enough to send them diving for cover. But Maltz was running out of ammo, and they knew it. They were getting bolder, advancing. Dangel had never made it back from the van run, which meant he was probably down, and if Jagerson couldn’t be moved, Maltz didn’t love the odds of them completing this mission. To be brought down by a group of hacks would be the ultimate insult, he’d prefer to swallow his gun. And he hated the thought of these rednecks getting hold of the girls and their mother, even if they were the biggest collective pains in the ass he’d ever had the pleasure of dealing with.
Where the fuck was Syd? he thought, checking his radio again. It spit out a stream of static, and he cursed silently. If he made it out of this alive, he was definitely upgrading, this subpar civvy shit was worthless. He tried transmitting their position via Morse code again, compressing the talk button, hoping someone out there was paying attention.
“We got her!” A voice yelled. Maltz’s heart sank. He craned his head around the side of the tree, careful to stay out of the line of fire. A guy in a leather vest with scraggly hair was dragging one of the girls-the older one, without the cast. Crap. Maltz wondered where the other two were, if they’d been smart enough to hide.
“Stop shooting or I kill the bitch!” the guy yelled.
Maltz braced himself against the tree trunk. His rifle was specially equipped with an infrared laser, allowing him to see exactly where the shot was going, even at a distance of a few hundred yards. He sighted down his rifle: Bree was an inch too tall, just blocking a perfect head shot. Maltz gritted his teeth, mentally willing her to move to the side, duck down, something. She stumbled slightly and his finger tensed, but the guy yanked her up again. They were fifteen feet away now. If he had a good opening, there was no way he could miss. The girl stumbled again, and he had a clear shot. Maltz steadied his aim, braced to squeeze the trigger…
“Wait! Please don’t hurt her.”
Maltz squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as the mother emerged from the shadows, hands held high. Jesus, he thought, shaking his head. Civilians.
The scraggly guy’s head pivoted, ruining the angle, and Maltz sighed. Another figure appeared, hopping on one leg-the youngest. Fucking perfect time for a family reunion.
He glanced over to Jagerson and Fribush. Fribush shrugged and indicated that he didn’t have a clear shot, either. Maltz clenched his jaw as the guy gathered the women in front of him. “All right, assholes, stop shooting or I’ll start.”
Maltz hadn’t fired a shot in a few minutes, and neither had his men, but he figured this wasn’t the time to point that out. A pro would have demanded they throw down their weapons and show themselves; the fact that he hadn’t meant they still had a chance. He signaled for Fribush to keep a line on the guy. If Maltz could draw him away from the women, into a position where Fribush had a clear shot…
“I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!” Maltz yelled, leaning his rifle against the tree. The guy’s head swiveled, searching for him. Maltz took a step forward, still obscured by the shadows. He had a Glock 19 tucked in a holster behind his shoulder. If necessary he could access it quickly.
He heard voices approaching and took another step forward, breath tight in his chest. He hoped the rest were still leery of getting too close, otherwise they might be doomed.
“Bunch of crap you put us through,” the scraggly guy griped, “crossing the river and shit.”
“Yeah, well.” Maltz stepped to the side, and the guy tracked him. Untrained adversaries tended to follow with their bodies as well as their eyes, an instinct that only served them in dealings with other amateurs. One more step to the left and Fribush would be able to pick him off without risking the women. “Just doing my job.”
“Who the fuck hired you?” The guy shifted as Maltz took another step, turning with him. Good, Maltz thought. Just one more foot…
A sudden noise, from the direction of the house. They all froze. The guy reacted a second after Maltz, spinning to face it, opening himself up…
They didn’t end up needing the radio to find Maltz and the others, all they had to do was follow the gunfire. It bounced off the hills, sending them down a few wrong turns as they tried to pinpoint it. They were backtracking, and had reemerged on the main road when a cop car tore past, blazing lights and sirens.
“I guess someone dialed 911,” Jake said.
“Sounds like World War III out there,” Syd said. “Hope Maltz and his boys have extra ammo.”
Jake hoped so, too. He was a little nonplussed by how calm she was. The hairier the situation, the happier and more at home she appeared. Something about that scared the crap out of him. George sat in the backseat, purportedly to keep an eye on them.
“Yeah, stay on this guy,” he said into his radio. “And make sure your vests are on before you get out of the car.”
Syd gunned it, hot on the heels of the cop car.
“The sheriff knows we’re coming, right?” Jake asked.
George shrugged. “He should. But it might not be a bad idea to keep your hands in sight when you get out of the car.”
“Get him to shut those damn sirens off,” Syd said. “We gotta go in quiet.”
George glanced at Jake and raised an eyebrow. Jake shrugged. “What the lady said.”
“Okay, boss.” George conveyed the message to his team in the other car and the sheriff. The sirens abruptly stopped. Another cop car appeared behind them.
They crossed a bridge over the river, bouncing over a cattle grate on the opposite side. The sheriff’s car took a sharp right onto a narrow lane that turned out to be a driveway. He wrenched the car onto the shoulder a few hundred feet from the house. Syd pulled in next to him, and the other cars followed suit.
A lanky guy in a sheriff’s uniform and hat climbed out, tucking a rifle over his shoulder before approaching. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of them behind George. “Good to see you again, Agent Fong.” He shifted his gaze to Jake, then Syd. “You the folks kicked up this shitstorm?”
“That would be us,” Syd said. “We’ve got a family out there, mother and two teenage girls.”
“Alone?”
“Three of my men are with them.”
The other FBI agents, two men and a woman, joined them. Everyone was wearing their vests, faces tight. Jake recognized the air of expectation. There was a palpable rush of adrenaline before a fight, when you were dreading it and itching for it, all at the same time.
“So I’m guessing you’re in charge here?” the sheriff asked George.
George glanced sidelong at Syd, then stepped forward. “’Fraid so. Looks like a biker gang is after them.”
“Sure, the Rogues. Been trying to run them out of town since I got the job. You want to take them off my hands, you’ve got my blessing.”
“How many are there?” Syd interrupted.
The sheriff shrugged. “Eight, maybe nine now. Busted a few for a meth lab a while back, so they’re serving time.”
“Corcoran?” Jake asked.
“Hell if I know.” Sheriff shrugged. “And don’t much care.”
There was a break in the gunfire, and they all cocked their heads. “I’m guessing that’s our cue,” George said. “I’ll take the lead, the rest of you fan out. Remember,” he said, looking directly at Jake, “we only shoot if they pose an immediate threat.”
Jake wanted to point out that warning was more appropriate for Syd, but when he turned to see if it had sunk in, she was already gone. He could make out her blond hair ducking into the trees.
George shook his head. “Okay, head for the house. It sounds like the worst of it is up there.”
A sharp crack split the silence. Maltz instinctively dropped to a crouch, his right hand snatching the backup weapon from its holster. Another shot, and the scraggly guy’s gun went off as the side of his head exploded. He staggered a few feet before dropping. In response, a volley of shooting poured from the woods.
“Down! Get down!” Maltz waved frantically at the women, who had frozen in shock. The older girl reacted first, flattening herself to the ground, followed a second later by her mother and sister. Maltz watched as they covered their heads. Over the barrage he could hear them screaming.
A figure appeared by the farmhouse and Maltz leveled his gun, ready to pick him off. Something about the
