Page 123 of Knox

But he left it, refusing to take his eyes off Russell who had stepped into the shadows, climbing up the steps.

Probably to send a well-aimed shot into Kelsey’s head.

He started to run.

He said don’t cry, honey, you’re safe with me

My love, babe, can set you free

Hold on, lean in

He broke through the crowd. “Russell!” He hoped his voice rose above the song, hoped that Russell heard him enough to stop, to know he’d been spotted.

What if I said yes, when he asked to dance

What if I reached out, grabbed hold of his hand

Said my tomorrow was with you.

It worked. Russell popped up on the far side of the wall, and for a second, Knox’s body shook with the image of Russell aiming into the crowd.

But the man jumped the wall and took off down the corridor.

Yeah, run, buddy, because I’m comin’.

Knox broke through the crowd and took off.

Russell’s footsteps pounded down the hall, and Knox glimpsed him headed toward the exhibit area.

Which led into the cordoned-off backstage.

Nope.

Knox sprinted down the hallway, past the concession stands, the T-shirt and souvenir booths. No one seemed to care about his pursuit until he realized that Russell was wearing a security uniform. Probably people were simply staying out of his way.

“Call security!” he shouted to a hot dog vendor.

He rounded the curve of the building. Russell had vanished.

The exhibit area was lined with rows and rows of stock—calves, steers, quarter horses, and bulls. But Gordo’s pen sat in the middle, set apart from the rest beside a sign with a listing of his legendary accomplishments.

A row of sheep pens bumped up to the temporary wall that led to the backstage area. Knox slowed, giving a cursory search for Russell.

Certainly Tate had posted guards at the backstage entrances.

He stopped at Gordo’s pen. The animal stood in the middle, staring at him through the bars, dark, glassy eyes in his. Knox was breathing hard, searching for security.Please.

“I know you.”

The voice emerged from behind Gordo’s sign.

Knox stepped back, on the other edge of the ten-by-ten pen. The shooter held his rifle on Knox, and he wasn’t a weapons expert, but the thing had a scope, a handgrip, and looked like a semiautomatic.

Thank You, God,that Russell hadn’t pointed at the crowd.

“And I know you, Vince Russell,” Knox said. He lifted his hands, more instinct than surrender, something he’d do to calm Gordo.

The animal grunted, shifting to stand between them.