Out the corner of her eye, she noticed another vehicle pulling into the parking lot. When it got even with the sedan, the driver slowed down to look at her, then past her toward her car where Trapper was bent down, only one leg visible where it hung out the open driver’s door.

The man stopped his minivan and got out. He shot Kerra another glance, then strode past, shouting, “Trapper!”

Trapper sat up and, when he saw the man, scooted out and took a few steps toward him. “Hey, Hank. What are you doing here?”

The minister charged up to him and slugged him as hard as he could right in the jaw.

Chapter 25

Trapper fell back against the side of Kerra’s car. “What the—”

Before he could get the rest of it out of his mouth, Hank slugged him again, this time catching him just beneath his eye. Reacting instinctively, Trapper rammed his fist as hard as he could into Hank’s solar plexus. Hank doubled over and staggered back.

Trapper touched the heel of his hand to his cheekbone, and it came away red with fresh blood. He took a moment to clear his vision. Hank was no longer a threat. He was standing bent at a ninety-degree angle, gasping and gagging.

Kerra scrambled out of the maroon car and came running toward Trapper.

He held up a hand like a traffic cop, stopping her midstride. This was between him and Hank. He left the support of the car and walked toward him. “Okay, I had that coming. But bloody hell!” He dabbed his cheekbone again, felt a bump already rising. “Whatever happened to turning the other cheek?”

Hank sucked in hard to draw breath. “The only … cheek … I’ll turn to you will be a butt cheek.” He wheezed, coughed, wiped spittle off his lips. “So you can kiss my ass.”

Trapper pushed up the sleeve of his coat and blotted blood off his face with the cuff of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have sent you out to the line shack. I’m sorry. I just needed to throw people off track for a few hours. But which is the worse sin, manipulation or betraying a confidence? Which is what you did. So don’t go all holier than thou with me.”

Hank struggled to bring himself upright, though he continued to hold one forearm across his middle. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “This isn’t about that. It’s about what you’re doing to Dad.”

“Glenn? I’m not doing anything to him.”

“No? He suffered some kind of … episode.” Hank wiped more snot. “Shortness of breath. Chest pains. Red in the face. A deputy rushed him to the ER. His cardiologist met him there. Mom’s hysterical.” He aimed an accusing finger at Trapper. “This is on you.”

Trapper exhaled through his mouth and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’ll go right now—”

“You’ll stay the hell away from him!” Hank shouted. Or tried to. It came out a croak, but with wrath behind it.

Kerra walked over to Hank and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to hear that your father is ill. I’m Kerra Bailey.”

He looked at her with abashment. “Hank Addison. I’m sorry you saw that. Ordinarily I don’t fly off the handle.” He shot a glare toward Trapper. “I’m not that short-tempered.”

“Trapper has that effect on people,” she said. “How did you know where to find him?”

“Last I heard, you were both staying here.”

She looked beyond Hank toward the café that shared the parking lot with the motel. “It would be warmer inside, and I think you probably shouldn’t drive just yet. Can we continue in there?”

Hank nodded dumbly and let himself be guided toward the café. Kerra looked over her shoulder at Trapper. “Coming?”

He was on the verge of saying something caustic or profane about her turning into Mother Teresa, but she had a look in her eye that warned him not to press his luck.

He secured her car and the maroon sedan. He closed the driver’s door of Hank’s minivan, which had been left standing open when Hank launched his assault. He caught up with Hank and Kerra inside the café. Other than a couple of old-timers sitting at the counter and arguing the merits of Fords and Chevys, they had the place to themselves.

They claimed a booth. Hank practically fell into one side of it. Kerra slid in across from him and Trapper moved in beside her.

In an undertone, she said, “Your cheek is still bleeding.”

He blotted it again with his shirt cuff. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

He and Hank remained locked in a mutually antagonistic stare until the waitress came with menus. “We’re only ordering drinks,” Kerra said to her.

“Not me,” Trapper said. “I’m starving. Cheeseburger, fries, coffee, please.” Looking at Kerra, he said, “Long as we’re here, eat. You haven’t had anything.”

She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich.

Hank told the waitress he would have only a Coke.

“Come on, let me buy your lunch,” Trapper said. “Peace offering.”

“Thanks all the same, but I can’t stay. I’m needed out at the site.”

“Want anything for that face, honey?”

Trapper, who’d been about to ask Hank what site he was talking about, realized that the waitress was still there and addressing the question to him. He smiled up at her. “No thanks. I’m fine. My new kitten scratched me.”

She gave him an arch look. “He must be a bobcat.”

Kerra leaned across Trapper. “A paper towel soaked in cold water would help.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll be right back with that.”

She left. Trapper asked Hank, “Site of what?”

“The new tabernacle. Foundation has been poured. They’re putting up the I-beams today, and there’s a problem with placement. The plans have one right in the middle of the choir loft.”

“I didn’t know you were building a new tabernacle.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Hank said with testiness. “Furthermore, you didn’t care. You don’t care about anything except—”

Hank broke off when the waitress returned with the makeshift compress. Trapper thanked her and gingerly laid it against his throbbing cheekbone. “You were saying?”

Hank propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with both hands. Trapper wondered if he was praying. Eventually Hank lowered his hands and noticed the smear of Trapper’s blood across his right knuckles. He pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped at it. “Never mind.”

“No,” Trapper said. “You’d built up a full head of steam. Don’t stop there. Let’s hear it.”

“Why? Anything said wouldn’t make a dent, Trapper. You don’t care about anything except yourself and whatever it is that’s eating you. I just wish you’d have left Dad out of it.”

“Glenn is in it because his best friend was nearly killed. Oh, and, by the way, he’s also sheriff of this county.”

“Yes, but you haven’t made his job any easier. You’ve pulled one shenanigan after another. He’s been more focused on keeping you in line than he has been on capturing the men who attacked The Major. Whatever the stunt was that you pulled this morning—”

“I retained a lawyer to represent the suspect.”

Hank gave Kerra a knowing look before returning his accusing gaze to Trapper.

He removed the compress from his face and wadded it into a ball. “All right. It was a little bit of a stunt.”

“Whatever you did,” Hank said, “coming so soon after Dad’s troubling talk with The Major, sent his blood pressure—”

“Wait. Troubling talk with The Major? When was this?”

“Early. He went to the hospital before breakfast. Came back to the house to eat before going to work. According to Mom, he was upset.”

Kerra said, “He apologized to me for his mood, said it had been that kind of morning.”

Trapper remembered Glenn being particularly choleric when he’d greeted them at the elevator. “Why would a visit with The Major have upset him? He’s doing so much better.”

“I’m surprised you’ve noticed his improvement,” Hank said. “When did you work in time to see your ailing father, when you’ve been so busy wreaking havoc and making people miserable?”