Her focus went from the shackles, to him, to the other windows, her mind imagining the multiple adversaries outside. She came back to him.
“You’re smart, Devlin. You know it’s the right play.”
Her forehead wrinkling, she massaged the back of her neck. “How do I know you won’t turn the gun on me...once this is over?”
“You don’t.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Think of this as your Trust Fall.”
Her eyebrows came together.
“You know...that exercise where one person closes his eyes and falls backward...into someone else’s waiting arms? I hear it’s supposed to help with team-building.”
Devlin holstered her 1911 and grunted, “It’s a stupid game,” before drawing the Glock from her waistband and setting the forty-caliber firearm on the table. She shoved fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. “So help me, God. If you betray me, I promise you. I’ll—”
Randall placed an object beside the Glock.
Spotting the object—Agent Mills’ folding knife—Devlin stopped fumbling. She looked up from the table, her penetrating gaze boring a hole through his eyes and all the way to the back of his head. “You’ve had that this whole time?” She patted her butt cheeks.
He laid two, shiny skeleton keys next to the knife.
She terminated her search. “And you stole my handcuff keys?” She scooped up the masters.
“I didn’t steal anything.” Holding out his hands, “Back at the SUV—after you undid my ankles—you,” Randall nodded at the keys, “didn’t exactly stuff those all the way into your jeans. One was peeking out of your pocket.”
She maneuvered the key into its slot and regarded him. “Only peeking out?”
He lifted a shoulder and added a partial grin. “I didn’t want to risk you losing them.” He waited a beat. “You’re welcome by the way.”
After giving him another look and shaking her head at his sheepish grin, “So,” Devlin undid the manacles, “at any time since then, you could’ve freed yourself and—”
“Shoved a blade between your ribs?” He rubbed his wrists and produced a long, black rectangle from his pants pocket. “If I haven’t told you yet...we’re on the same side.”
She scowled at the newest item in his possession, a full magazine for the Glock.
He swapped out the 22’s partial magazine for the full one and spied her.
Her attention drifting to him, she lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay this,” he tapped the magazine’s base plate, “I did in fact steal. When you forced me to the floor of the Suburban, Mills’ gun and Chambers’ mag were right there in front of me. I had to take them.”
Devlin snatched her phone off the table, drew her 45 ACP, and put her back against the darkened southeast corner. The dwelling’s door was at her ten o’clock.
“However, if you recall correctly...”
She jabbed a finger his way. “Get over there.”
“...I ended up using this gun to save you.”
“You watch my back. I’ll watch yours.”
He assumed a position similar to hers, but partly hidden behind a bunk bed in the northwest corner. “How many did you see out there?”
“At least three.” Devlin shot several glances back and forth—from her ten o’clock to her two o’clock.
“Psst.”
She eyed Randall.
He touched a forefinger to his lips and pointed at the door.
Noticing movement in her peripheral vision—on the floor—she nodded at him and flicked her eyes toward her left boot. The hair rose up on the back of her neck, as a tingling sensation zipped down her spine. She screwed up her face.
The brown tarantula crawled closer to Devlin’s footwear, stopping periodically.
Fixated on the hairy arachnid, she stood taller and put heels to the wall. Man, I hate spiders. She raised a foot and waited for the creature to get within stomping distance. Casting glances at the western and northern windows, she saw shadows appear on the floor, as a large mass outside disrupted the light pattern inside the shack.
Randall caught her eye, held up two fingers, and pointed.
She nodded, glanced down, and did a double take; the spider was gone. Her skin crawled, as she lifted the Colt toward the door that was inching its way inward. I really hate spiders.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 14
Betrayal
The door stopped perpendicular to Devlin’s position. A floorboard creaked, but no one came into view. Silent seconds passed. Aiming her firearm a foot ahead of the door’s leading edge, she gripped the 1911 tighter. What’s he doing? Her eyes widened. He’s letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. She charged and drove her left shoulder into the panel, sending the uninvited houseguest into the kitchen nook area.
The hanging pots and pans rattled, as the camouflage-clad figure crashed into the wall, did a one-eighty, and tumbled to the floor, arms flailing.
The door bounced back and hit Devlin before half closing.
She got her first look at the intruder, a slim woman with long hair secured in a ponytail. Raising her gun to cover the woman, Devlin noticed a large shadow approaching from the left. Not seeing, but sensing the black muzzle coming up to meet her, she spun right and dove to the floor.
***
Randall exited his hiding place, gun up. He got off a few quick shots before ducking.
The inside of the cabin was shredded by a volley of sustained gunfire. Rifle rounds pinged off the potbelly stove, knocked cookware from the wall, and sent wood shards and mattress fibers, flying upward.
The noise stopped.
Hearing a familiar click, Randall lifted his head and saw the canister roll into the structure. He leaped to his feet, “Grenade!” and upended the table.
The stun grenade went off, as the large eating surface came down on top of the explosive device. A muted bang and a flash of light filled the space.
Randall saw spots. His ears were ringing. Having managed to stave off the full effects of the flashbang, he squinted at the doorway and lined up his next shot. Blinking repeatedly, he emptied his gun at the two figures rushing into the dwelling. One silhouette dropped a moment before the Glock’s slide locked open. Patting himself, feeling for the spare ammunition, he sidestepped right.
Incoming rounds tore up the area
