The Last Landry. Kelsey Roberts

the prank.

      “I looked. Now will you get off my phone?”

      She was about to hang up when the caller asked, “Do you see the truck?”

      Okay, she was completely terrified now. She spun in dizzying circles. “Uh-huh.” She didn’t see anyone. Nothing but the rustling trees far off in the distance. How could he know where she was? Hell’s bells! No one knew. No one that wasn’t a Landry.

      Maybe it was just a lucky guess. Yes. Good! Had to be it. The wind was strong, easily letting the person on the other end know she was outside. The truck? Also easily explained. Virtually everyone in Montana had a truck. This was just like those fake psychics. They listen, pick up audible and visual clues, then tell you what you want to hear. A cute parlor trick, but not now.

      “Great, there’s a truck nearby. Are we finished?”

      “Keep watching the truck, Taylor, and remember, it could just as well have been you. Get him to confess. If he runs, I’ll find him. If you run, I’ll kill you. Then he’ll have your blood on his hands, too.”

      “What in the—”

      Pop.

      It took a second for her eyes to pick up the cause of the sound. The truck rocked. She frowned. What…? The windshield of the old truck spiderwebbed. It took several seconds for the sound and the image to register in her frozen brain.

      Her breath left her lungs in a rush of sheer, unadulterated fear. Someone had shot the truck.