Hidden Summit

said, “You know, I’ve been laying low in this small town, working construction, and after a lot of years of putting in too many hours, life slowed down a little. And I met someone. You married, Scott?”
    “Eleven years,” he said. “Two kids.”
    “I’m thirty-five,” Conner said. “I’d like to be able to say that someday.”
    Scott clamped a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be over soon. Let’s get going.”
    “Today I don’t feel like sneaking in the back door,” Conner said.
    “Anything you want, bud. Just don’t get caught by the reporters. I don’t know what Mathis’s game is, but you’re not to talk to anyone.”
    “I know. I understand. I don’t want to talk to them. Ever. But Mathis had me threatened and my store burned down. I’m tired of letting him think he worries me. He walks in the front door, head up, no problem looking me in the eye. Fine. Game on.”
    Scott gave him a little smile. “Good for you, bud.”
    It didn’t take them long to arrive at the courthouse and park the car. They walked around the block and headed for the glut of people and cars out front. Conner marveled at how quickly he’d come to recognize some of the featured players. It was barely eight-thirty, and there were lots of people showing up for many court cases in addition to this big trial, but still he managed to spot the lawyers—prosecution and defense—hurrying into the building with briefcases. People he remembered from the gallery were either hanging around outside or quickly going inside—the brassy-looking women, the priests, men in expensive suits. There were the reporters, of course, easy to spot by their cameramen and camcorders and microphones. And of course there were a lot of uniformed and plainclothes police around, but as Conner had already learned, cops testified every day. The courthouse and area surrounding was full of them, coming and going.
    Then the car service pulled up. Of course Regis Mathis and his high-priced attorneys and family couldn’t be expected to drive themselves to court—they arrived in three Lincolns driven by uniformed drivers. In case anyone had forgotten these people were rich and influential. The doors opened on the first two in the line, emitting Mathis and lawyers from the first, and behind them, the family.
    Conner stopped on the sidewalk with Scott beside him. “No scene,” Scott said into his ear.
    “Of course not,” Conner said. “Just watching the parade.”
    “Stay out of the way of the reporters,” Scott said.
    Conner vaguely noticed a white SUV blocking the street on the other side of the Lincolns, letting someone out.
    Mathis stepped out of the car like arriving royalty, lifting his hand in a wave to the press. He and one of his lawyers waited for the family to meet them before they all made a grand entrance into the courthouse.
    But they didn’t make it that far. One of the women Conner recognized from the day before was suddenly standing in front of them. Her back being to Conner and Scott, he didn’t know anything was happening. In one split second he wondered if the woman wanted to talk to Mathis.
    And then there was the sound of gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Mathis crumbled. His lawyer crumbled. One of his sons fell.
    Scott pushed Conner to the ground and covered his body with his own, but Conner lifted his head to look out, to see what was happening. There was more gunfire and Conner wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Then next thing Conner knew, Scott moved enough for him to see the young woman was tackled by two very large, uniformed police officers, and immediately following that, there was a rush of people swarming the area. A couple of men ran to the SUV, but an officer, with gun extended toward the driver, blocked it from moving. That’s when he noticed that even though Scott was lying on top of him, he had his gun out, too, leveled in the direction of the shooting.
    “Holy shit,” Scott muttered, pulling Conner roughly to his feet. While Conner instinctively started in the direction of the melee, Scott strong-armed him in the direction of the courthouse doors, wrestling him inside.
    “What the hell?” Conner asked.
    “Shooting,” he said. Scott pulled out his cell phone and plunked in some numbers. “415A in progress in front of the courthouse. Wounded. Looks like they might have one in custody. It’s a mess of people out there.” He leveled a steely gaze at Conner. “Do. Not. Move.”
    Scott stepped out of