Chapter 8
It had been nowhere near ten minutes when Mal heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Although whoever it was walked quietly, you could not be soundless on the gravel that surrounded the garage. How had he missed hearing Darrel and the gunman approach? Again, he cursed himself for not being more alert.
He had to bite his tongue on the urge to holler a warning. The barrel of that damned pistol looked bigger than a cylinder on the engine he’d been overhauling back at Ben’s and it still pointed right at his midsection. He thought an urgent prayer—Please God, make Dan realize we have a problem.
Dan stepped around the edge of the first open bay in a fast shuffle and slid in immediately out of the bright sunlight. He crouched, putting the pickup between himself and the group of Ma
