Introduction

When a burglary goes bad, the end result is not one but two men dead. Gayla Early knows who did the first murder but now she's wanted for the second ... and it turns out her supposed victim is the most powerful man in town, the same man she blames for the first murder and for holding her hostage for two years. Albert Raeder may be dead, but he wields power from the grave thanks to the good ol boys he left behind. His buddies want someone to pay for his death. And Gayla looks good for taking the fall. That is until a crotchety recluse and a Viet Nam vet-turned-sheriff team up on her behalf, an unlikely alliance that will change all their lives forever.

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Excerpt

SHERIFF MAYNARD WAS barely out of sight when Gayla secretly slipped an Oklahoma state map she had seen on Willie’s desk under her bed sheets. It was time, as they said in the Old West, to get out of Dodge. The sheriff’s questions had spooked her. Figured, just as she was feeling a bit safe, the world had closed in again. He knows, she thought. Or if he doesn’t, he will in no time.

Gayla realized she was in a double bind. She not only had to get out of Luckau, but she also had to find out exactly where Luckau was. She had never been to Oklahoma before, much less this blip of a town, until she and Randy had pulled in after dark to do the job. That was more than two years ago. That night they had driven more than three hundred miles to get here, on a tip from one of Randy’s buddies. The burglary was supposed to be a sure thing, far enough away from Dallas that no one would ever link it to them if they were careful.

She had been stoned for most of the trip; while Randy rattled on about how quick and sweet the job was going to be. He had exact directions to this real estate magnate’s weekend cabin and assurances that the wife’s jewelry they would find there was worth thousands. Gayla had barely listened until she started to lose her buzz; that was about the same time Randy announced they were there. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Of course, much later she had realized from Albert’s chatter that his wife never came to the cabin, much less stored her jewelry there.

She waited for Willie to leave for town before attempting to study the map, surprised to see how far north the town and lake sat. They were smack in the western plains. Might as well have been surrounded by desert. Did Greyhound even come through here, she wondered. What if it doesn’t? I don’t know how to get a bus schedule much less how to leave town.

Part of her said to just stay put. Willie had protected her, spontaneously lied for her even. And there was something about the sheriff that made her feel safe.

Don’t be dumb. He is the very one who will end up cuffing you. She reminded herself that she had felt safe with Randy, too. Scared, but at least safe. He might have been unforgiving when she started coming up short on the drug money, but he had never hit her before that night in the cabin. He was a nickel-and-dime thief who played it safe and refused to carry a weapon when he pulled a job.

“Not worth the risk if you get caught,” he had told her more than once. “I can always find a hammer or kitchen knife if some ass hole wants to act like Schwarzenegger. I once swung a lawn chair into this gangbanger, nearly crippled him.”

Gayla remembered how she had prayed that night at the Raeders’s that Randy could improvise their way out of this one. It wasn’t to be. Before they had a chance to regroup, they had heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, then someone opening a cabinet and the rumble of footsteps coming through the living room towards the hall. Randy, who was ahead of her in the kitchen, had resorted to jiggling the handle on the back door where they had broken in, all to no avail.

It didn’t seem possible in hindsight, but she would swear that night she could actually feel the heat coming off the person headed towards them. She didn’t recall any sense of hesitation. The massive silhouette had stridden straight for the kitchen. By a dim backyard light, she had seen Randy finally get the back door open. She had hurried towards him. The unmistakable sound of the pump action engaging on a shotgun had stopped her cold.

“Stop right there or you’re dead,” the hall shadow had said. She had stood paralyzed by fear. The voice of the intruder was deep, without a shred of fear. “You at the door, put your hands up and step back in.”

Gayla had felt Randy hesitate.

“I can cut you in half from here. Make no mistake.”

The cold confidence of the man in the darkness had been terrifying. Wasn’t it usually the other way around? Shouldn’t he have been nervous? Wary of them and if they had accomplices?

Randy had stopped at that, raised his arms in the air, and stepped back into the kitchen.

“Okay, no problem.”

“That’s it. Now you, too,” the voice had said, motioning with the shotgun barrel for Gayla to move further into the kitchen. Her knees had been shaking so badly, she remembered feeling like she was going to faint.

Then lights had snapped on. A large man, about forty-five, stood in the kitchen doorway with a shiny new shotgun trained on Gayla and Randy. Had it not been for his expensive gold rings, his thick features would have cast him as a former military man. But the custom-tailored suit and air of assurance had indicated money. Lots of it.

“You.” He had motioned to Randy. “Empty your pockets so I can see them. Slowly.”

Randy had done as he was told, turning out his jeans pockets on the counter next to the back door. Then he had started on his shirt pockets.

Until that moment Gayla had never seen a crack of fear in Randy before. Even then, she remembered noticing him eyeing the kitchen counters, searching for a weapon, or anything that could be turned into a weapon. She had done the same, but the kitchen hadn’t look used, much less stocked with bottles or utensil holders. She couldn’t recall having even seen a household cleaner in sight (Randy had once told her they were as good as mace if you sprayed them in the eyes right).

So that had been that. Left with nothing between them and a pissed off homeowner holding a shotgun on them, Gayla had suddenly realized she was still gripping the bag with the goods in it. She recalled having felt a hysterical urge to laugh. For the first time she knew what holding the bag meant. She offered it to the man with the shotgun.

“Here it all is.”

He had looked her up and down, and then motioned for her to put the bag down on the kitchen floor and go stand by Randy.

“Where are you two ass holes from?”

Even then it had struck Gayla as an odd question. She recalled looking at Randy for guidance.

“Simple question. You from around here?” While the man waited for their answers, he had carefully set his shotgun down on the kitchen table and removed his jacket.

“We’re from Dallas,” Gayla had blurted, unable to stand the silence any longer.

“Shut up,” Randy had hissed.

“That’s a long way. You drive all the way here?”

“What’s it to you?” It had been a typical Randy tough guy remark, but Gayla recalled that he had looked helpless even as he spit it out—bluffing, stalling, trying to by them a little time. “Look, maybe we could work something out, instead of calling the cops.”

“I was thinking the same thing. This your girlfriend?” The man had seemed relaxed as he asked the question, like he was interviewing someone for a job.

“What? No,” Randy had said.

The man had then turned to Gayla. “I bet you have family to get back to?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?” Randy demanded.

To this day, Gayla couldn’t understand why she had ever answered him. She suspected that sheer nerves had taken over. She might as well have taken truth serum.

“My family disowned me a long time ago.”

“That’s too bad,” the man had said, picking up his shotgun again.

Randy had turned white again. “Hey, man, it was just a robbery. Here, here’s all your stuff. We were just—”

The shotgun exploded. The noise was so loud, Gayla remembered screaming, sure she had been hit. She had turned to see Randy, blown off his feet and back a ways. Dead before he had even hit the ground.

She had turned back to look at the man, positive she was next.

Instead, he had grinned at her and winked. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Is it ever too late to discover who you really are? How doe someone recognize their authentic self?

2. How do we judge people? By their reputations? Appearances? Bank accounts? Have you ever paid a price for judging someone based on your first impression of them?

3. In a world where almost everyone has access to 24/7 cable news and the Internet, do small towns still operate in isolation, suspicious of outsiders, especially those who threaten the status quo? If so, is this the nature of all small towns? Or just some? Or do small towns judge locals by the same yardstick they do strangers?

4. How far would you go if you believed someone was unjustly accused?

5. Do you feel everyone is redeemable? Who would or wouldn’t qualify for a second chance in your book?

Weblinks

»	Author Linda McDonald's Website

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