WHITT COULD BARELY comprehend what he had seen. He walked stiff-legged down onto the track where Vada was standing. She was panting with adrenaline, trying to unjam the pistol’s slide and eject the round stuck in the chamber. When Whitt’s foot snapped a twig lying across the road, Vada turned on him, her eyes wild.
“You shot her,” Whitt breathed, hardly believing the words as they came out of his mouth. “You shot Harry.”
“She pulled a gun on me,” Vada said, handing the weapon to Whitt. Whitt unjammed the pistol as though in a dream, picking the round up from the mud with shaking fingers. Vada held her hand out for the weapon, but Whitt found that his own hands were clamped on the gun so tightly, he didn’t seem to be able to give it back. His mind was screaming for him not to hand it over.
Again and again, he saw Vada’s arm rise as she pointed the gun at the shadowy figure of Harry.
Harry’s back had been turned.
Hadn’t it?
“Harry’s now a dangerous fugitive,” Vada said. “She pointed a gun at an officer. You saw it. You saw her try to fire on me, didn’t you?”
Whitt stood trembling, looking at Vada’s open palm.
“Whitt,” Vada said, “give me the gun.”
He didn’t resist as she pried the weapon from him. She tucked it into her holster, her eyes imploring him. When her hands came to his shoulders, he almost sank into her arms.
“I need you to back me, Whitt,” she said. “The way I’ve been backing you. Remember those officers on the bridge? No one needs to know about this.”
“She was turned away.”
“You’re buzzed out of your mind. You don’t know what you saw. Harry’s your friend. She made a mistake. We’ll find her before she hurts herself or anyone else.”
He said nothing. She gave his hand a squeeze, then went ahead up the narrow animal trail toward the crime scene. While her back was turned, Whitt considered his plan.