Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

Zack was still out there, probably only a few blocks away. He was the bad guy, the one that should be face down and grabbing pavement. Jenna wondered if she ought to tell the deputies about him. She rolled her head to the side and was about to whisper that question to Noah when she caught a glimpse of another vehicle rolling up, a black SUV with no lights or identifying marks.

Two men got out. They wore blue windbreakers, and looked enough alike that they might have been brothers. The most obvious differences were cosmetic. One had a military buzz cut while the other had a neatly trimmed if somewhat pedestrian mall-salon hairstyle. They looked exactly like action-movie detectives, and Jenna wasn’t at all surprised when one of them waved a badge case at the deputies. “Federal agents. Stand down.”

What happened next wasn’t exactly what Jenna expected. The deputies did not lower their guns or start grumbling about jurisdiction. Instead, they turned their guns on the new arrivals.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” shouted the senior of the two. He glanced quickly at his partner and added. “Jimmy, secure the suspects. I got this.”

The agents seemed momentarily taken aback by the reception, but did as instructed, raising their hands and doing nothing that might provoke a violent response. Jimmy, the younger deputy, circled around Noah and Jenna, his aim never wavering.

The agent who had flashed his badge seemed to grasp that the deputies weren’t going to simply stand aside. “Deputy, please. We’re all on the same side here, but you need to stand down.”

When the uniformed officer didn’t respond, the agent continued, “Check my credentials if you must, but we have to get these people out of here. They’re in immediate danger.”

These people, thought Jenna. He’s talking about us. But how could he know that we’re in danger, when we only just figured it out ourselves five minutes ago?

The deputy lowered his pistol and waved the agent forward. The man with the buzz cut stepped up and held his badge up again for closer inspection. From where she lay, Jenna could make out the gold shield topped with an eagle.

“FBI,” mused the deputy. He glanced from the identification card to the agent and back again, then took a step back, his posture wary but no longer quite as assertive. “Special Agent Cray, you need to take this up the chain. Our job right now is to secure this scene until the detectives get here, so I suggest you get back in your car and sit tight.”

Agent Cray did not look pleased by the deputy’s reticence, but as he pocketed his badge, he gestured again in Jenna’s direction. “Can we at least get them someplace where they’ll be less exposed?”

The older deputy glanced back, uncertainty giving way to resignation. “Jimmy, pat ‘em down. Make sure they’re not carrying. Then we’ll put them in the patrol car.” He looked back to the agents. “That work for you?”

“I’d prefer my vehicle,” said Cray. “They aren’t suspects, deputy. They’re material witnesses, and I’d like to keep anyone from seeing them.”

Jenna looked back and saw the younger deputy holster his weapon and approach Noah as cautiously as he might a sleeping alligator. “You packing? Got any blades or anything sharp on you?”

It seemed like a ridiculous question to Jenna. Noah was wearing board shorts and a white T-shirt with the Kilimanjaro Expeditions logo, both garments soaked and clinging to his skin. Even if he had owned a weapon—which he did not—there was nowhere for him to hide it on his person.

But instead of answering in the negative, Noah spoke in a low voice, barely loud enough for Jenna to hear. “Deputy, listen to me. Those men are not federal agents. You absolutely must not let them put my daughter in their vehicle.”

“Right,” replied Jimmy, making no effort to conceal the exchange. “They’re not feds. I’ll just take your word for that.”

Not federal agents? Jenna was still trying to make sense of Noah’s claim when she saw the older deputy glance back at them, his face creased with concern and indecision. There was nothing indecisive, however, about Cray’s reaction. With startling swiftness, he brushed back his windbreaker, drew a pistol from a holster clipped to his belt, and fired at point blank range into the deputy’s chest.

A gun appeared in the hands of the second agent, even as the report from Cray’s weapon reached Jenna’s ears. Jimmy, in the act of kneeling to frisk Noah, was caught off balance and stumbled as the second agent fired in his direction. Noah rolled sideways, getting closer to Jenna, and shouted something. Jimmy recovered from his fall, and from a kneeling position, tried to unholster his pistol. More shots sounded—Cray and the other agent firing together. Jimmy fell again.

A hand clapped down on Jenna’s shoulder. It was Noah, his face just inches from hers. “Run!”

Jenna felt stuck in place, caught in the flypaper of too many things happening all at once, but Noah broke her from the inertia with a shove that rolled her onto her side. She saw him lift up on hands and knees, his back to the agents, his body in between her and their weapons.

“Run!” he shouted again.

Something warm and wet sprayed across Jenna’s face. She blinked and twitched her head involuntarily, and when she opened her eyes she saw…