“No,” he says, with an answering smile of his own. “We have plenty. I just saw Detective Butler and thought she might like a drink.” He lifts the bottle and the shot glass. “Good call?”
Around us, tables have gone quiet. They’d ignored me chatting with Phil and Isabel. Just town business, and from our relaxed expressions, not interesting town business. Now, though, there’s a crackle in the air that raises the hairs on my neck.
I could play along. Smile and take the tequila shot. Or smile and say, I’m working, but thank you. No need to explain why I’m talking to his boss. Between her and Phil, I have plenty of reason to do so.
That crackle in the air is what stops me. A sixth sense that everyone else here feels. Is there an edge to Brandon’s words? To his smile? Either way, he hasn’t come out here to offer me a drink. He’s come out because he tried to kill Conrad, and he knew he’d been caught the moment I walked into the Roc.
I glance at Isabel. She lifts one shoulder in the faintest shrug. Any fancy footwork now might be mistaken for subterfuge by the witnesses. As if we spared Brandon a public arrest because we secretly applaud him for trying to kill the guy who outed our deputy.
“I’m going to need to speak to you down at the station, Brandon,” I say. “I just have a few questions.”
He sets the shot glass on the table. “Ask them here. I have nothing to hide. Also, considering what’s going on in the police department, I’m not sure I trust you to question me in private.”
There’s the tiniest smirk on his face, and between that and his words, I no longer feel bad about learning he’s our would-be killer. Both tell me that Brandon isn’t the guy we thought he was, and beside me, Isabel shifts, as if thinking the same thing.
Great. It took her nearly two years to replace Mick as bartender, and once she does? The “nice guy” she chooses turns out to be a killer and a dick.
“All right,” I say. “Do you have an alibi for last night between the hours of—”
He smashes the bottle. It happens so fast that if I hadn’t suspected trouble, I wouldn’t have gotten out of the way in time. I twist aside as soon as I hear that crack. He’s smashed the bottle on the table edge, toppling it, and then he’s slashing at me. I avoid that slash, but tequila sprays my eyes, and I stagger back, blinded.
There’s a sharp intake of breath, and I spin, blinking madly, to see Brandon slashing at Isabel. Still blinking, I dive for them, but Phil’s already there. He throws himself at Brandon, and knocks him flying clear across the patio. Chairs and tables clatter, people jumping out of the way. The two hit the edge of the patio and tumble off it, and by the time I get there, Phil has Brandon on the ground.
Has him on the ground, while completely ignoring the broken bottle in his hand.
“Phil!” I shout. “Watch—!”
I don’t even get the first word out before Brandon is slashing. Phil tries to roll aside, but Brandon has his other hand wrapped in Phil’s shirtfront. I leap off the patio edge and kick Brandon’s hand as he slashes. It’s too late, my hasty kick lands off center. The bottle still slices Phil. Blood sprays.
I grab Phil by the back of his shirt and yank. Phil flies free of Brandon’s grasp, but Brandon scrambles after us, slashing again. Someone grabs him from behind and I think, Thank God, someone’s actually helping. Then I catch a glimpse of the face. Dalton. Of course.
I heave Phil back, and Dalton has Brandon. The armed man twists and tries to slash at Dalton, but a smack to his arm sends the bottle neck flying.
Dalton’s move costs him his grip on Brandon. The man dives for the dropped bottle. Dalton kicks it aside as Brandon goes for it. Dalton grabs Brandon again. The man falls limp, head shaking in defeat.
Too easy. I’m opening my mouth to say that when Brandon lashes out. Dalton blocks, and then hisses in pain, and his palm splits in a bloody line. I’m there then, charging at Brandon. He sees me coming and barrels into the forest.
I pause, my gaze going to Dalton. He lifts his bloody hand. “Got it,” he says. “Go on.”
“Casey!” Isabel’s voice calls behind me. “Please!”
I turn. Isabel is on the ground beside Phil. I lowered him onto it and then ran at Brandon before I could see Phil’s injury. I do now. A deep cut on his arm spurts blood.
Shit! I am not going anywhere.
SIXTEEN
I race to Phil. As I do, a familiar voice calls, “I’ll get April!,” and I look up to see Diana taking off.
“No!” I shout. “Tina, can you get my sister please. Diana, get Will.”
I don’t know where my sister will be at this time of day. Eating dinner at home? At Kenny’s? Out with him for a walk before returning to her comatose patient? I can’t take a chance that she isn’t around, and I don’t trust anyone here except Diana to get Anders.
“Shirt!” I shout. “Jacket. Belt. Anything!”
Again, it’s Dalton who’s there first. Oh, the others move this time, once they figure out what I’m asking for. But he’s first. Always first.
He passes me his shirt, but I wave it off, saying, “Your hand,” and instead grab a light jacket thrust my way. I take a belt, too.
I wrap the jacket arms tight above Phil’s wound. Spurting blood means an artery. I need to cut off blood flow immediately. I yank the sleeves as tight as I can and then affix the belt over them, yanking tighter still.
“Are you trying to take his arm off?” Isabel says, with a shaky half laugh. Then she catches Phil’s expression and bends down to whisper an apology. I’m not sure he hears it. His face is ashen.
“Keep talking to him,” I say. “Keep him engaged. I’ve stopped the blood. Biggest problem is shock.” I raise my voice. “Hear that, Phil? The danger is shock. Stay with us.”
He nods. Dalton is beside me, asking what he can do. I motion for him to hold the tourniquet. Then I quickly check for other wounds.
I’m still checking when April and Anders both arrive. Anders comes at a full-out run. My damn sister walks as if her patient suffers no more than a broken arm. To her credit, when she sees the amount of blood, she breaks into a jog. By then, Anders is already kneeling beside Phil.
“Deep cut to the underside of the biceps,” Anders says, words machine-gun fast as April bends. “Looks like it’s at least nicked the brachial artery. Blood flow has stopped. Did you bring—?”
April is already opening her medical bag. Her face is impassive, as if this is indeed a simple broken arm, and on a complete stranger. Yet she flexes her fingers as she reaches inside, as if to calm a quiver I can’t see.
“Casey?” Fingers rest on my shoulder. I look up to see Isabel, with Dalton standing behind her, Storm at his side.
I rise and nod abruptly. “April and Will have this. We should go after Brandon.”
“You should,” Isabel murmurs. Then, “I had to stop you. Even if it meant he got away.”
“Obviously.” I meet her gaze. “Phil was the priority.”
Her chin dips in a nod. “Yes, but if I appeared slightly panicked…”
“It’s because you were hiding the fact that you were completely panicked?”