Finally, slowly, he pulled away, getting to his feet with an air of reluctance to go stand at the window. "We were far enough out. He wanted -- " Hell, who knew what Joseph had wanted anymore. He shook his head, settling on a different approach. "I ran all the way back and took me a good ten minutes. With any luck ... "

With any luck, no one would find him.

"And if not ... we might be able to blame it on something else. A shotgun, maybe." Those bullets fragmented when they hit something, didn't they? And at point blank range, maybe it would leave the same wound as the rock he'd hurled at his brother had. Maybe no one would be able to tell the difference.