Silencer by James W. Hall Read Free Book Online Page B

the floor. And because she knew him to be a gentle soul, with a wife and several grown children. Like his father before him, he worked his ass off alongside the pickers and ranch hands. Once in her early days on the ranch, Gustavo rescued Claire when she’d become hopelessly lost while driving around the ranch, trying to familiarize herself with her new home. Night falling, she was on the brink of despair. Gustavo appeared in his pickup and guided her back to the lodge, never mentioning the incident again. Unfailingly polite, Gustavo was the one employee on Coquina Ranch she considered a dear friend.
    Seconds passed. Claire waited for her order to register with Gustavo, waited for him to drop the pistol, waited as any reasonable person would. That was all. With Browning yelling, commanding her to open fire on the gentle soul.
    Gustavo’s pistol rose, Claire saying no, no, as that long cylinder wobbled upward toward the men across the room.
    There was no choice. No time for pleading. God help them all. She tensed her finger and set off a blast that seemed to rattle the foundation of that house.
    Though she’d fired that shotgun hundreds of times and knew its kick, she was staggered and spun awkwardly to her right. When she swung back she saw the spray of pellets had blown out the twenty-foot window and a cascade of bright needles was raining down on Gustavo’s body.
    She dropped the shotgun on the stone floor and turned to the couch. It was then she realized that in those seconds of delay she’d lost more than a friend.
    Earl Hammond, who’d been born on Coquina Ranch and spent decades nurturing the land and the people under his care, strictly maintaining the customs of his ancestors, Earl Hammond Jr. was sitting oddly erect on the leather sofa. His head was turned to the side as if he were watching the scenery pass outside the window of a car. The expression on Earl’s face was too serene for this world.
    Browning bent over him, felt for a pulse at his throat. He kept his hand there for half a minute, staring up at the ceiling. The governor and Antwan Shelton emerged from behind the couch.
    â€œHoly Jesus,” Sanchez said.
    Browning removed his hand from his grandfather’s throat. He straightened and looked at the governor and Antwan.
    â€œAw, shit,” said Sanchez. “Mary mother of God.”
    Antwan was holding himself erect, eyeing Claire with a grim fascination, like one gladiator marveling at another’s deadly skills.
    Browning walked over to Gustavo’s body, glared down at it for a moment, then drew back his boot and kicked the small man in the ribs. Gustavo’s limp body rose from the floor and flopped back down, his arms slinging loose. The front of his blue cowboy shirt was ripped open, exposing a meaty mess.
    Browning stood above the body and raised his hands to his head and slicked his fingers through his brown hair, once, twice, a third time. Eyes closed, blue veins rising at his temple. A moment later, he turned his eyes to the ceiling and howled till his lungs were empty.
    When he’d gathered himself, he wiped his lips on his sleeve. Lookingat Claire, his face was pale and shrunken, but his eyes had the fierce glimmer from his football days when he trotted through the stadium tunnel onto the field, readying himself for the clash of bodies, the bruising hits.
    Claire came to him and he opened his arms mechanically. Pressing into his warmth, she felt his massive body tremble with such force it seemed the house was quaking around them.
    In that moment, in her husband’s shuddering embrace, Claire felt an ache of dread and desolation as the enormity of the moment settled. Because she had been the instrument of Earl Hammond’s death, however justified her slowness to act might have been, it was very likely she had committed the one unpardonable act that would forever alter her marriage and her life at the ranch.
    â€œSweetheart, I’m