Chapter 8 - The Retreat of the Wolves
Carter Hayes froze. His gloved hand twitched at his side, his knuckles turning white inside the leather. He stared at Sarah’s phone, then at me, the arrogance draining from his posture like water down a sinkhole.
"You brought the county into this, Miller?" Hayes whispered, his voice trembling with controlled rage. "Collins is a political corpse. He won't be DA next term."
*"I'm DA tonight, Carter,"* Collins' voice boomed through the speaker. *"And your license plates are registered on the traffic cam at the state highway junction. Turn the trucks around. Now."*
Hayes didn't answer Collins. He slowly turned his back on us and raised two fingers in the air.
Without a word, the enforcers climbed back into the black SUVs. The diesel engines roared to life, their headlights swinging wildly through the cedar trees as the three massive vehicles executed tight three-point turns on the narrow gravel drive. Hayes climbed into his passenger seat, slammed the heavy door, and through the tinted glass, I saw his cold eyes locked on mine until the truck crested the small ridge and descended into the dark.
The red taillights vanished down the hollow, leaving behind only the heavy smell of diesel fumes and crushed stone.
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding since Margaret drew her last breath in the hospice ward. My knees throbbed, old arthritis flaring in the damp mountain air, but I stood straight until the last echo of their engines died away.
"Thank you, Harry," Sarah said into the phone.
*"Keep the gates locked tonight, Sarah,"* Collins replied from the speaker. *"I’ll have a deputy stationed at the highway turnout until morning. But don't rest easy. Hayes has backing out of Atlanta and Chicago that don't give a damn about local sheriffs. Be at my office at eight sharp. Bring Margaret’s original deeds."*
May you like
"We'll be there," Sarah said, ending the call.
We turned back toward the house. The porch light illuminated Michael, who had slumped against the wall beneath the kitchen window, weeping silently with his head between his knees.
