“Don’t worry. On your command, I can put a hole in his brain.”
Payne felt temporarily better, but his anxiety returned when Greene started working on the rope around her throat. “Careful!”
“You gotta chill,” he growled. “If I hurt her, you’ll hurt Theo. And trust me, I don’t want you to do that. Why? Because I want to do it myself!”
Using Ariane as a shield, Greene pulled a gun from the back of his belt and fired two shots toward Payne. As he did, Holmes punched the gas pedal hard, sending Ariane and Greene tumbling backward in a tangle of body parts, an act that kept Jones from shooting. Sure, he could’ve fired, but the risk of hitting Ariane was simply too high for his taste. Instead, he figured he’d rely on his backup.
“Bennie,” Jones screamed, “get the driver!”
But Blount reacted too late. He fired a number of shots at the front windshield, yet the only thing that hit Holmes was shards of broken glass.
Jones cursed as the truck continued forward. He did his best to stop it by shooting at the back right tire, but the angle of the flatbed protected it like armor. He shifted his aim to the rear window, hoping to nail the driver in the back of the head, but Holmes made a sudden turn toward the side of the house.
“Son of a bitch!” Jones yelled. He couldn’t believe that so many unexpected things had happened. Greene’s hidden gun, his lack of compassion for Webster, the detonator, and Ariane’s unintentional interference. Jones abandoned his position and ran toward the front steps, where he came across Blount in the hallway. The two of them sprinted down the stairs together, hoping to hit the truck with a long-distance shot, but when they burst out the front door, they noticed something that changed their priorities.
Two bodies were sprawled on the columned porch.
One was Webster; the other was Payne.
Both were covered in blood, and neither was moving.
CHAPTER 52
WHILE
Blount ran for a first-aid kit, Jones tended to Payne, carefully probing his unconscious friend. Unfortunately, Payne’s black clothes made it tough to find his injuries.
“Bennie! Get out here! I need your help!”
Blount returned a moment later, medical supplies in hand.
“Help me get his shirt off. I need to figure out where he was hit.”
Expecting the worst, they carefully cut off the bloodied garment, exposing Payne’s chiseled but scarred torso. Thankfully, his chest and stomach were free of new wounds.
“The blood must’ve been Webster’s,” Blount said, relieved.
“Not all of it.” Jones pointed to a gaping hole in Payne’s arm. One of Greene’s bullets had torn through Webster’s body and embedded itself in Payne’s left biceps. “It’s not life threatening, but I have to patch him up before he bleeds too much.”
“What do you need me to do? Get you some towels? Boil some water?”
Jones frowned. “He’s not having a baby. He’s been shot.”
Blount nodded. “Does that mean I can’t do anything?”
“Actually, you can. I won’t leave Jon until I treat him, but the moment he wakes up he’ll want to find Ariane. Can you find us some transportation?”
“Consider it done.”
While waiting for Blount’s return, Jones tried to focus on Payne. Under these conditions, there wasn’t much he could do other than sterilize the wound and wrap it, but he realized that might be enough to save Payne’s life. Right now the two biggest concerns were blood loss and infection. A good field dressing would stop either from happening.
As Jones prepared the bandages, Payne opened his eyes. Still groggy, he blinked a few times, absorbing his surroundings. He studied Jones as he scoured through the first-aid kit.
“Excuse me, Miss Nightingale? I think you need to reap-ply your makeup.”
A smile crossed Jones’s lips. He didn’t care what Payne said as long as he was able to talk. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great.” He blinked a few times, trying to remember what happened. “I think my arm hurts.”
“That might have something to do with the bullet that’s in it. And when you fell, I think you hit your head on the steps. That’s why you blacked out.”
Payne winced as he touched the back of his head. A large bump was emerging from his scalp. “Where’s Ariane?”
Jones frowned. He didn’t want to upset his friend before his wound was treated, but he wasn’t willing to lie. “To be honest, Jon, I don’t know. They all got away.”
“What?” He immediately tried to sit up, but Jones restrained him. “How did that happen? I thought you had a shot at Levon.”
“I did, but Ariane blocked it. When the truck started to move, she tumbled on top of him. I couldn’t risk pulling the trigger.”
“What about the driver? Did he get hit?”
“Bennie hit the front windshield more than once, but Holmes kept driving.” He paused for a moment as he considered the events. “I don’t know if he hit him or not.”
Payne took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage. He wasn’t mad at Jones or Blount-considering the circumstances, they’d done their best-but he was upset at the unfortunate turn of events. Ariane was within reach, but he had blown his chance to retrieve her.
“We have to catch them before they leave the island. If they get away, there’s no telling where they’ll go.”
Jones saw the desperation on Payne’s face. It showed in the color of his cheeks and the glare in his eyes. But that wasn’t all he noticed. He could also see his pain. There was something about the tightness of his jaw and the grimace on his lips that revealed Payne’s physical agony.
“Let’s take care of you first. Then we’ll worry about them.”
“D.J., I’m fine.” He tried to sit up a second time, but Jones pushed him down again.
“Jon, we can’t chase them until we get a vehicle, and Bennie’s getting us one right now. So just calm down and let me patch you up while we wait for our limo.”
Jones cleaned and wrapped the wound in less than five minutes. Then, as he put the last layer of elastic tape around the sterile gauze, he heard the rumble of an approaching motor. He gazed across the field, trying to identify the motorist, but was unable to.
“We better take cover.”
Both men climbed to their feet and waited in the nearby bushes until they spotted Blount. They realized it was him when they saw his dreadlocks flapping in the breeze. As he pulled up on an ATV, Payne and Jones reemerged on the porch.
“Jon! You’re okay!”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” He glanced at the green and black Yamaha Grizzly and realized it was too small for three people. “Is this all you could find?”
“Actually, there are two more where I found this. If one of you comes with me, we can figure out a way to bring them both back.”
Jones looked at Payne. “Let me go. You should rest up.”
“No arguments from me.”
As Blount and Jones sped away, Payne scanned the immediate vicinity, making sure that no one was watching from the trees. When he was confident that he was alone, he walked toward Webster, staring at his face. In the aftermath of the shooting, he never thought to ask about Webster’s condition-he just assumed that he was dead-but one glance proved that he wasn’t. Even though his eyes were closed and his lips were blue, blood pulsated from the two wounds that were visible in his upper torso.
Blood flow meant that Webster’s heart was still beating.
