Chapter 6 - Cornered
Ryan kept his hands held high, level with his shoulders, as he stepped down from the wooden porch into the mud. Rain ran down his forehead, but his eyes never left Sheriff Miller’s face.
"Put the gun down, Miller," Ryan called out over the sound of the howling wind. "We both know why you're here, and it isn't because of a noise complaint."
Sheriff Miller stopped ten feet away, his service weapon aimed squarely at Ryan’s chest. His face was weathered, set in a cold, bureaucratic sneer. "You broke into the main house, Ryan. You assaulted Greg and Diane. Greg says you fired a weapon at him."
"Greg tried to hit me with a 12-gauge shotgun in the attic," Ryan replied loudly. "The blast went through the ceiling roof. Check the angle of the buckshot, Miller. Check Greg's hands for gunpowder residue. You know how forensics work, don't you? Or do you only know how to sign off on fake crash reports on Highway 9?"
Miller’s eyes flicked slightly to the left—a tiny, betraying micro-expression that proved Ryan’s shot had hit its mark.
"You're out of your depth, kid," Miller grunted, stepping closer. "You think you can come back here eight years later and dig up old dirt? Your father died in an unfortunate accident. Case closed."
"Eight years ago, I was sixteen and alone," Ryan said, taking a subtle half-step to the right, drawing Miller's attention further away from the guest house door. "I didn't know what a primary trust deed looked like. I didn't know Diane was sending twenty thousand dollars a month into a offshore account. And I certainly didn't know she was paying you off to make sure the state police didn't inspect the brake lines on Dad’s truck."
Miller’s grip on his gun tightened. "Where is the paper?"
"It's far away from here," Ryan lied. "Where you can't touch it."
"Search him!"
Diane’s screech tore through the yard as she came running down the driveway, her clothes wet, her hair disheveled from escaping the attic window. Greg followed behind her, holding a blood-stained towel to his jaw where Ryan had struck him.
"He's got the ledger on him, Miller!" Diane yelled, pointing wildly. "He stole it from my desk! Shoot him if you have to—he's trespassing! He came at us with a weapon!"
"Shut up, Diane!" Miller barked without turning around. He glared back at Ryan. "Where is the boy?"
"Noah is safe," Ryan said coldly. "And if you take one step toward that cabin, every news outlet in the state gets a digital copy of your offshore bank records."
"He's bluffing!" Greg spat, staggering forward. "Check the cabin, Miller! The kid is in the cabin!"
Greg shoved past Miller, heading straight for the small porch of the guest house.
"Don't touch that door!" Ryan roared.
Ryan lunged forward, throwing a powerful shoulder strike directly into Greg's chest, knocking the heavy man back into the slick mud. But the sudden movement was all Miller needed.
Miller swung the heavy steel barrel of his flashlight, striking Ryan hard across the temple.
Pain exploded in Ryan’s head. White light flashed before his eyes, and his knees buckled. He hit the wet grass hard, his vision swimming as rain washed over his face.
"Ryan!"
A high-pitched scream echoed from the guest house porch.
Noah had thrown open the cabin door, unable to stay hidden while watching his brother get struck. The little boy stood on the wooden steps, tears streaming down his face, holding the yellowed trust deed tightly against his chest.
"Leave my brother alone!" Noah sobbed, throwing a small decorative stone at Miller.
The stone struck Miller’s chest weak and harmlessly, but Miller’s eyes instantly locked onto the yellowed paper in Noah’s hands.
"There it is," Miller growled, a dark smile creeping across his face as he turned away from Ryan and stepped toward the frightened eight-year-old boy. "Hand it over, kid."
"No!" Noah screamed, backing up into the dark cabin.
On the ground, Ryan fought through the blinding dizziness in his skull. Blood trickled down the side of his face into his eye, but the sight of Miller stepping toward Noah ignited a fire deep within his chest.
May you like
Not again, Ryan thought. I failed Dad eight years ago. I am NOT failing Noah tonight.
With a guttural roar, Ryan reached out, grabbed Miller by the back of his rain poncho, and pulled the grown officer down into the mud with all the strength he had left.
