“He’s a good cop,” Joe says, admiration in his voice. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“Was a good cop,” Toni reminds him.
“What in God’s name was that?” Fran asks, wild-eyed.
“Those were gunshots,” Herb and Chris say simultaneously, scraping their chairs back as they rise to their feet.
Everyone sprints through the front door. Hemingway on their heels.
CHAPTER 24
“You don’t actually have to write anything until you’ve thought it out. This is an enormous relief, and you can sit there searching for the point at which the story becomes a toboggan and starts to slide.”
—MARIE DE NERVAUD
Through the green monochrome tint of his night optics, Mick sees the jagged edges of an opening in a wall of rock. It’s wide enough for Emma’s wheelchair, plus a foot on either side.
Looking down, he sees footprints, and what looks like drag marks, leading in. If I step out from cover, Jason will shoot me. If I stay here, he’ll kill Emma.
Mick picks up a rock and tosses it into the opening.
“What took you so long?” comes the voice of Jason Hughes.
“Is Emma Benton with you?” Mick asks.
“Mick, I’m—” Emma’s voice is cut off by the sound of a sharp slap.
Anger flushes through Mick, slow and burning. The muscles in his arms tense. “Hughes, or should I say, Berndt, this is between you and me. Let me trade places with Emma.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jason laughs. “No. You’re going to join us. And if you don’t, I’ll send her out—one piece at a time—until you do.”
Mick sends a text to Joe: Found cave. Jason has Emma. Going in or she dies. Move forward fifty yards. Stop. Remain quiet. Stay under cover.
“How do I know you’re not going to shoot me when I step in?” Mick asks.
“You don’t.” Jason laughs. “You’ll just have to trust me. Throw your weapon in first, and then enter with your hands above your head.”
Mick sets the safety, then throws in the Glock, grateful for his ankle carry.
He enters the cave and sees Emma in her wheelchair. His heart gallops at the sight of her. His mind floods with relief, dousing the nightmare images he’d imagined. She’s alive. He exhales slowly to make his breathing slower and more effective.
As Emma leans toward Mick, Jason pulls her body back.
Crouching behind her, he sneers. “You look like a bug-eyed frog. Take off those night vision goggles. And while you’re at it, turn around. I want to see if you were stupid enough to tuck a gun in your waistband.”
Mick does what he’s told.
“Okay. Turn back around.”
Jason shoves a flashlight into Emma’s left hand. “Hold this on your lap and aim it up. I want Mick to have a good view when I slit your throat.” He yanks Emma’s hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. “Don’t move.”
Exhilaration soars through him. The power of life and death is his, and he’s drunk with the taste of it. Before starting his handiwork, he crouches behind Emma, rests his chin on her shoulder, and smiles tauntingly at Mick.
Emma hears his breathing. Slow and measured—no panic, or lack of control. His breath is foul. The smell sweeps into her nostrils, nearly making her gag.
Except for his face, no other part of Jason is exposed. Reaching into his left cargo pocket, he feels for his knife. “What the fuck?”
When Jason turns his head to check his pocket, Emma slips her hand under her right thigh and fists the knife, blade down.
Knife-less, Jason grabs his gun and stands up behind the chair. Emma feels his stomach at her back as he leans forward toward Mick.
Adrenaline surges through her veins, accelerates her heart rate. I’ve got one chance. Standing fast, Emma catches Jason hard under the chin with the top of her head.
She hears a primal, guttural sound ring throughout the cave. It takes a second for her to realize it’s her as she slams the blade back into Jason’s right thigh and twists it.
Mick has a look of disbelief on his face as Emma flinches before toppling forward, face down on the ground.
Then a bullet rips into Jason’s chest and joins the echo of Jason’s Beretta.
Jason’s gun drops to the ground.
“No, I wasn’t stupid enough to tuck a gun in my waistband. It was in my ankle carry.”
Jason falls backward and hits the ground.
“What the hell?” Weapons drawn, Joe and Toni enter the cave—each in a half squat, their torsos swiveling—to find Mick bent over Emma’s blood-stained back with two fingers on the side of her neck checking for a pulse.
“She’s still alive,” Mick shouts. “Joe, radio Herb and tell him we need LifeFlight. There’s not enough clearance on the property, tell them to land at the entry gate. Then call Niall and tell him to get the ATV as close to the back of Thoreau cottage as he can. Toni”—He nods toward Jason’s body. “Check to make sure he’s dead.”
As Toni kneels over Jason, he whispers, “I told her.” Then he loses consciousness.
Pressing two fingers on his carotid artery, she feels a weak pulse. “He’s still alive.”
“Lucky son of a bitch,” Joe says. “He’s already escaped death once. Mick, do you want Herb to get an air ambulance for him, too? Or should he just wait for a meat wagon?”
“I’m not through with him. I want that bastard to live,” Mick growls. “Order another lift.”
Herb and Chris try to keep up with Hemingway as he races toward the back of Thoreau cottage. “Wait up, Buddy,” Herb shouts.
Libby answers on the first ring. “Yes. Yes. Okay, behind Thoreau. He’ll be right there.”
“Who was that?” Niall asks.
“Emma’s hurt. Mick needs you to bring the ATV to the back of Thoreau, then drive them to the front gate. LifeFlight’s on their—” She finishes her statement to Niall’s already-retreating back.
Mick lifts Emma, cradling her in his arms as gently as he can. Stepping out of
