Blaze, page 33
“Dad had it on VHS, sitting there in the media room. I was six, hadn’t been to a live game yet, but I watched that tape and I knew it was something special. Kelly was quarterback for the Bills at the time, an absolute genius, a leader of one of the greatest NFL scoring juggernauts of all time, guiding the Bills to a record four consecutive Bowls. I watched that tape over and over, wanted to be him so bad, and here I am.”
I move my fingers to the script running down his inner arm, reading it aloud. “‘Aim for the sky and you’ll reach the ceiling. Aim for the ceiling and you’ll stay on the floor.’ Nice.”
I tap against his left pec. “There’s nothing on this one. How about a nice big ‘Indy’ with a heart around it?”
His hand starts to slide down past my navel.
I shove him away, almost pushing him out of the bed again. “Go clean up first.”
His smile grows. “Join me in the shower?”
“As soon as I can summon the energy to stand, sure.”
I glue my eyes to his gorgeous butt as he walks to the bathroom, the shower starting and steam filling the room. I hear the shower door open.
It takes a surprising amount of effort to sit up. I wrap the sheets around myself.
The doorbell goes.
“Cayden!” I call, but the showers too loud for him to hear anything.
It must be one of the brothers.
I smile to myself. Wouldn’t they get a shock if I opened the door?
I pull the sheets tighter around myself and head down the stairs, standing in front of the door and taking a breath, smiling like an idiot at how juvenile I am right now.
I open the door, but it’s not Colton, or Hunter, which figures. They’d have a key, not to mention Hunter is still in hospital.
It’s Naomi who stands before me.
I tug the sheet up higher. “Naomi?”
She holds up a badge. “Indy, I’m going to need you to come with me, right now.”
It dawns on me. “You’re a—”
“Federal Agent,” she finishes. “And you’re in danger. We have to move you, now.”
Cayden bounds up behind me, doing his jeans up, his hair and body wet. “What’s going on?”
I’m trying to get over the initial shock, the outrageous idea that the FBI had one of its own agents pose as my roommate to keep an eye on me. It does explain a lot, though.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, “he knows.”
Naomi’s lips purse.
“Save the lecture,” I continue. “What’s happening?”
She hesitates for a moment.
“You have something to tell me, you tell it to the both of us.”
She gives in. “Someone recognized you, from your brief excursion to New York, put two and two together.” She’s eyeballing Cayden hard as she says it.
“Who?” I ask.
She glances to me and back to Cayden. “A Mr. Gregory Lackie, Senior Associate at Beckett & Lathan. They’re the defense in the case you’re testifying for.”
The guy with Cayden’s dad. “How?”
“We think there was a leak, a picture or description of you they obtained.”
“Shit,” says Cayden. “I’ve got nothing to do with that, with my father’s dirty business.”
“We know,” says Naomi, “but the threat stands and it’s simply not safe here for Indy anymore, so grab some clothes and let’s go.”
I turn to face Cayden.
“It’s okay,” he says, taking my arm. “Go. Your safety’s all that matters right now.
I race upstairs and throw on my jeans and a shirt, still slipping on my shoes as I come down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
Naomi shakes her head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“How am I going to contact her?” protests Cayden.
“You won’t. Not until the case is over, Mr. Beckett.”
She’s so official now, a completely different person. How could I have been duped so easily?
Agent Matherson runs out from the black sedan idling in the drive. Together, the two of them flank me, leading me down to the car.
“Wait!” I call, but they press on, Matherson opening the door and bundling me inside.
My heart’s galloping a million miles an hour.
Cayden starts to come down the stairs after me. “Stay right there, son,” says Matherson. “She’ll be fine.”
They close my door and suddenly I realize what’s happening, that this might be the last time I see Cayden for who knows how long.
The car drives off. I place my hand against the window, watch it all sink away, my life once again in disarray.
Naomi turns and gestures to a vest on the back seat. “Put it on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAYDEN
For a moment, I stand on the stairs lost.
No. Fuck that.
I run out to the shed and swing into the Mustang, turning the key and driving out in a flurry of dirt and gravel.
I get sight of the sedan, but I want to keep my distance. I hang back, following them as they turn off the main road, heading east.
I follow, drawing back further, for another six minutes or so.
My hand tightens on the steering wheel. I’m not going to lose her, not now.
The sedan cuts off the road again down a smaller, non-sealed road. Houses are sparse out here. It’s farm land and swamp mostly.
I take the turn and drive, still maintaining my distance.
They’re trained agents. They’re going to spot you a mile away.
But I’m winging it. I couldn’t stand there holding my dick and doing nothing while they stole her away.
It’s for her own good.
I hear something ahead, see the sedan swerve sideways in the middle of the road and slump.
Another sound, a gunshot.
The hell?
I hit the brakes and watch.
There’s another car blocking off the end of the road past them, what appears to be an SUV similar to the one I saw this morning, a Mercedes G-Wagon. Three guys in suits emerge from it with what appear to be automatic weapons, firing on the sedan.
It’s real. It’s happening.
You’re just going to sit here?
The sedan’s doors facing towards me open, Agent Matherson crouching low, Naomi pulling Indy out, holding her head down, the three of them pressed up against the tires.
Why the fuck aren’t they driving? And then I remember the way the car slumped.
I look closer. The front left tire has been blown out.
Matherson pulls his weapon and fires a few rounds over the hood, ducking down behind where the engine would be.
Smart.
But they’re in trouble. This isn’t hunting, but I’m sure as shit not going to sit on my hands here and watch this go down, see Indy hurt — or worse.
Fuck this.
I floor it, driving straight towards the sedan.
I’m almost there when the windscreen shatters, a bullet punching into the headrest right next to my head. Another blows out my front right, the Mustang skidding to a halt a good ten feet from the sedan.
I stay low and get out the passenger’s side, bullets pinging off the panel work.
Fucking hell. Do not die out here, Cay.
I stay low and move up behind the sedan, Matherson pulling me down with him, the both of us behind the back wheel.
Indy sees me. “Cayden,” she says, breathless.
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
Naomi’s got a radio handset stretched out from the interior, reading out coordinates off her cell, her handgun in her other hand.
Matherson shakes his head. “What the fuck are you doing, son? You want to get yourself killed? This isn’t a fucking video game. Those are real bullets.”
“Local police are five minutes out,” calls Naomi, shouting to be heard across the gunfire.
Indy’s shaking, knees pulled under herself, terrified.
Just like she was that night.
Think, damn it. Think.
Given the way it ended up, the rear of the sedan is out of the line of fire. Matherson moves to the back, pops the trunk and pulls out a large rifle, standing and firing. One of the passenger windows explodes, glass fanning out across the road. Indy screams.
I crawl over to her, pulling her head into my chest. I notice she’s wearing a bulletproof vest of some kind. Good. “It’s going to be okay.”
But I’m not so sure.
“Hold them back!” shouts Matherson to Naomi. She leaps up and fires the last of her handgun rounds, placing her weapon on the road.
“I’m out,” she says, trying to remain calm, but I see the panic there.
Matherson tosses her his own handgun.
Bullets rattle the side of the car, the body of it shaking against us. We’re seriously outgunned. Soon, those goons are going to start moving towards us.
I move to Matherson. He fires before pulling himself down beside the car.
“We’re sitting fucking ducks here,” I tell him.
I steal a glance through the rear window. One of the men shooting at us darts off into the tree line on the side of the road, the others moving out now our fire has died down.
A shot rings out.
“Ah!” Naomi goes spinning backwards, sprawling onto the ground.
She’s hit.
“Fuck!” shouts Matherson.
I move to her as quick I can, dragging her by the collar back to the car, trying not to let the sight of Indy balled up there break my concentration.
It’s just like hunting. That’s all it is.
Matherson joins me, placing Naomi’s hand over the wound. “Apply pressure, got it?”
She nods, teeth gritted together. “It fucking hurts.”
“No shit,” he replies.
I steal another look. “They’re coming,” I announce.
Matherson stands and fires, his arm shaking from the recoil, the muzzle of his rifle flashing.
Indy’s got her hands over her ears, continuing to rock there.
I crawl across to the handgun Naomi was using, check the mag, but she’s out.
Matherson ducks again as the return fire starts, back hard against the panel work.
“You got anything else in the trunk?” I ask him.
“An old Remington 768 I take hunting sometimes, some stun grenades.”
“I thought you FBI guys carried around a full-on armory?”
Matherson laughs. “This ain’t Hollywood, son.”
A bullet pinging off the roof the car proves his point.
I get up and move to the trunk.
Matherson tries to pull me back. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Local police will be here soon.” But he knows as well I do we’re not going to last that long.
I shrug him off, fishing inside the trunk, pulling out the Remington and a box of bullets. I place a stun grenade in my pocket. “I’m not going to sit here to do nothing.”
He jerks his head at the rifle. “You know how to use that thing?”
I slide the first bullet into the chamber, load it. Hunting—out in the woods. Simple. “Let’s find out. Can you lay down some cover?”
Matherson shakes his head, Indy watching on in alarm. “Cayden…”
Matherson stands and fires.
I whip the rifle around, placing it between the trunk and C-pillar of the sedan, line up the first guy in the scope. He’s an ugly fucker, a tattoo right in the middle of his forehead that looks like it was stenciled by a six-year-old.
I fire, but it’s slightly wide, punching into the bodywork of the SUV.
We both crouch down again.
I reload and nod to Matherson.
Again, he stands and fires. I do the same, this time recalculating for the scope.
Football’s trained me well for this kind of scenario. I’m able to quash the nerves down, push them aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.
I fire, clip the goon right in the leg. He goes down, almost takes out his buddy with friendly fire until he lets go of the trigger.
I see the other one curse and reach down to drag him away. They retreat. I’ve bought us time, but how much?
We hunker down again.
“You get him?” asks Matherson, visibly sweating.
I nod and reload.
Almost too quiet to hear, I hear sirens in the distance.
Here comes the cavalry.
I’ve never shot a man before, but I don’t have time to process it, not now.
Keep her safe. Nothing else matters. I drum it into my head.
Matherson looks around the corner of the sedan.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“Reinforcements.”
I push up with my back and look through the window. Another SUV has joined the first, three more men spilling out of it with weapons in hand. I took down one, but it’s still five on two here, not to mention the guy in the trees who could be anywhere right now. I scan for him, but come up blank.
The sirens aren’t getting any louder.
“They’re coming again,” says Matherson. He unclips his mag. “I’m almost out.”
I check the box. Three bullets. Shit.
“Cayden,” says Indy, her voice shaky with fear, “I don’t want to die”.
“You’re not,” I tell her.
I remember the grenade, pulling it out and holding it towards Matherson. “How the fuck do you use this thing?”
“It’s a flashbang, son. It won’t do any damage.”
“But it might distract them, right? Buy us more time? I don’t fucking know. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“Those guys are seventy yards away, maybe more. Unless you’ve got an arm of gold, you’re not going to get that thing anywhere close.”
I smile. “Just tell me how to use it.”
“Pull the pin and toss it, but don’t dally around, got it?”
I nod, looking down at the grenade. It’s heavier than I expected it to be.
I take a breath. “Cover me as best you can. On three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
I pull the pin. “Three.”
We stand together, Matherson firing.
I draw back, line up the SUVs and throw the grenade with everything I’ve got.
It isn’t a football. That much becomes clear, but the throw’s good. It arcs high and falls to the ground maybe five or six yards from the SUVs.
Matherson runs out of ammo. “Don’t look!” he cries, pulling me down.
The grenade goes off.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s fucking loud—loud enough to be painful from this distance.
I hear someone scream down there.
“Stay do—”
I get up to check. One of them is on the ground, the others with their hands clamped over their ears. It looks like they’ve been blinded.
I pick up the rifle, shoot another in the shoulder, reaching for a bullet but knocking the box, the last two rolling under the car out of arm’s reach.
I slam the butt of the rifle against the bodywork. “Fuck!”
Matherson places his weapon down.
The sirens are louder now, closer.
I look through the window. Some of the goons are coming around, weaving themselves together and about to make their way down to us.
The sirens wail.
Hurry the fuck up.
There’s nothing more to do—get into the Mustang maybe, or run, but to where? The road’s too long, and the car’s not enough cover. We’d be exposed.
“I hope this is worth it,” I shout to Matherson, finding it hard to hear. “For all our sakes.”
He doesn’t reply, sitting there breathing hard. His eyes lock on something. “Thank fuck.”
Local patrol cars fly down the road towards us, six, maybe seven of them. They start to pull up around us, skidding sideways, doors flying open and weapons drawn, more shouting.
I’m struggling to hear what they’re saying. The ringing in my ears won’t let up. It’s like someone’s jammed a jackhammer in there.
One of the patrol cars butts up against the back of the sedan. An officer gets out, low. He waves us across.
I turn, reaching for Indy when I see him.
He’s coming out of the tree line, one of the goons, bringing his assault rifle to his shoulder.
He’s aiming right for her.
No. You. Fucking. Don’t.
I dive, spanning myself across Indy, crushing her between me and bodywork of the sedan.
She’s screams.
A single shot rings out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
INDY
No. God. Not now, not when I finally found a sliver of happiness.
But when I manage to get out from behind Cayden, I see a suited man lying on the side of the road, one of them.
I swivel my head and notice a police officer with his gun drawn a few feet from us, smoke curling from the barrel. He looks like he’s in shock.
I start to shake Cayden. “Cayden!” I shout, my voice muffled, my hearing dull. “Cayden!”
He starts to move, peeling himself from me, reaching for his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says, “I landed kind of hard.”
More shots are fired, too many to count.
My hands flit across his chest, looking for wounds, but he’s intact.
I pull him against me. “I thought you’d been…”
“I’m fine,” he says, holding me.
“They’re leaving!” someone shouts in the background, two patrol cars flying past our position in pursuit.
Cayden gets up, wincing. “It’s okay. They’re gone.”
I stand, shaking out fragments of glass that have collected in my hair and clothes from the broken window above. The vest I’m wearing is heavy, suffocating.
I go to take it off.
Agent Matherson stops me. “You’ll have to leave it on for now, sorry.”
Another black sedan, a mirror image of the one we were just hiding behind, stops right in front of us, an ambulance driving in behind it. Agent Matherson points down to Naomi, barely conscious against the car. “Over here!”
Two men get out from the sedan and run over. They begin to lead me away.
Cayden reaches for me. It’s déjà vu all over again. “Wait, please,” he calls.
I move my fingers to the script running down his inner arm, reading it aloud. “‘Aim for the sky and you’ll reach the ceiling. Aim for the ceiling and you’ll stay on the floor.’ Nice.”
I tap against his left pec. “There’s nothing on this one. How about a nice big ‘Indy’ with a heart around it?”
His hand starts to slide down past my navel.
I shove him away, almost pushing him out of the bed again. “Go clean up first.”
His smile grows. “Join me in the shower?”
“As soon as I can summon the energy to stand, sure.”
I glue my eyes to his gorgeous butt as he walks to the bathroom, the shower starting and steam filling the room. I hear the shower door open.
It takes a surprising amount of effort to sit up. I wrap the sheets around myself.
The doorbell goes.
“Cayden!” I call, but the showers too loud for him to hear anything.
It must be one of the brothers.
I smile to myself. Wouldn’t they get a shock if I opened the door?
I pull the sheets tighter around myself and head down the stairs, standing in front of the door and taking a breath, smiling like an idiot at how juvenile I am right now.
I open the door, but it’s not Colton, or Hunter, which figures. They’d have a key, not to mention Hunter is still in hospital.
It’s Naomi who stands before me.
I tug the sheet up higher. “Naomi?”
She holds up a badge. “Indy, I’m going to need you to come with me, right now.”
It dawns on me. “You’re a—”
“Federal Agent,” she finishes. “And you’re in danger. We have to move you, now.”
Cayden bounds up behind me, doing his jeans up, his hair and body wet. “What’s going on?”
I’m trying to get over the initial shock, the outrageous idea that the FBI had one of its own agents pose as my roommate to keep an eye on me. It does explain a lot, though.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, “he knows.”
Naomi’s lips purse.
“Save the lecture,” I continue. “What’s happening?”
She hesitates for a moment.
“You have something to tell me, you tell it to the both of us.”
She gives in. “Someone recognized you, from your brief excursion to New York, put two and two together.” She’s eyeballing Cayden hard as she says it.
“Who?” I ask.
She glances to me and back to Cayden. “A Mr. Gregory Lackie, Senior Associate at Beckett & Lathan. They’re the defense in the case you’re testifying for.”
The guy with Cayden’s dad. “How?”
“We think there was a leak, a picture or description of you they obtained.”
“Shit,” says Cayden. “I’ve got nothing to do with that, with my father’s dirty business.”
“We know,” says Naomi, “but the threat stands and it’s simply not safe here for Indy anymore, so grab some clothes and let’s go.”
I turn to face Cayden.
“It’s okay,” he says, taking my arm. “Go. Your safety’s all that matters right now.
I race upstairs and throw on my jeans and a shirt, still slipping on my shoes as I come down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
Naomi shakes her head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“How am I going to contact her?” protests Cayden.
“You won’t. Not until the case is over, Mr. Beckett.”
She’s so official now, a completely different person. How could I have been duped so easily?
Agent Matherson runs out from the black sedan idling in the drive. Together, the two of them flank me, leading me down to the car.
“Wait!” I call, but they press on, Matherson opening the door and bundling me inside.
My heart’s galloping a million miles an hour.
Cayden starts to come down the stairs after me. “Stay right there, son,” says Matherson. “She’ll be fine.”
They close my door and suddenly I realize what’s happening, that this might be the last time I see Cayden for who knows how long.
The car drives off. I place my hand against the window, watch it all sink away, my life once again in disarray.
Naomi turns and gestures to a vest on the back seat. “Put it on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAYDEN
For a moment, I stand on the stairs lost.
No. Fuck that.
I run out to the shed and swing into the Mustang, turning the key and driving out in a flurry of dirt and gravel.
I get sight of the sedan, but I want to keep my distance. I hang back, following them as they turn off the main road, heading east.
I follow, drawing back further, for another six minutes or so.
My hand tightens on the steering wheel. I’m not going to lose her, not now.
The sedan cuts off the road again down a smaller, non-sealed road. Houses are sparse out here. It’s farm land and swamp mostly.
I take the turn and drive, still maintaining my distance.
They’re trained agents. They’re going to spot you a mile away.
But I’m winging it. I couldn’t stand there holding my dick and doing nothing while they stole her away.
It’s for her own good.
I hear something ahead, see the sedan swerve sideways in the middle of the road and slump.
Another sound, a gunshot.
The hell?
I hit the brakes and watch.
There’s another car blocking off the end of the road past them, what appears to be an SUV similar to the one I saw this morning, a Mercedes G-Wagon. Three guys in suits emerge from it with what appear to be automatic weapons, firing on the sedan.
It’s real. It’s happening.
You’re just going to sit here?
The sedan’s doors facing towards me open, Agent Matherson crouching low, Naomi pulling Indy out, holding her head down, the three of them pressed up against the tires.
Why the fuck aren’t they driving? And then I remember the way the car slumped.
I look closer. The front left tire has been blown out.
Matherson pulls his weapon and fires a few rounds over the hood, ducking down behind where the engine would be.
Smart.
But they’re in trouble. This isn’t hunting, but I’m sure as shit not going to sit on my hands here and watch this go down, see Indy hurt — or worse.
Fuck this.
I floor it, driving straight towards the sedan.
I’m almost there when the windscreen shatters, a bullet punching into the headrest right next to my head. Another blows out my front right, the Mustang skidding to a halt a good ten feet from the sedan.
I stay low and get out the passenger’s side, bullets pinging off the panel work.
Fucking hell. Do not die out here, Cay.
I stay low and move up behind the sedan, Matherson pulling me down with him, the both of us behind the back wheel.
Indy sees me. “Cayden,” she says, breathless.
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
Naomi’s got a radio handset stretched out from the interior, reading out coordinates off her cell, her handgun in her other hand.
Matherson shakes his head. “What the fuck are you doing, son? You want to get yourself killed? This isn’t a fucking video game. Those are real bullets.”
“Local police are five minutes out,” calls Naomi, shouting to be heard across the gunfire.
Indy’s shaking, knees pulled under herself, terrified.
Just like she was that night.
Think, damn it. Think.
Given the way it ended up, the rear of the sedan is out of the line of fire. Matherson moves to the back, pops the trunk and pulls out a large rifle, standing and firing. One of the passenger windows explodes, glass fanning out across the road. Indy screams.
I crawl over to her, pulling her head into my chest. I notice she’s wearing a bulletproof vest of some kind. Good. “It’s going to be okay.”
But I’m not so sure.
“Hold them back!” shouts Matherson to Naomi. She leaps up and fires the last of her handgun rounds, placing her weapon on the road.
“I’m out,” she says, trying to remain calm, but I see the panic there.
Matherson tosses her his own handgun.
Bullets rattle the side of the car, the body of it shaking against us. We’re seriously outgunned. Soon, those goons are going to start moving towards us.
I move to Matherson. He fires before pulling himself down beside the car.
“We’re sitting fucking ducks here,” I tell him.
I steal a glance through the rear window. One of the men shooting at us darts off into the tree line on the side of the road, the others moving out now our fire has died down.
A shot rings out.
“Ah!” Naomi goes spinning backwards, sprawling onto the ground.
She’s hit.
“Fuck!” shouts Matherson.
I move to her as quick I can, dragging her by the collar back to the car, trying not to let the sight of Indy balled up there break my concentration.
It’s just like hunting. That’s all it is.
Matherson joins me, placing Naomi’s hand over the wound. “Apply pressure, got it?”
She nods, teeth gritted together. “It fucking hurts.”
“No shit,” he replies.
I steal another look. “They’re coming,” I announce.
Matherson stands and fires, his arm shaking from the recoil, the muzzle of his rifle flashing.
Indy’s got her hands over her ears, continuing to rock there.
I crawl across to the handgun Naomi was using, check the mag, but she’s out.
Matherson ducks again as the return fire starts, back hard against the panel work.
“You got anything else in the trunk?” I ask him.
“An old Remington 768 I take hunting sometimes, some stun grenades.”
“I thought you FBI guys carried around a full-on armory?”
Matherson laughs. “This ain’t Hollywood, son.”
A bullet pinging off the roof the car proves his point.
I get up and move to the trunk.
Matherson tries to pull me back. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Local police will be here soon.” But he knows as well I do we’re not going to last that long.
I shrug him off, fishing inside the trunk, pulling out the Remington and a box of bullets. I place a stun grenade in my pocket. “I’m not going to sit here to do nothing.”
He jerks his head at the rifle. “You know how to use that thing?”
I slide the first bullet into the chamber, load it. Hunting—out in the woods. Simple. “Let’s find out. Can you lay down some cover?”
Matherson shakes his head, Indy watching on in alarm. “Cayden…”
Matherson stands and fires.
I whip the rifle around, placing it between the trunk and C-pillar of the sedan, line up the first guy in the scope. He’s an ugly fucker, a tattoo right in the middle of his forehead that looks like it was stenciled by a six-year-old.
I fire, but it’s slightly wide, punching into the bodywork of the SUV.
We both crouch down again.
I reload and nod to Matherson.
Again, he stands and fires. I do the same, this time recalculating for the scope.
Football’s trained me well for this kind of scenario. I’m able to quash the nerves down, push them aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.
I fire, clip the goon right in the leg. He goes down, almost takes out his buddy with friendly fire until he lets go of the trigger.
I see the other one curse and reach down to drag him away. They retreat. I’ve bought us time, but how much?
We hunker down again.
“You get him?” asks Matherson, visibly sweating.
I nod and reload.
Almost too quiet to hear, I hear sirens in the distance.
Here comes the cavalry.
I’ve never shot a man before, but I don’t have time to process it, not now.
Keep her safe. Nothing else matters. I drum it into my head.
Matherson looks around the corner of the sedan.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“Reinforcements.”
I push up with my back and look through the window. Another SUV has joined the first, three more men spilling out of it with weapons in hand. I took down one, but it’s still five on two here, not to mention the guy in the trees who could be anywhere right now. I scan for him, but come up blank.
The sirens aren’t getting any louder.
“They’re coming again,” says Matherson. He unclips his mag. “I’m almost out.”
I check the box. Three bullets. Shit.
“Cayden,” says Indy, her voice shaky with fear, “I don’t want to die”.
“You’re not,” I tell her.
I remember the grenade, pulling it out and holding it towards Matherson. “How the fuck do you use this thing?”
“It’s a flashbang, son. It won’t do any damage.”
“But it might distract them, right? Buy us more time? I don’t fucking know. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“Those guys are seventy yards away, maybe more. Unless you’ve got an arm of gold, you’re not going to get that thing anywhere close.”
I smile. “Just tell me how to use it.”
“Pull the pin and toss it, but don’t dally around, got it?”
I nod, looking down at the grenade. It’s heavier than I expected it to be.
I take a breath. “Cover me as best you can. On three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
I pull the pin. “Three.”
We stand together, Matherson firing.
I draw back, line up the SUVs and throw the grenade with everything I’ve got.
It isn’t a football. That much becomes clear, but the throw’s good. It arcs high and falls to the ground maybe five or six yards from the SUVs.
Matherson runs out of ammo. “Don’t look!” he cries, pulling me down.
The grenade goes off.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s fucking loud—loud enough to be painful from this distance.
I hear someone scream down there.
“Stay do—”
I get up to check. One of them is on the ground, the others with their hands clamped over their ears. It looks like they’ve been blinded.
I pick up the rifle, shoot another in the shoulder, reaching for a bullet but knocking the box, the last two rolling under the car out of arm’s reach.
I slam the butt of the rifle against the bodywork. “Fuck!”
Matherson places his weapon down.
The sirens are louder now, closer.
I look through the window. Some of the goons are coming around, weaving themselves together and about to make their way down to us.
The sirens wail.
Hurry the fuck up.
There’s nothing more to do—get into the Mustang maybe, or run, but to where? The road’s too long, and the car’s not enough cover. We’d be exposed.
“I hope this is worth it,” I shout to Matherson, finding it hard to hear. “For all our sakes.”
He doesn’t reply, sitting there breathing hard. His eyes lock on something. “Thank fuck.”
Local patrol cars fly down the road towards us, six, maybe seven of them. They start to pull up around us, skidding sideways, doors flying open and weapons drawn, more shouting.
I’m struggling to hear what they’re saying. The ringing in my ears won’t let up. It’s like someone’s jammed a jackhammer in there.
One of the patrol cars butts up against the back of the sedan. An officer gets out, low. He waves us across.
I turn, reaching for Indy when I see him.
He’s coming out of the tree line, one of the goons, bringing his assault rifle to his shoulder.
He’s aiming right for her.
No. You. Fucking. Don’t.
I dive, spanning myself across Indy, crushing her between me and bodywork of the sedan.
She’s screams.
A single shot rings out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
INDY
No. God. Not now, not when I finally found a sliver of happiness.
But when I manage to get out from behind Cayden, I see a suited man lying on the side of the road, one of them.
I swivel my head and notice a police officer with his gun drawn a few feet from us, smoke curling from the barrel. He looks like he’s in shock.
I start to shake Cayden. “Cayden!” I shout, my voice muffled, my hearing dull. “Cayden!”
He starts to move, peeling himself from me, reaching for his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says, “I landed kind of hard.”
More shots are fired, too many to count.
My hands flit across his chest, looking for wounds, but he’s intact.
I pull him against me. “I thought you’d been…”
“I’m fine,” he says, holding me.
“They’re leaving!” someone shouts in the background, two patrol cars flying past our position in pursuit.
Cayden gets up, wincing. “It’s okay. They’re gone.”
I stand, shaking out fragments of glass that have collected in my hair and clothes from the broken window above. The vest I’m wearing is heavy, suffocating.
I go to take it off.
Agent Matherson stops me. “You’ll have to leave it on for now, sorry.”
Another black sedan, a mirror image of the one we were just hiding behind, stops right in front of us, an ambulance driving in behind it. Agent Matherson points down to Naomi, barely conscious against the car. “Over here!”
Two men get out from the sedan and run over. They begin to lead me away.
Cayden reaches for me. It’s déjà vu all over again. “Wait, please,” he calls.
