CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“It wasn’t me, Lance.”
Clayton held up the Zippo lighter in warning, though the flame started to wink in the wind. The flames were sure to survive, even if Lance shot him.
It was only a matter of time before Clayton dropped it to the fuel-soaked grass below.
Brynn took a hesitant step backward, closer to Lance.
Good girl.
Lance had woken out of a dead sleep the second he’d heard his name being screamed through the windows of his bedroom. Being a light sleeper was a habit from his time in a combat zone. He’d never been more thankful for that training than he was at this moment.
“I’m going to give you one chance to snuff out that flame, Clay. I’ve already called Patty at the station. It’s over.” Lance held the shotgun close to his shoulder. There was something very vital that this man in front of him needed to know. “So I’m going to make this simple—if you drop that lighter, I’m going to cut you in half with this double-barreled twelve-gauge.”
Brynn was muttering for Lance to stop where he was so that he didn’t step on the saturated grass next to the house.
That wasn’t happening.
They were in this together.
He didn’t stop walking until he was by her side.
“I’m not going to hurt either of you,” Clay practically screamed, his frustration at their lack of understanding coming through loud and clear. “Just move. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll go down for arson, but I’m not going down for some bullshit murder rap.”
Lance rested his finger on the trigger, more than willing to shoot the son of a bitch who might hurt Brynn. Her hand was bleeding, but then again, so was Clayton’s face. Some type of altercation had taken place, and that alone was unacceptable.
Throw in the fact that Clayton wanted to burn a perfectly good house to the ground, and that was a recipe to land his ass in jail for a very long time.
If he didn’t die first.
“I’m not moving, Clay. So if you drop that lighter, you will be committing murder.” Lance wasn’t willing for Brynn to give her life, so he talked to her underneath his breath. “Run.”
He’d always known that Brynn was stubborn, fierce, and downright loyal to a fault. Those were only some of the qualities he loved about her, but they might very well be the reason she died here tonight.
“Listen to me for once.”
“Damn it, Lance,” Clay called out, past the point of frustration. “Don’t you get it yet? I was at the Anderson house when they were putting in that wall. Detective Kendrick already questioned me, my brothers, and my dad. It’s only a matter of time before the police figure out that the mark on the basement stairs in your house was left by me.”
Clay put a fist to his mouth, as if he were trying to keep it together. The flame was still flickering away behind its perforated shield. Lance braced himself to make his move, knowing full well this was the only chance he’d get if he couldn’t talk Clay down from whatever ledge he’d walked out onto in his hazy panic.
“Move.” Clay’s directive came out strangled. Lance’s stomach tightened to the point of pain when he could only stand there and watch as a man he’d grown up with threaten to harm the lives of two people. “Please.”
“We’re not moving out of your way, Clay,” Brynn said softly, almost with an understanding tone. What the hell was she doing? She could have easily made it to her vehicle by now, but instead, she was trying to rationalize with a man who’d poured gasoline around Lance’s house and currently had a lit Zippo in his trembling hand. “If you say you didn’t murder Sophia or take any of those women, we believe you.”
“The cops won’t, and you damn well know it.” Clay rested his hand on top of his head, grabbing ahold of his hair and practically pulling the strands out in chunks. “They’re doing whatever they can to tie this to one person. Look at Calvin. The man took pictures of those girls for Birdie’s scrapbook, but that fucking detective tried to twist it into something it wasn’t. And what about Harlan? He’s the one who sold off those properties…then and now. They dragged his ass into that interrogation room, too. I’m next, and when they find out that I was having sex with Whitney…it’s all over.”
Lance figured Clay was right. Unfortunately, not about being accused of murder. The fluid in the lighter was dwindling. They all had mere seconds before Clay either dropped it to the ground or made the wise decision to douse the wavering flame.
“Clay, I’ve spoken to Detective Kendrick.” Brynn took a step forward, pulling away when Lance tried to stop her. “He’s not like Sheriff Percy. Kendrick will listen to what you have to say. He won’t make any rash judgements. I promise you, Clay. Just please…please do the right thing here.”
Brynn’s faith in this town was unwavering. Her devotion to the residents even more so, despite the fact that their fate currently rested in the hands of an unstable neighbor. Clay had been pushed to the brink, and not even his family had been able to get him to see reason. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was what Clayton and Wes had been arguing about at the bar.
Lance raised the shotgun, never altering his breathing or taking his gaze off the flame. In his mind’s eye, he’d pull the trigger the moment Clay released the lighter. It would take mere seconds for the licking flames to reach Lance’s boots. The chances of him reaching Brynn and throwing her to safety were nil, but that’s what he would attempt nonetheless.
He couldn’t allow her life to end.
He wouldn’t.
Lance applied pressure to the trigger. If this were his last action here on earth, then by God, his family would know who was responsible for his death.
“Damn it!” Clay flicked his wrist until the lid closed on the lighter, extinguishing the chance of them all looking like burnt Sunday roasts. Anger and despair were written across his features, and he was glaring at them as if him chickening out of what he’d come here to do was all their fault. “I’m fucked, Brynn. Can’t you see that?”
Brynn didn’t answer. Instead, she spun around and took the few steps needed to be in Lance’s embrace. He could literally feel the sob of relief wrack her body. Anger consumed him at what she’d been through this evening, but he forced himself to lower his weapon. He wouldn’t do what had become instinct, thereby removing the threat in front of him.
Lance was no longer on the battlefield, but it seemed as if war had been declared on the residents of Blyth Lake. He had no choice but to take up his trained position once again.
Sirens broke through the silence, only there was no justice to be had this evening. At least, not for the missing girls.