“You stay here. You keep the dogs right here. I’m going to circle around, cut him off. Stay here,” he repeated. “He won’t get past me. Cops’ll be here in minutes.”
She wanted to argue; couldn’t risk it. She ordered her confused dogs with a down and stay, a firm, angry hand signal that had their heads drooping, their eyes casting up at her whining with hurt feelings.
The game wasn’t over. The prize was right there, lurking in the shadows. Her unexpected anger had them letting out low whines until she silenced them with a furious look, a jabbing finger.
Satisfied, she eased out a little to look, and saw the gun in Eckle’s hand. His head cocked to the side— listening—as he turned slowly in the direction Simon took.
She thought, very simply,
She held the gun up and aimed. Cursed that it trembled as he completed the turn and looked into her eyes.
“Drop your gun, Francis, or I swear on every life you and Perry took, I’ll shoot you.” She would live with it, could live with it. Had to live with it.
“He told me not to underestimate you.” As she did, Eckle held the gun up and aimed. But it didn’t tremble. He smiled as he might at the unexpected appearance of a friend. “You know when I kill you, your partner will rush in this direction. Then I’ll kill him, too. His dog. Yours. Where’s your dog, Fiona?”
“Put the gun down. You know the police and the FBI are coming. They’re spread all over this area. You’ll never get through them.”
“But I’ve finally lived. In a few short months I’ve lived and experienced more than I did in all the years before. All those gray years. I hope Tawney’s with the ones who come. If I have a chance to take him, it would be like a parting gift for Perry.”
“He betrayed you.”
“But first he freed me. I wish we had more time, Fiona. Your hand’s trembling.”
“It won’t stop me.” She drew a breath in, prepared to kill.
Simon charged out of the trees, his body low and between hers and Eckle’s. He rammed Eckle’s right side, making Fiona think briefly, crazily, of a speeding train.
The gun fired, the bullet digging a trench in the soft earth an instant before the gun flew from Eckle’s hand.
She rushed forward, grabbed it. Even as she aimed both guns she heard James shouting, and thrashing through the brush. Just, she thought, as Eckle had predicted. When he broke through, she shoved the guns at him.
“Hold these.”
“Fee, Jesus. Jesus.”
She simply dropped down beside Simon as he viciously, methodically battered Eckle’s face with his fists.
“Stop. Stop that now.” She struggled for the firm, no-nonsense tone she used with misbehaving dogs, and nearly succeeded. “Simon, stop. He’s finished.”
He flicked one furious glance at her. “I told you to stay under cover. I told you he wouldn’t get past me.”
“And he didn’t.” She took one of his balled fists, the knuckles bruised and bloody, and laid it on her cheek as her dogs shoved against her. “I told them to stay, but they didn’t. We all protect each other. That’s how it works.”
She barely spared Eckle a glance. “Is she alive?” she asked James.
“Yeah. But I don’t know if she’s going to stay that way. She’s in bad shape. I have to get back to Lori. You scared the shit out of us.”
He, however, took a long study of Eckle’s battered, slack face. “You do nice work, Simon. Here.” He handed the guns back to Fiona. “I hear the cops, or feds. Whichever. We’ve got to get the victim out and to the hospital. We’re going to do some serious talking in the debriefing,” he added, then shoved through the brush.
“I didn’t know if you saw the gun,” she told Simon. “I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t take a chance.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t just blast away at you. What if he hadn’t wanted to chat for a minute?”
“I’d have shot him.” She put her own gun back in her holster, then Eckle’s in her belt. “Another fraction of a second... I’m glad I didn’t have to. Glad you broke his goddamn face instead.”
She let out a long breath, then crouched. “Good dogs! You’re such good dogs. You found Eckle.”
She had her arms around the dogs and her head on Simon’s chest when the cops rushed the clearing.
It took hours more, hours that seemed like days. Questions, reports, more questions, the briefing.
Mantz walked over to shake her hand. “I still say you’d make a good agent.”
“Maybe, but I’m really looking forward to the quiet life.”
“Good luck with it.” Bending, she petted Newman, who’d yet to leave Fiona’s side. “Good dog,” she said, and when Fiona cocked a brow, laughed. “I guess they’ve changed my mind about the species. See you around.”
From Tawney, she got a hug.
“Don’t wait until there’s trouble to come see me,” she murmured. “Because I’m done with trouble, but not with you.”
“You gave me a whole new patch of gray hair today. I’d say take care of yourself, but you already do. We’re going to need to do some follow-ups.”
“Anytime.”
“Go home.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
Since she nearly dozed off on the drive home she didn’t think that would be a problem.
“I’m going to have a shower, then I’m going to eat whatever’s in the refrigerator, then I’m going to sleep for twelve hours.”
“I’ve got a couple things to do, then we’ll both eat whatever’s in the fridge.”
She started out, stopped. “Would you check, see if there’s any update on Starr’s condition? I know it looks bad for her, but maybe... We hate losing one.”
“I’ll check. Have your shower.”
She wallowed in it, basked, lingered. Then, tying her wet hair back in a tail, pulled on cotton pants and a soft, faded tee. Comfort, she thought. She wanted nothing but comfort.
And the start, please God, of her quiet life.
She picked up the little penknife she’d set on her dresser, pressed it to her cheek. “You’d be happy for me,” she murmured. Setting it down, she studied herself in the mirror. She looked a little tired, she thought, but she didn’t look like hell.
She looked, she thought with a smile, free.
As she started downstairs, she frowned at the quick toot of a horn. She loved her friends, but God, she just wanted to eat and sleep. No more talk.
But she found Simon in the kitchen, alone with the dogs.
“Who was here?”
“When? Oh, James. I needed a hand with something. Here.” He shoved a cracker with a thin slice of cheese on top into her mouth.
“Good,” she managed over it. “More.”
He shoved a second in. “That’s it. Now you make your own. Here.” He pushed a glass of wine in her hand.
“Did you call the hospital?”
“She’s critical. Exposure, dehydration, shock. She’s got broken fingers, a broken jaw. There’s more. He had considerable time to pound on her, and he used it. She’s got a decent shot.”
“Okay.”
“Eckle’s got a few problems of his own.” He glanced at his own bandaged hands.
“He earned them.” She took those bandaged hands and made him mutter to himself when she kissed them.
“He was writing a book.”
“What?”
