Jesus God, Donovan thought, then leaned forward and vomited into the gravel.
He sat there, dazed, barely remembering what he was here for, knowing that shock had set in and was liable to overcome him. Then another explosion, followed by an ear-shattering shriek, reverberated through the train yard.
Donovan looked again at the remains of his friend and partner, a renewed sense of rage pounding through him. Patting the ground blindly, he found his Glock half-buried in a clump of dry weeds, then stood up, his feet starting to move involuntarily, carrying him into the darkness.
Soon he was running, knowing that he could easily suffer the same fate as A.J., yet he barreled forward with complete abandon, thinking only of Gunderson and what he’d do to the bastard when he got hold of him.
He was pretty sure Gunderson wouldn’t be hiding. The train yard was surrounded by a high fence, and Gunderson was smart enough to have prepared an escape hatch. All Donovan had to do was keep him from reaching it.
As he ran, yet another explosion rocked the yard. A distant scream. Picking up speed, he zigged and zagged through the last of the cars and emerged at the edge of a clearing.
It was too dark to see, but Gunderson was out here. He knew it. Could feel him.
Then, as if in answer to a prayer, the CPD chopper buzzed overhead, throwing its beam down on the clearing. And there, caught in the light, was Gunderson, legs pumping, headed for a break in the fence.
Donovan ran faster than he’d ever run in his life, his back still throbbing, his breathing ragged, his bad leg about to give out on him as he steadily closed the gap that separated him from his prey. Raising his Glock, he fired a shot into the air, shouting over the roar of the helicopter.
“Hold it, Gunderson! Freeze!”
But Gunderson didn’t slow, only a few short yards from his escape hatch.
Donovan fired another round. “Freeze, goddammit, or the next one goes in your back!”
Gunderson stopped, pinned in place by the chopper’s search beam.
He turned around, clutching a Walther.
Donovan moved in closer, struggling to catch his breath. “Drop your weapon to the ground!”
Another explosion echoed in the distance.
Gunderson smiled. “And spoil all the fun?”
“Do it, asshole!”
“Don’t forget Jessie, Jack. No food or water. Only enough air for what-a coupla days? Maybe three, if she breathes through her nose.”
Donovan pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Gunderson’s ear. “Throw down! Now!”
Gunderson didn’t even flinch. “You keep fucking with me, the worms’ll be snacking on her intestines before Sunday school lets out this weekend. So cut the horseshit and call off the hounds.”
Donovan had never wanted to take someone out as badly as he did right now. Every gesture, every word this bastard said, was an invitation to pull the trigger.
And Gunderson knew it. Reveled in it. “This ain’t a drill, hotshot. Get on that radio of yours and tell your buddies to take five, or you can kiss Jessie’s ass goodbye.”
Donovan stood there, thinking of Jessie and A.J., feeling helpless and outmaneuvered. He knew that his only choice was to do what Gunderson told him.
He brought out his radio, flicked the call button. “This is Donovan. Everybody fall back. You read me? Fall back and hold your fire.”
The radio crackled in response, the words unintelligible. A moment later the chopper backed off, but kept its beam on them.
“Attaboy,” Gunderson said, moving closer. “You say you wanna deal? Looks like I’ve got no choice but to bring an offer to the table.”
“I’m listening.”
“Oh, I bet you are. So here it is, Jack, a simple proposition: your life for Jessie’s. All you have to do is escort me out of here in one piece-no tails, no surveillance, nobody but you and me. When I’m done punishing you for your multitude of sins, I’ll give your buddies a jingle and tell them where to find her.”
Donovan searched Gunderson’s eyes. “You expect me to trust you?”
“Your negotiating position is tenuous at best. Think of it as the ultimate test of daddyhood. Are you willing to die for your little girl?”
Donovan said nothing. Gunderson already knew the answer.
“I thought so. So drop the nine or the bitch goes out gasping.”
Donovan hesitated. If he dropped his weapon, Gunderson would have a free and clear shot at him. But was Gunderson stupid enough to take him out right here in front of Fogerty’s men and a team of federal agents? Donovan didn’t think so.
In the corner of his eye he saw movement in the shadows. The cops were slowly closing in on them. Carefully avoiding potential booby traps.
“Tick tock, Jack. She’s losing precious time.”
Donovan waved an arm at the approaching cops. “Fall back!” he shouted. “The situation’s under control!”
The movement slowed, then stopped.
“Nicely done,” Gunderson said. “Now put your weapon down and come on over here.”
Keeping his eyes on Gunderson, Donovan crouched and dropped his Glock to the ground. He wasn’t dealing with a moron like Willie Sanchez. No last-minute surprises would help him here. His only choice was to play along until he found out where Jessie was buried.
He stood up again, started toward Gunderson.
“Damn it, Jack, I’m close to tears. You really do love your pumpkin.” Gunderson’s smile widened. “It warms my heart to see that some of us haven’t lost our sense of family val-”
A shot rang out and Gunderson’s face went slack. His chest exploded as a bullet ripped through him, the force knocking him backward.
Before he could completely comprehend what had just happened, Donovan sprang forward, catching Gunderson, blood streaming from his chest and mouth.
“Jesus,” Donovan muttered, clamping a hand over the wound to stop the flow of blood. But it was pointless. The wound was fatal. Whoever had fired that shot had done exactly what he’d set out to do. The life in Gunderson’s eyes was sifting away fast, and Donovan had precious seconds to get what he needed.
“Listen to me, Alex, you’ve gotta listen to me. Tell me where she is. Where’s Jessie?”
Gunderson focused for a moment, moving his mouth, but nothing came out.
“For God sakes, tell me!”
Gunderson’s mouth moved again, blood flowing, his voice barely audible.
Donovan leaned in close.
“Forget God,” Gunderson croaked, the words coming out in bubbly gasps. “This isn’t over yet. It’s very far from…”
And then his eyes went blank, his body limp in Donovan’s arms.
He was gone. Finished.
Dead.
Donovan sat there, staring into those eyes, the shock that had threatened him earlier now creeping up again, crawling through his bloodstream, leaving him numb.
There was movement all around him, cops shouting as they approached, but Donovan had no idea what they were saying.
After a moment, he looked up to see Fogerty’s bulk emerge from the shadows of a train car. Fogerty holstered a Smith amp; Wesson, a big shit-eating grin on his face. “Looks like CPD’s gonna have to take credit for this one, boys.”
And before anyone could stop him, Donovan was on his feet and pouncing at Fogerty. With an angry roar, he knocked him to the ground and hit him over and over again as the fat man squealed like a motherless child.
It took four uniformed cops to pry Donovan away.
