” He again waves a hand at me dismissively and walks away.
With a casual shrug, I stroll over to Winchester’s old truck and hoist myself into the driver’s seat. It protests with a coughing splutter as I turn the key, but soon, it settles into a smooth purr. As I drive away from the field, I glance in the rearview mirror.
There stands Highway, solitary, his gaze fixed on me as I depart.
It’s so like him.
