Flashbacks assaulted him, all involving antics he’d gotten involved in, trouble he’d been caught doing, and petty criminal activity he’d been accused of. All those other times, he’d had an accomplice, a partner, someone to share the blame.
This time, he was alone.
One minute, he was trying to keep someone from dying, the next, he was surrounded by an angry mob of witnesses carrying weapons and accusing him of something he hadn’t even done. As misfortune would have it, all of those witnesses came in the form of people who already distrusted him for one reason or another.
Silas felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t prove his own innocence. The only person who might possibly be able to was lying on the floor, dying. She couldn’t help him right now.
With no other option, he lifted his bloody hands to show he was unarmed, his jaw slack as he searched his mind for some sort of explanation that these people might believe. There probably wasn’t any use in it. As soon as the girl sent her message to the recipient, everyone would know.
His leg was cramping up from being in a crouched position for so long, but he didn’t dare move. Not when there was a vicious dog barking at him and Zimmerman pointing a gun at him.
O’Brien’s nephew wasn’t even planning to give him a chance to explain. David was, but Silas had the distinct feeling that any explanation he gave would fall on deaf ears.
“Listen to me.” Pleading, insistent. “I didn’t fucking do this, all right? I know this shit looks bad, but this woman is gonna die if you don’t get her to one of the docs right now. She’s—” He glanced down at the body, at the slackened facial features.
The only person who could possibly defend him was dead.
Silas kept his head tilted down, but flicked his eyes up to look at the trio. His chest heaved with rising panic. Considering the last conversation he’d had with Zimmerman, Silas was sure he wouldn’t get out of this one alive. “It. Wasn’t. Me.”