Jeffrey took a step back, away from the pressure of the barrel against his face. 'I'm the chief of police for Grant County.'

Pfeiffer held the shotgun steady at Jeffrey's chest. 'I don't care if you're the fucking President of the United States. Get off my land.'

'Why are you scared of another cop?'

'You wouldn't be here if you didn't already know the answer to that.'

'I just want to talk.'

'Do I look like I wanna talk to you?'

'I need to know-'

'You see this gun pointing at you, boy?' The man took a step closer, the barrel of the shotgun pressing hard into Jeffrey's chest. Pfeiffer was about half a foot shorter and twenty years older, but his voice was firm when he said, 'You listenin' to me, boy?' He paused, but not for an answer. 'I done told you I ain't got nothing to say to nobody. You hear? Nothing.'

'I just-'

'You go back and tell them that, hear? You tell them Al Pfeiffer told you to fuck on off back to the hell you came from.'

'If you could just-'

'You get off my property!' the old man screamed. 'You get into that fancy car of yours and if you ever come back, I'll chop you up and throw you to the gators. You got that?'

Jeffrey knew better than to argue, especially since he was entirely confident that Al Pfeiffer was more than prepared to carry out his threat. 'I got you.'

'Now, get,' Pfeiffer said, using the barrel to push Jeffrey away.

Jeffrey walked backward, not wanting to turn his back on the man until he absolutely had to. Fury was something he could handle, but fear made people irrational. Jeffrey didn't want to be in range of that shotgun if Al Pfeiffer decided letting Jeffrey go scot-free wasn't the right course of action.

Which, the moment Jeffrey turned around, is exactly what the man did.

The first shot must have been fired into the air, but it was loud enough to make Jeffrey hunch his shoulders. He heard Sara scream, then the second shot cracked the air. This one was a more direct warning, scattering the gravel about six inches from where Jeffrey stood. He scrambled to get out of the way, slipping on the loose stone, falling hard on his palms.

'Shit,' he cursed, making himself stand. It wasn't going to be like this, not with him biting dirt while some madman played target practice. Jeffrey held up his hands in the air, yelling, 'You're gonna have to shoot me in the back, if that's the kind of man you are.'

The shotgun pumped again, loading another shell.

'No!' Sara screamed, pounding her fists against the window. 'Jeffrey!'

He walked toward the car, hands in the air, this time leaving his back as a clear target. He stared at Sara. Her fists froze mid-strike, inches from the window. There was a valet key in the center console. She had to know that. He had told her when he put it there and she'd made some joke about having to drive to Atlanta before they'd find a valet to use it.

Sara's mouth moved. He read the words. 'Hurry, hurry, hurry…'

An eternity seemed to pass as Jeffrey closed the twenty feet between himself and the car. His back felt white-hot, more from the bull's-eye painted on it than from the blazing sun.

While time had slowed down as he walked to the car, the clock started ticking as soon as he got behind the wheel. He fumbled with the keyfob, and Sara snatched it out of his hand, starting the car herself.

'Go,' she begged. 'Hurry.'

He threw the car into reverse and punched his foot on the gas. A quick look showed him that Al Pfeiffer was still holding his stance, legs spread, back straight, shotgun pointed into the air. The bastard had a smug smile on his face as he watched the retreat. Jeffrey let off the gas a little as he reversed out of the driveway, letting the man know he shouldn't get too cocky just yet.

Jeffrey headed straight out the way they had come. The car bumped against the curve as he pulled back onto the main road. He chanced a look at Sara. She was clutching the door handle so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

As soon as they passed the post office, she told him, 'Pull over.'

Jeffrey slowed the car, afraid she was going to be sick.

'Pull over,' she repeated, opening the door.

He slammed on the brakes. Sara didn't even wait for the car to stop before jumping out.

Jeffrey slid across the seats, following her. 'Are you-'

She turned on him, slapping him square across the face. For a full ten seconds, Jeffrey was too stunned to react. She had never hit him, never so much as raised her hand.

He rubbed his face, felt the inside of his cheek with his tongue. 'You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?'

Sara paced in front of him, cupping her hands over her mouth. He knew that she couldn't yell when she was this angry. Her words got caught in her throat and her tone went so low that she could barely make a sound.

'Sara-'

'You asshole,' she whispered. 'You stupid, arrogant asshole.'

Jeffrey smiled because he knew that it would irritate the shit out of her. He had no idea what she was mad about, but he knew that if she slapped him again, there was going to be a real problem.

He glanced at the road as a green pickup truck drove by, slowing for the show. They hadn't seen another car since they'd entered Dug Rut. This was probably the biggest thing to hit town since the stop sign had been installed at the end of Main Street.

Sara waited for the truck to pass before asking, 'Why did you slow down?'

'When did I-' He stopped. The driveway. He had slowed when he'd seen that smug look on Al Pfeiffer's face.

'You couldn't let him get the best of you, could you? You just had to slow down and goad him on.' She shook her head, tears welling into her eyes. 'You're just as bad as Lena. You play these games with people, these glorified pissing contests, like it's not a matter of life and death.' She tapped her hand to her chest. 'My life, Jeffrey. Your death.'

Jeffrey tried to shrug it off. 'His shots were wide. They were just a warning.'

'Oh, you have no idea how consoling I find that.'

'You can't let people like that know you're scared.'

'You can't let people know you're scared,' she corrected. 'He had a gun, Jeffrey. A shotgun.'

'We were out of range.'

'Out of range?' she echoed, incredulous. She held up her finger to stop the words that were about to come out of his mouth. 'You locked me in the car. He put that gun in your face and you locked me in the car.'

'I was trying to protect you.'

'Who was protecting you?' she demanded. 'I'm not a child, Jeffrey. I'm not some scared little girl who needs her hand held to cross the street.'

'And I am?'

She didn't answer. Her focus had shifted from Jeffrey to something over his shoulder. The green pickup was back, slowing down for another look. The windows were tinted, but as he turned, Jeffrey could make out two figures behind the dark glass as the truck rolled by. It occurred to Jeffrey that maybe the driver wasn't looking for a show. Maybe he was looking to finish what Al Pfeiffer had started.

He ordered, 'Get in the car.'

Sara didn't argue. She walked briskly toward the BMW and Jeffrey followed. He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, not bothering to look for traffic as he pulled back onto the road. He glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the truck make another U-turn.

He told Sara, 'They turned around.'

She slipped on her seat belt, clicking it into place.

The BMW gave a slight jerk as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. The truck sped up as well.

Sweat rolled down Jeffrey's back as he navigated the snaking road. Two minutes passed before the truck pulled off onto a dirt trail. Either the man had lost interest or he knew that there was no way he could take on the inline six.