shot was off because he hadn’t stopped and aimed, but it got their attention. The guy on the fence turned and fired right back. Wyatt saw the bullet slam into the ground and kick up dirt. Much better than it going toward the house.
Wyatt fired another shot. Ducked. But the one on the fence didn’t take the bait this time. He scrambled over the top and disappeared into the trees.
Wyatt turned to fire at the other one, but the shots began to blast through the air. Obviously, the gunman on the other side of the fence hadn’t run away and left his partner after all. He was trying to save his sorry butt, and to save his own butt, Wyatt had no choice but to dart behind an old cast-iron bathtub that’d been turned into a watering trough.
He cursed, waiting, but knowing this would allow the second man to get away. Wyatt lost count of the number of shots fired, all of them smacking into the trough and the ground around him.
But they stopped just as quickly as they’d started.
Wyatt waited another second or two and then took off running again.
Neither man was in sight now, and since he didn’t know the area, Wyatt couldn’t even predict which direction they’d gone. Maybe he would be able to find their footprints and follow them.
“Stop!” someone yelled from behind him. Not Lyla. A man, probably the deputy.
Wyatt spared him a glance over his shoulder. Yep, a deputy in uniform, all right, and he was standing with his gun drawn on the back porch. It was a risk, because the lawman might shoot him in the back, but Wyatt was so close to the fence now that he took his chances. He barreled over it and dropped to the ground.
There were footprints. Plenty of them, and some had bits of dried leaves and twigs in them, which could mean they were several days old. Later, he’d need to ask Lyla about who had access to this part of the property, but he was betting these weren’t the footprints of a neighbor.
Someone had been watching her for a long time.
He lifted his head and listened for any sound of footsteps. Nothing. Just the wind. But he soon heard something he didn’t want to hear.
An engine starting up.
Wyatt raced toward the sound, weaving his way through the trees and scraggly underbrush, and it didn’t take him long to get to a clearing with a trail. He caught just a glimpse of the black SUV as it disappeared out of sight. He didn’t even have a chance to get the license number.
Oh, man. He didn’t need this.
Without thinking, he yanked out his phone, and he got a quick reminder of why he hadn’t already called one of his brothers. Still no service out in this rural area. That meant he needed to get to a landline ASAP.
He also needed to face that gun-pointing deputy.
Wyatt meandered his way back to the fence and was about to climb over it when he spotted something.
A camera mounted on one of the trees.
He followed the angle of the lens—it was aimed directly at Lyla’s house. Yeah, someone had been watching her.
But who?
Wyatt figured the camera might give him some clues about that, so he ripped it from the tree and climbed back over the fence. The deputy was still on the porch, but there was no sign of Lyla, who was hopefully still inside and on the floor. That was because the gunmen might make a return visit and this time launch another attack.
“Marshal McCabe,” the deputy said as Wyatt got closer. He was a pencil-thin man with pink flushed cheeks and nearly white blond hair. “I’m Deputy Walter O’Neal.”
“I hope you called for backup, because the shooters got away in a black SUV. They used what appears to be an old ranch road.”
The deputy nodded. “Got two other deputies on the way. You can give us a description at the sheriff’s office, ’cause I need to take you in for questioning.”
Yeah, Wyatt had figured that, and he had no plans to resist. Or even argue. The sooner he finished his business with the deputy, the sooner he could have the camera analyzed and figure out the identities of those gunmen.
“Lyla said you accused her of some wrongdoing,” O’Neal added when Wyatt made it to the porch.
“I did.” He held up the camera. “And this might prove it.” However, it was more likely to prove her innocence, since she had no reason to put her own house under surveillance, unless it was part of some security system to make sure no one got too close.
Like him.
“I did nothing wrong,” he heard Lyla repeat, and she stepped onto the back porch to join them. But not for long.
Wyatt took her arm and put her right back inside. “She shouldn’t be out in the open, because of the gunmen.” And he turned to the deputy. “You need to bring her to the sheriff’s office with us.”
“She insisted on coming,” the deputy said, sounding a little uncertain about that. Or maybe his uncertainty was just for Wyatt and the shots that’d been fired. “Though I did suggest she see a doctor while I deal with getting your statement.”
“The men really got away?” she asked, her eyes wide. Lyla grabbed her coat and purse from the peg next to the door that led to the garage.
Wyatt nodded and held up the camera. “Any idea who’s been watching you?”
That didn’t help ease the look of concern on her face. “No.”
He hadn’t expected any other answer from her, but then she stopped. “Three days ago someone from the electric company showed up and said he needed to do some repairs on the lines. He seemed, well, a little suspicious. Like he was nervous or something.”
That was a start. “I’ll make some calls and see if he was legit or not. Also, if there’s a surveillance disk in here, we might get a better look of the gunmen’s faces.” Of course, there probably wouldn’t be a disk. It likely had some kind of wireless feed to another device.
One that the gunmen had almost certainly taken.
Wyatt doubted they were so incompetent that they would have left something like that behind. Still, he might get lucky. He would have a closer look later.
“I take it all of this is part of some official investigation?” O’Neal asked.
“An investigation, yes,” Wyatt answered. “Official, no. Not yet anyway. I’m here for personal reasons.”
He waited to see if Lyla had told the deputy about the in vitro switch, but she didn’t say a word. Wyatt figured that would change, though, when they got to the sheriff’s office. Lyla was a crime scene analyst, bound by the law, and she no doubt trusted this deputy more than she trusted him.
Yeah, she’d tell, all right.
“I’ll let you keep your gun,” O’Neal said, leading them out the front and to his patrol car. “For now.”
Wyatt didn’t like the guy’s attitude, but he had to admit it was a generous concession. If their situations had been reversed, Wyatt wouldn’t have let him stay armed.
Since there was a bulky equipment bag in the front passenger seat, Lyla and Wyatt got into the back. She didn’t say a word to him, but she did shoot him another glare. Wyatt gave her one right back. So far, the evidence was pointing to the fact that she might be a pawn, but until Wyatt knew for sure, he intended to be as wary of her as she was of him.
“What will happen now?” she asked, directed not at Wyatt but rather the deputy.
“We’ll start with your statements,” he answered, his attention shifting all around. Wyatt was doing the same thing, looking for those gunmen. “I guess neither of you recognized those two men?”
“No,” Wyatt and she answered in unison. That seemed to annoy her, too.