Nancy staggers back, Tomas rushing in to catch her. His arms go around her, and he tugs her out of the way. Storm growls beside me. Through the woods, I see Dalton soundlessly slipping behind Lane.
“If this was a hunting accident, then I will understand that,” I say. “Like your aunt said, you lack experience with firearms. But, like she also said, I can indeed connect your shotgun to you and to the pellet that killed Ellen. There’s no point in arguing it wasn’t you. Just explain what happened. If you made a mistake, then it was only a tragic accident.”
It wasn’t. I’m certain of that. I might not be a forensics expert, but I know Ellen died at night. The only thing Lane had been hunting at that time was Ellen herself. Step one, though, is getting a confession to the killing.
“I don’t have a gun,” he says.
“Then who does? Has someone you know been giving you their game? Trading it?”
This makes no sense, but I’m giving him an out here. Dalton’s behind Lane, still tucked into the dark forest, his gun drawn. I have mine out, too. Lane’s face says he’s two seconds from bolting, and I need to give him an explanation that will allow him to relax. Then I can get the truth.
Still, he shakes his head and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nancy breaks from Tomas’s arms and steps toward her nephew.
“Lane, please,” she says. “I know you’re scared—”
“I’m not scared,” he says, jaw setting. “I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do.”
“Nobody is accusing you,” I say. “We just want to know what happened. Give us that, and this will be over.”
“Listen to her,” Nancy says, taking another step toward him.
“Nancy?” I say. “Move back, please.”
She shakes her head, her gaze still on her nephew. “I know you’d never hurt me, Lane. You are a son to me, and I trust you completely.”
I don’t like her tone or her words. They’re too much, her gaze fixed on him, her voice low and soothing, and it’s exactly what I’ve done with dangerous suspects.
I know you don’t want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You’re not that kind of person.
Words I’d said when I knew my suspect was that kind of person, but I was trying to defuse the situation, while my colleagues kept their guns trained on the suspect.
Half the time, the suspect called me on my bullshit. Yet I continued doing it for those where my words did nudge something deep in them, did convince them to surrender.
That is what Nancy is doing here. Except she’s not a trained officer. And the fact that she’s doing it tells me Lane isn’t a sweet, harmless young man. I sneak a glance at Tomas. His face is taut, gaze fixed on his wife as he rocks forward, torn between pulling her back and not wanting to set his nephew off. His gaze cuts my way, communicating exactly what I expect—a warning and a plea.
“Nancy?” I say. “I know you’re trying to help, and I know Lane would never hurt you, but I have a gun, and my dog is trained to attack. Any wrong move, however unintentional, could get both of you hurt. Just step back, and let us handle this. Lane isn’t armed. He’s not going to hurt himself. He’s listening to us. I just need you to—”
Lane lunges, and there’s nothing I can do about it except bark at him to get back, get the hell away from Nancy. He grabs Nancy and yanks her to him, and Tomas lunges toward them, but Lane already has his arm around Nancy’s neck, a hunting knife in his hand.
“Why?!” Lane screams at his uncle, spittle flying.
Tomas falls back with the force of that scream, the venom in it. Even Dalton startles. Storm growls, hackles rising.
“Why do you care?” Lane screams at Tomas.
“Do you mean why do I care about you?” Tomas says. “You’re my nephew, my brother’s child, you’re a son—”
“I mean her.” Lane shakes Nancy. “Why do you care what I do to her? You knew what she was doing.”
“I…” Tomas swallows, and when he says, “I’m not sure what you mean,” it’s obviously a lie.
“That wild woman. Your wife was … was…” He can’t finish, his face choked with rage. “She betrayed you with a woman.”
Nancy’s gaze shunts to her husband, but Tomas straightens, voice calm as he says, “That would be between my wife and myself, Lane. Yes, I knew, and I’ve done nothing about it, which means it is none of your concern.”
“She betrayed you.”