Followed by screaming.
Lucky turned, hauling ass as best he could with a bum ankle, hurt arm, and hurt everything else. He pushed lookie-loos out of the way. Please let it not be Bo or Walter. He couldn’t get closer. No! No! No!
“Get the hell out of my way!” Lucky shouldered his way through the crowd. If he had maneuvering room, he’d show his badge. “Let me pass!”
“Lucky!”
He glanced up and let out a breath of relief. Bo and Walter stood at the top of the stairs, trapped by people who didn’t have sense enough to get out of the way.
There’d been a shot, damn it! Didn’t these assholes have any sense of self-preservation?
It took some maneuvering to get to the one open spot. A woman stepped back to avoid getting blood on her high-heeled shoe.
He knew what he’d see before he got there.
Jameson O’Donoghue lay on the courthouse steps.
With one single gunshot wound in his forehead.