The Shadow's Edge by Patrick Dakin Page B

car.”
                  This was a problem but she knew Croop was in no frame of mind to negotiate. While she grappled with this dilemma Croop stepped in front of her, pressing his body hard against her. He put his lips to her neck, under her ear, at the same time placing his hand between her legs.
                  Callie’s response, the sudden reactivation of long dormant skills, was swift and precise. She placed her right hand on Croop’s chest and pushed hard, at the same time slipping the gun from his holster with her left hand.
                  In less time than it took to draw a breath Croop was staring, unbelieving, at his own gun pointed at his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” he stammered as he stumbled back.
                  It was a good question. One for which she had no good answer.
                  “I asked you to leave me alone,” Callie muttered, her voice strangely quiet and calm. “I begged you. But you don’t listen. You never listen.”
                  Croop held out his hands, palms displayed, like he was trying to stop traffic. “Listen, Callie … I get it … okay? I’m out of here. Don’t do something stupid.” There was an undisguised fear in his voice now. Gone was the arrogant bully of a moment before. He was in big trouble and he knew it.
                  “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” she whispered.
                  There was no disguising the crazed look in Callie’s eyes. Croop could see she was building up to killing him.
                  He made a grab for the gun.
                  What he got was two bullets dead center in his chest. The force of the slugs knocked him a few steps backwards but he was still on his feet. He looked confused as he stumbled forward, finally falling to his knees, and ultimately collapsing face down on the road.
                  Callie stared at Croop’s corpse for several long moments. There was no mistaking the stillness of death.
                  Oh my god, she thought , what have I done ?
                  What she had done was kill a cop. And it didn’t matter that he was a part-timer or that he was a scumbag - he was still a cop.
                  She couldn’t even begin to process the trouble she was in. Her first inclination was to run. Just get in the pickup and drive away as fast as she could. But it didn’t take long to see the absurdity of such a move. She, of all people, knew how easy it would be for Jessup or the state cops to piece together what had happened here.
                  It wasn’t hard to imagine the downward spiral her life was about to take.
                  There was only one thing to do and she had to do it quickly.
                  She took hold of Croop’s arms and dragged him off the road, around his car to the passenger side. It wasn’t easy. She was not the physically powerful woman she once had been, and Croop was not a small man. Somehow she managed to heft him into the back seat.
                  When done she leaned against the car, running her fingers through her hair, fretfully massaging her temples. She had to clear her mind, to reason out what to do next.
                  The shell casings .
                  She scoured the ground until she found both spent shells and put them in the front pocket of her jeans. There was blood on the road where Croop had fallen but a few handfuls of dirt from the roadside covered them. A little scuffling of her boots obliterated the drag marks. She tossed Croop’s gun and hat into the backseat beside his body.
                  She got behind the wheel of Croop’s car. If she could get the car and it’s grisly contents out of sight before someone happened along and then make her way back to the pickup fast enough,