Chapter Thirteen
Sloan opened the door and took a step out onto the porch with a pistol in his hand. He had it pointed down at the deck, just to let the woman know that he was armed. I saw and heard the whole scene on the monitor.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The name’s Emmy?” she drawled. She had that annoying hillbilly habit of making answers sound like questions. “I parked down the road apiece. I figured if a car came barreling up the drive, you might decide to shoot first and check the bodies later.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to do you boys a favor,” she said. “You went and bought yourself all kinds of trouble.”
“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” said Sloan.
“Well, be that as it may. What I’m guessin’ is you don’t know, that gal you’re holdin’ in there? She’s a cop, or near enough.
