Devlin faced Patton. “When I tell you to,” she dipped her forehead toward the tree line, “run.”
“That’s going to be a little difficult with my,” he lifted one foot off the ground and motioned toward the cuffs above his ankles, “charm bracelets on.”
She fished out a set of small keys from a jean pocket.
“You ready, Dev?”
“Ten seconds, Hawk.”
Bullets hit the Chevy from wider angles.
“We’re lucky if we have five. They’re flanking us. Go...now.” Hawkins spun counter clockwise and got off a couple shots from around the right-front corner of the bumper, at the men on his two o’clock. He rose up and fired over the hood, at the advancing men on his ten o’clock.
Devlin worked the locks and spread apart the shackles. “Move!”
Patton bolted for the thick tree trunks, aiming for the darkness between two of them.
Backtracking, she followed him, her 45 ACP barking louder than her adversary’s rifles.
One of the attackers clutched his chest and fell forward.
Swinging the Colt left, she sent a couple 230-grain jacketed rounds toward the second man and ran toward the forest, hearing her colleague bellow.
Hawkins grabbed his right side, fired at the approaching gunmen at his two o’clock, and collapsed behind the Suburban, his back to the tire, his breathing heavy and erratic. He glanced down at his blood-soaked shirt and put two fingers into the opening under his ribcage. He screamed.
Devlin ducked behind a wide oak and found a target. She eased off a shot.
The man nearest to Hawkins’ position crumpled.
She met her partner’s gaze.
Hawkins’ eyes were at half-mast. His chest was heaving.
She turned her attention toward the second encroaching marauder, launched two rounds toward him, came back to Hawkins, and read his thoughts: Take one for you. Devlin gritted her teeth. Not if I take one for you first. She stepped out from cover and started toward him.
Before she had taken a second step, something yanked her back and pushed her behind the oak. A split second later, loud reports came from her nine o’clock. Looking up, she saw Patton a foot away, holding a Glock 22 six inches in front of his belly.
The chained man let loose with a slow volley, directing his shots at two men near the two-car crash. “There’s too many.” Rotating his torso like a gun turret, he got off one shot after another. “We need to bug out.”
Devlin took in the scene: four gunmen with rifles were closing in on Hawkins from three sides. “Not without Hawk.”
“We’ll be cut to pieces.”
“I’m going for him.” Catching her coworker’s eye, she regarded him. Whether he had heard her or read her thoughts, she was unsure. The look on his face, however, told her he knew she was coming for him.
Shaking his head at her, he pressed his back against the SUV, made a face, and pushed himself upward.
The cacophony stopped, as the bandits reloaded their weapons.
Staring at Devlin, Hawkins gave her a single dip of his chin. “Tell her I love her, Dev.” He whirled around.
“Hawk!”
Hawkins engaged the gunmen, firing one handed. He felled one and sent another sprawling to the ground. The slide on his Glock locked to the rear.
Two bullets penetrated his upper chest.
He twitched twice, thumbed the 22’s magazine release, and reached for the left side of his belt.
Another bullet struck him in the belly.
He staggered backward, his left hand slapping at his magazine pouch.
As round after round entered her close friend’s body, Devlin watched Hawkins jerk and convulse. Her mind showed her images of the two of them, at a backyard barbecue, a snowy Christmas, her own wedding. She saw mental snapshots of her with Curt, Cassandra, Blake and Tasha, laughing and enjoying one another’s company, back lit by a roaring blaze in a fireplace.
Devlin swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She shut her eyes, as the men rounded the Suburban, their guns aimed at Hawkins’ prone, still form. I’m sorry, Blake. I’m so sor—
“Marshal Devlin!” Patton fired twice before shaking her shoulder. “Devlin, we need to move.” The branches above his head split apart, as the gunmen turned their rifles on him and the deputy marshal.
She opened her eyes, glimpsed Hawkins’ body, and forced the happy memories from her brain.
“Our position’s been compromised, Marshal.”
She closed her left eye, placed the 1911’s front sight on the closest attacker, and dropped him with one shot. The Colt’s slide stayed back. “Go.” Her voice was steady, as she pulled a full magazine from the pouch on her belt.
“What are you doing? You can’t take them all on. You’ll be—”
“I said,” she jammed a fresh eight into her weapon and thumbed the slide into battery, “Go.”
After casting alternating glances at her and the killers, Patton did a one-eighty, took a few running strides, and stopped. His head lolled backwards, Son-of-a... before he turned toward the deputy marshal, lifted his gun, and searched for a target. We’ll both probably get killed. Before he could work the Glock’s trigger, he noticed her retreating from the action. It’s about time you come to your senses. He reversed course and ran deeper into the woods.
Backing away from the tree, oblivious to the jacketed slugs zipping by her ears or burrowing into the surrounding earth, Devlin lined up another man. She applied pressure to the Colt’s trigger, and the hammer fell.
A second man slunk to his knees and keeled over sideways, as two more men seemed to materialize from nowhere.
Withdrawing a few steps, she fired a controlled pair at each of the newcomers before following Patton’s path into the woods, her mind envisioning the gruesome replay of a good man’s death.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 10
Drop the Gun
Devlin caught up to Patton, grabbed his shirt, and pushed him to the right. “This way.” Stealing glances over her shoulder, while wiping blood—Chambers’ blood—from her face, Devlin shoved him through the dense woodlands for the next fifteen minutes, their course knifing Z’s into the floor beneath the forest’s canopy. Her Colt’s muzzle never strayed from Patton’s backside.
After another ten minutes of seemingly
