Honor Bound. B.J. Daniels

wheel seat. It rocked, creaking under his weight.

      From the first time his father had taken him to a carnival he had been enchanted. The lights, the noise, the brittle cheapness of it. He even liked the carnies calling to him, determined to steal his last dime on some game he couldn’t possibly win. And then there had been the rides.

      Just thinking about it made him smile. That’s why he had to use a carnival in this commercial, his last. He had to return to that childhood place where he’d first began to dream that he could do whatever he wanted with his life. He’d known at a young age that he wasn’t going to fulfill any of his parents’ fantasies of success. He was cut out for better things. Like the carnival, he liked the sleight of hand, the lure of riches in a game of chance, the promise of something beyond imagination.

      “I thought I’d find you here,” Hale said, coming out of the darkness.

      He grimaced to himself, having not wanted company. But even if he’d told the old carnie this, it wouldn’t have kept him away. Not a man like Hale.

      “Turn this thing on,” Gun said. “I want to go for a ride.”

      The older man shook his head. “Even if I could see to crank it up, I’m not going to. Hell, I’d get you up on top and the thing would stop. I don’t think you want to spend the night up there while I’m down here working on it in the dark.”

      “You might be surprised.”

      Hale shoved him over where he could sit next to him. He was breathing hard after the walk all the way out here in the meadow. “You sure picked an out-of-the-way place for this little...get-together.”

      “I like it out here.” When he’d first seen the hotel, he’d been tempted to buy it when this was all over. He had thoughts of restoring it, making the place earn its keep, but had quickly realized that he wouldn’t have liked it once it was full of noisy tourists.

      “Aren’t you going to miss it?” Hale asked.

      Gun knew he wasn’t referring to this place. “It’s time. As that old gambling song goes, you’ve got to know when to hold ’em and know when to fold ’em.”

      “And know when to walk away or when to run?” Hale looked over at him. “Is that what you’re doing, Gun? Running? I heard about your divorce. Another man, I heard.”

      He stood, this conversation over as far as he was concerned. Stepping off the ride, he started toward the hotel.

      “I’m not sure I like where your head is at right now.”

      At those words, Gun stopped and turned to look back at him. It was too dark to make out Hale’s features. The Ferris wheel seat rocked and creaked under the big man’s weight. The breeze whispered through the nearby pines and rustled the dry grass of the meadow. A chain on one of the rides clinked softly.

      “You don’t want to go there,” Gun said.

      “Come on, I know you. You and I go way back. I know how you felt about her.”

      “Don’t mistake a business partnership for friendship,” Gun said carefully. “You’re overstepping, Hale. Don’t do it again. And I want that Ferris wheel running tomorrow.” With that he turned and took the back way to his cabin, so he could avoid those around the campfire by the creek. He wasn’t in a mood to talk to anyone.

      * * *

      AFTER MOVING HIS few belongings into his cabin, Sawyer had spent the remainder of the day learning everything he could about Spotlight Images, Inc., and its current employees. He’d had Sheriff Curry run all the license plates from the vehicles parked around the cabins and hotel, as well as the names of the crew. Kitzie had slipped a list of the names and jobs under his cabin door earlier.

      It was definitely a bare-bones crew for a video production company. He’d been glad when Frank had called him with information on the main players.

      Devon “Gun” Gunderson was the director as well as producer. Sawyer had seen him earlier in the canyon with Ainsley. Divorced three times, he was fifty-four, blond, blue-eyed and stocky. He had an air about him that told Sawyer he ran the show with an iron fist.

      His camera and boom operator was a long-haired thirty-four-year-old named T.K. Clark. He’d been with Spotlight Images, Inc., since it began five years before. He wore his long, dishwater blond hair in a ponytail and sported a half dozen tattoos.

      With the company since its inception, Nathan Grant was thirty-eight, divorced twice, and employed as a lighting technician and carpenter. He looked like the dark-haired moody type behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

      Twenty-eight-year-old Bobby LeRoy was a handyman. He’d been with the company only a month.

      None had any priors. The one man here with an arrest record was the founder of Goodtimes Entertainment, the fifty-year-old who owned the carnival now set up in the meadow. Ken Hale was a big brawler of a man who apparently liked to fight, according to his several arrest records.

      “He’s all carnie. Born and raised traveling with his parents who worked the show,” Frank had told him. “The only other one you asked about, the security guard, Lance Roderick? He’s a former lawyer. Filed bankruptcy a year ago after being disbarred. Pulled some legal shenanigan.”

      From lawyer to security guard on a fly-by-night video production company. That definitely sent up a red flag.

      Sawyer had thanked Frank and headed for the hotel. He managed to grab a bite to eat in the kitchen just before it closed without crossing paths with Kitzie or Ainsley. This time of year, it got dark by six. As he walked around, he noticed that Ainsley’s cabin was unlit.

      Voices and laughter carried on the breeze. He followed the sound to find the crew around a big campfire in the pines next to the spring creek. He helped himself to a beer from one of the coolers someone had dragged up and, staying in the shadows, simply watched. Of the group around the fire, he gathered most of them were the crew. The man he’d seen earlier, Lance Roderick, was still wearing his uniform shirt.

      It was hard to tell if any of the men were more interested in Ainsley than was warranted. She was a beautiful woman. They all flirted with her and Kitzie, except for the man Sawyer took for the carnie, Ken Hale. Hale had left the fire for a while but had only recently returned. Hale had noticed Ainsley. His gaze kept straying to her. But his wasn’t the only one.

      Lance Roderick secretly watched her as if not wanting anyone to know. Bobby LeRoy wasn’t as sneaky about it. Neither was T.K. Clark.

      Not that he could blame them. Ainsley’s face glowed in the firelight, making her even more striking.

      The only person missing was Gunderson. Kitzie hung around for a while, joking with the men before saying she was turning in for the night. As the fire burned down and the night cooled, he watched people wander off. LeRoy, Clark, Grant and Hale headed into town, after trying to get Ainsley to go with them and failing.

      Roderick stayed only for a little bit before he trundled off, saying he had to take a look around to make sure everything was locked down for the night.

      Sawyer waited until the guard left before he moved up to the dying fire—and Ainsley. As he joined her, she didn’t look up. All night she’d seemed lost in the flames, avoiding conversation with the others and keeping to herself.

      That’s why he was surprised when she asked, “Have you ever had your life flash in front of your eyes?”

      She sounded tipsy, and he wondered what she’d been drinking. He’d noticed that her glass hadn’t been empty while Kitzie was there. Kitzie had been keeping them both in refreshments.

      At her question, Sawyer chuckled to himself given his near-death experience from the train—not to mention the rock slide earlier. “I take it yours passed before your eyes?”

      She nodded, still not looking at him, her blue eyes wide in the firelight, her attention locked on the flames. “Today I realized I’ve never done anything. I’m the oldest