Free 'Til Death (A Rebel Ridge Novel) by Sharon Sala Page B

didn’t know who’d caught
him trespassing on the old Fox place, but the man now knew too damn much about
him. He needed to get the hell off the mountain or he would wind up in jail. It
took nearly half an hour to get back home, and by the time he arrived, he’d
already made himself a plan.
    Fagan’s truck was parked behind the house, and he was obviously
still up, because all the lights were on. Prince rode the bike into the barn,
parked it beside his own truck and jumped off on the run. When he went in the
back door and found his brother asleep in the living room in front of the TV, a
half-eaten bowl of popcorn in his lap, he yelled, “Fagan!”
    Fagan jumped, sending the popcorn flying.
    “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he mumbled as he set the bowl
aside and looked down at the mess on the floor.
    “I’m going to Mount Sterling for a while. How much cash you got
on you?”
    Fagan frowned. “What have you done?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Let me ask that another way. What are you going to be charged
with?”
    “For starters, probably breaking and entering, and stalking Meg
Lewis.”
    Fagan’s eyes bugged. “What the fuck? You’re the one who broke
into her house and got her hurt?”
    “I didn’t touch her. She’s the one who ran through broken
glass.”
    Fagan groaned. “Why? Why would you do such a dumbass thing?
There’s plenty of women around here who’ll spread their legs for a twenty-dollar
bill. You didn’t have to go messin’ with a decent woman, especially one who’s
got three mean-ass brothers.”
    Prince’s chin jutted, and his eyes narrowed angrily. He wasn’t
about to share his info with Fagan and wind up giving him half the money he was
looking for.
    “It’s none of your damned business,” he said.
    Fagan stared at his brother as if he’d just lost his mind. “You
are truly as crazy as Wendell was.”
    Prince glared. “You don’t talk about the dead like that.
Besides, you’re not my boss, and you’re not my conscience. So answer my damn
question. How much cash you got on you?”
    Fagan sighed. “Less than two hundred dollars.”
    “I need it,” Prince said, and held out his hand.
    Fagan dug his wallet out of his pocket and gave him the cash.
“What do you expect me to do when the law comes callin’?”
    “Tell them I left without a word and you don’t know where I
went.”
    “Great. Just great,” Fagan muttered. “We haven’t been in
trouble like this in years. I’m too old for all this crap. So go find yourself a
hole to crawl into, because I don’t want her brothers pissed off at me. There’s
three of them and only one of me.”
    Prince sneered. “They don’t scare me,” he said.
    “Yeah, right. You’re not scared, you’re just running away from
Rebel Ridge with your tail tucked between your legs because you like how it rubs
against your balls.”
    “Shut the hell up,” Prince said, and stuffed the money into his
pocket and headed down the hall to pack.
    * * *
    Linc was too pissed to sleep and wished for the
distraction of a TV. Now that he had electricity, he didn’t have to run the
camper on generator power, but he needed a satellite dish to hook up his
flat-screen or he wouldn’t have any reception. Instead, he dug in the
refrigerator for a cold beer, then grabbed a handful of cookies and a notepad
and began making a list of things he needed to do to begin his investigation. He
wanted a copy of the police report from the night of the fire, a copy of the
transcript of the trial and copies of the affidavits from the people who’d
pointed fingers at him and gotten him arrested. They were the first ones he was
going to find and talk to once he moved into the shelter.
    By the time he was through with the beer and cookies, his mood
had shifted. He kicked off his shoes, but when he lay down on the bed he didn’t
take off his clothes. The way shit was going down around here, he would probably
need them again before morning.
    But he was wrong. The sun was