She waved the gun and screamed at Quinlan, '-'What did you do to him, you bastard?'
'I coldcocked him, Amabel. Real hard. I don't think he'll be coming around anytime soon.'
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'I should shoot you right now. You've been a pain ever since you set foot in this town, ever since you first saw Sally. No, Sally, just keep your mouth shut. My future is with him, and I intend to have it. I know the town will fall, but I won't. No one will catch us, not even your precious FBI.'
She shoved Thomas to the bottom step. She must have sensed something because she quickly moved back up two steps. 'You try to turn on me, boy, and I'll blow your head off.'
'No, ma'am,' Thomas said. 'I won't do anything. Can I go on down and let Quinlan wrap a handkerchief around my arm? I don't want to bleed to death. I don't want to ruin your pretty floor and carpets.'
'Go on, but try anything and you're dead.'
Thomas was pale, his mouth drawn thin with pain. He was holding his arm tightly. Blood still dripped slowly between his fingers.
'Come here, Thomas,' Quinlan said, motioning him forward with his hand. 'You got a handkerchief?'
'Yeah, in my right coat pocket.'
Quinlan pulled out a spiffy blue handkerchief with the initials TS in the corner and tied up his arm. 'That should do it. Too bad you guys killed Doc Spiver, Amabel. Thomas could use his services right about now.'
She had to come down those three remaining steps. She had to. Just three steps. Come on, Amabel, come on.
Sally said suddenly, her voice loud with shock. 'There's blood coming from his mouth.' She was pointing wildly at Amory St. John. 'And something white, oh, my God, I think it's foam. He's foaming!'
'What?' Amabel came down the last three stairs, slowly, trying to keep her attention on the two agents and Sally and see what was wrong with Amory. 'All of you, bunch together, there. Sit on the floor.
Now.'
They all sat.
Just a bit further, Quinlan said to her silently. Just a bit further. He saw Corey poised in the shadows, his SIG- sauer at the ready in her hand.
Just then Amory St. John groaned. He jerked up, then fell back. He groaned again, then opened his eyes.
'Oh, God,' Sally shrieked, 'there's blood in his eyes. James, you hit him that hard?'
In those precious seconds when all of Amabel's attention was focused on Amory, Corey leaped from her left side, a lovely training move taught at Quantico, her right fist going right into Amabel's side, her left fist straight into her neck.
Amabel turned, but not in time. The gun went spinning out of her hand.
Corey said, 'I'm sorry, Sally,' then hit Amabel square in the jaw. She crumpled to the floor.
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Amory St. John groaned again.
'Corey,' Thomas said, 'please say you'll marry me. Like a reformed smoker, I'm now a reformed sexist.
I'll become a feminist.'
Sally laughed from sheer relief. Quinlan told Thomas to stay where he was on the floor. He rose and shook hands with Corey and hugged Sally to his side. 'Now we'll just wait for the cavalry to arrive.'
'1 smell smoke,' Thomas said, stiffening as he sniffed the air. 'Jesus, Quinlan, there's smoke coming from under that door.'
'It's the kitchen,' Sally said, dashing to it.
'No, Sally, don't open it. It'll just suck the flames in here.'
Amory St. John moaned again and lurched to his side.
'God, more flames,' Corey said. 'Someone's set us on fire. Jesus, the old folks have set the place on fire!'
'I'll carry St. John. Corey, you get Amabel. Sally, can you help Thomas? Let's get the hell out of here.'
'Whoever set the fire will be waiting for us,' Sally said. 'You know it, James.'
'I'd rather risk being shot than burn to death,' he said. 'Everyone agree? There's no other way out except through the kitchen, and the door's already burning. It's got to be the front door.'
'Let's go,' Corey said, as she shoved the SIG-sauer in her belt. She heaved Amabel over her shoulder.
Quinlan, with St. John over his shoulder in a fireman's carry just like Corey's, kicked the cottage door open. The sun was just rising, the dawn sky streaked with pink. The air was crisp and clean, the sound of the ocean soft and rhythmic. It was a beautiful morning.
There were at least thirty people standing in front of the cottage, all of them armed.
Reverend Hal Vorhees shouted, 'Throw down your gun, Mr. Quinlan, or we'll shoot the women.'
Well, damn, Quinlan thought. At least the old folk hadn't automatically shot them down when they'd come out of Amabel's cottage. All the bravado about preferring a gunshot to a fire-was bullshit. Nobody wanted to die. Now they had some time-at least he prayed they did.
Quinlan nodded to Corey. She threw his SIG-sauer right at Reverend Hal Vorhees. It landed close to his
