It was Boris Miller.
Hunter knew it even before he found himself staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun.
His gut told him as much before Boris opened the door and met him with the gun. That, and Hunter saw what was left of the game camera sitting on a small table on the front porch, next to a jar of crystal-clear moonshine.
“I was wondering when you might come calling, Sheriff.”
“That’s quite a setup you’ve got for yourself.”
“You saw that, huh?” He shook his head. “I was afraid of that when I heard what happened with the Mayweathers. They tried to tell me it was a hog, but I know better. Ain’t no hog can hop around on two legs.”
“Hiring them was your first mistake.”
“Actually, that was just another in a long line of mistakes. It seems it’s not as easy to set up shop the way it used to be, what with the Feds looking over your shoulder and the local police busting your chops. When my granddaddy used to cook, it was a more simple time. If a man had a good recipe, then he didn’t need to worry about all the piddly details. Folks liked his product, then everything else just fell in line. The cops looked the other way and no one was the wiser.”
“I don’t look the other way.”
“That’s why it has to come to this”—he pointed the gun at Hunter’s chest—“this is going to clean up all of my mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to take you out, Sheriff DeMassi. Once and for all. You’re too nosey for one thing.” His grin faltered. “And much too smart. Then again, if you were that smart, you would’ve stopped sniffing around after James Harlin bit the dust. So maybe you aren’t all that, after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But Hunter knew even before the man opened his mouth. Boris was the one responsible for the explosion that killed Jenna’s grandfather. While some other local moonshiners had been suspect, Hunter had never been able to pin it on any one. Not only was the evidence circumstantial, but he’d just had this gut feeling that there was more.
That something bigger had happened than a freak accident caused by a careless cook.
“Tell me what happened to James Harlin.”
Boris’s expression drew into a tight frown. “We’ve talked enough. Why don’t you start walking.” He nudged Hunter’s chest with the rifle. “Head around back and don’t stop until I tell you.”
“Sure thing.” His steps were careful. Paced. “Tell me about Tucker,” he said again.
“Why should I?” The barrel jabbed between his shoulder blades as Boris came up behind him, following him around the house. “You’re the law. You should have figured it out for yourself by now. Hell, I figured you had all the answers when you started staking out my still. You see, there’s only so much room for moonshine in this county. I’m a simple man. I ain’t into hauling my supply across state lines like some. I’d rather make my money right here. But I couldn’t very well do that with James Harlin peddling his. Him and Big Jimmy Ham were both running some decent stills and cutting into my profit margin. I had to take them both out. I took care of James Harlin first.”
The pieces started to fall into place then. James Harlin had been too experienced to blow himself up. That, and there had been clues. The unusual footprint at the explosion site. The clues inside the house that said James wasn’t the pickled drunk that so many thought.
Hunter had gone through the man’s room and found so many pictures of his granddaughters. Drawings they’d done for him. Even a few baby teeth stuffed into a small box in his sock drawer. They’d been hidden away. The man hadn’t been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve. But he’d had them. He’d felt them. He’d loved his granddaughters as much as he’d been able to.
Too much to blow himself up.
“I was going after Big Jimmy and his boys,” Boris went on, “when you started poking around. You busted them and took them out of the picture for me, which is why I’m going to make this quick and painless for you. You saved me a lot of trouble. It’s only right I give tit-for-tat. I’m a reasonable man, after all”
“You can’t just think you can shoot me and get away with it.”
“Actually, I’m not going to shoot you at all.” He urged Hunter around to the small shed that sat in the far rear of the backyard several yards from the run-down house. “I’m going to let my dogs take care of you. Pit bulls,” Boris added. “See, you came poking around, thinking I was someone of interest. I wasn’t here so you kept poking around and stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. My dogs got ahold of you ’cause that’s what they do—they protect my property from intruders, and that’s that. You’re gone. The coast is clear. The business keeps running.”
“That’s crazy.”
But it would work. Hunter knew that the minute he heard the growling inside the shed. The dogs were ready to eat anyone alive on command and it was just a matter of time before Boris set them free.
“Hold it right there.” He jabbed Hunter again, bringing him to a dead stop. “Down on your knees.”
Hunter didn’t move for a long second until the rifle pressed into the back of his head. “Down or I’ll shoot you where you stand and then let the dogs have what’s left. No medical examiner will be able to make heads or tails of you after that.”
Hunter hit the dirt and watched as Boris came around him, the gun still pointed at Hunter’s head. The man backed up to the shed. A smile and the man brought the gun up and bashed the lock in with the butt of his gun as if Hunter had been looking around and tried to get in himself.
Just like that, the door opened.
Boris whistled and the dogs sprang into action.
Hunter went for his gun, but he was too late. Teeth closed around his wrist and he fell backward.
The next few seconds passed in a rush of white-hot pain and dripping blood, followed by several loud gunshots.
When Hunter managed to open his eyes, he saw Boris standing above him, a crazed look on his face as he stared past Hunter to some unknown point behind.
“You killed my dogs, you sonofabitch!” he wailed.
He raised the rifle and took aim. A shot rang out and Hunter waited to feel the bullet rip into his flesh.
Instead, he watched as Boris stumbled backward. Dirt sprayed as deadweight hit the ground with a thud, a bright red stain spreading across the man’s T-shirt.
“Sheriff?” Bobby’s voice rang out. “Are you okay?”
Hunter got to his feet, gun in hand as he nudged Boris to make sure the man was down for good. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like chewed-up kibble. At least your arm does.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“We’d better call an ambulance.”
“That would be a good idea,” Hunter said, his vision starting to blur. He was dripping an awful lot of blood.
“I guess that means you won’t be able to double-date tonight?” Bobby went on as if they were just wrapping up any given day at the office. “Kaitlyn was really hoping…”
“Can’t,” Hunter managed before the darkness overtook him. “I’m already seeing someone.”
“Really?”
“Really.” And then he closed his eyes and let the blackness overwhelm him.
* * *
“It’s about time you woke up.” Jenna’s familiar voice pushed through the nothingness that engulfed Hunter and drew him back to the hospital room and the woman sitting beside his bed. “I stopped by the station and Marge told me what happened. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“A little chewed up, but I’ll make it.” He ignored the crazy stutter of his heart because she was here, now, and suddenly there was too much to say and not enough words. He swallowed against the burning in his throat and fought to find them anyway. “I need to tell you something.”
“Bobby already did. He said Boris confessed that he killed my granddad.”
He nodded. “He wanted him out of the way so that he was the only one making moonshine in this county.”
“But James Harlin barely made enough to get him into a Friday night card game down at the VFW Hall. He couldn’t have been much of a threat.”
* * *
“It doesn’t matter. He was still competition.” He noted the brightness of her eyes and added, “I’m really sorry.”
“Thanks.” She sniffled. “And thanks for not giving up on the truth. I know you kept looking into it when you didn’t have to. Everyone else wanted to write it off as an accident.”
“I needed to know.”
The digging deep, the figuring things out, the knowing brought the same rush of excitement that he’d felt all those years ago when he’d climbed onto a bucking bronc. That’s why he’d buried himself in his work for so long. Because it satisfied the rush.
Almost.
“How’s the reconstruction?” he managed.
“You mean remodel.” Her smile was small but genuine and he felt the weight on his chest lift a little “I didn’t tear down the house.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“It is. I love that house. I know it’s a crappy thing to love, but I do.”
“That’s good.”
“Anyhow, I just wanted to make sure you were okay and say thanks for everything you’ve done.”
“Just doing my job.”
Disappointment twisted her face for a long moment, as if she’d wanted him to say something else. But then she shrugged. “I guess so.”
“How’s my favorite patient today?” Marge’s voice disrupted the awkward silence that settled between them as the older woman waltzed in with a bouquet of balloons and three women he didn’t recognize.
“Oh, hey, Jenna,” said one of the women.
“Hi, Ruth Ann.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting. I just thought you could use a little company,” Marge told Hunter. “This is Carol Foster, Ruth Ann Tucker, and Darla Stanford. They work down at the RV dealership. Ruth Ann’s dad is the owner. They’re just dying to meet the man who took down the most ruthless moonshiner in this town’s history.”
“I don’t know about ruthless,” Hunter started, his gaze fixed on Jenna who inched backward as if trying to shrink away from the crowd. She gave him a little wave and then she turned.
He opened his mouth to stop her, to say something—anything—but then Ruth Ann closed in and the moment was lost.
“Boris was a brutal man,” she said. “I’d love to hear how you took him down.”
“So would I.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll just set these here”—Marge placed the teddy bear attached to the balloons on Hunter’s tray table—“and give you four some time to yourselves. Don’t go getting engaged before I get back now,” she murmured with a wink and Hunter knew she’d decided not to let her last three weeks pass idly by. She was going to find him a wife on her own.
And these were the first three candidates.
If only he’d wanted any of them half as much as he wanted Jenna Tucker.