She took a wide-legged stance as she brought her weapon forward and braced it with both hands. “Police officer. Dismount, slowly, and get down on your knees.”
She was happy to hear the strength of command in her voice.
He didn’t move to dismount but he did raise his hands.
She pitched her voice louder. “Police officer! Dismount!”
He dismounted.
With the light at her back, she could see him better now. With eyes sunk deep in his head and razor-sharp bones beneath sunken cheeks, his face had an almost grinning-skull quality to it.
He started walking slowly toward her, moving on the balls of his feet, arms held away from his sides. She calculated the odds of hitting a target at this distance. Keltec PT3A was a close-in weapon best used at a distance of less than seven yards. He was closing in rapidly.
“Halt! On your knees!”
He was grinning, seemingly unimpressed by her gun. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man.”
“Try me.” She slipped free the safety. “Halt. Now.”
He grinned. “You’re afraid of me. Yeah. I smell pussy fear.”
“Move a foot closer and you’ll smell blood as a bullet tears through you.” She moved her aim a little bit lower, smack at the center of him.
He paused. “Just fucking with you, bitch. You can’t take a joke?”
Cole was done talking. Her full concentration was on when and if she’d pull the trigger.
He seemed to sense she was serious. “Pussy cops. Fuck you!”
He began backing up but he didn’t turn his back.
She watched him, keeping him centered in her sight as he retreated. No way would she release her stance until he was out of sight and hearing.
She heard road noise before she saw the car in the distance coming up behind him. He heard it, too. He slung a leg over his hog and started it. He revved the engine until the air seemed to bleed and then he came straight at her.
Cole held her breath and pretended she was doing firearms training simulation. He was just a target she had hit many times before.
At the last second, he veered away from her, catching her in the heat of his exhaust as he passed.
Cole swung around, coughing fumes, gun still on target. She didn’t move until he was a blur and the car at her back began laying on the horn.
She sheathed her weapon as she turned toward the approaching car and waved at the driver to stop. She didn’t know what he’d seen, so she reached for her wallet to show her ID.
The driver, a kid of about eighteen, and his friend hopped out of opposite side doors. “You spin out?” Apparently they hadn’t seen anything, or been paying attention until now.
Cole nodded and pocketed her wallet, still straining for the sounds of the retreating Pagan biker.
“You need help?” asked the companion.
“No. I got this. Thanks.”
She moved to her bike and put the kickstand down. Then she came around and squatted down, put her butt against the seat, grabbed a handlebar in one hand and the back of the bike with the other, and pushed with her feet and legs until it was upright.
The two teens clapped in approval. “That’s a pretty nifty maneuver.”
She smiled. Nothing like what they would have witnessed had they come along a few minutes earlier. She could take care of herself.
Even so. The acceleration of her heart was giving her a head rush and she had begun to tremble.
“Here you go.” One of the teens scooped up and handed her her gloves. “That’s a beauty of a bike.”
She nodded, then sucked up a breath and pushed pride out of the way. Ninety-five percent of police officers went their entire career without ever using their service weapon in the line of duty. She’d almost switched sides to the other five percent this afternoon. She owed herself a little protection while she decompressed.
“Would you guys mind following me back to Harmonie Kennels? It’s just a few miles. If my bike has suffered more damage than it appears, I might need a lift.”
“Sure thing.”
She slung a leg over and started the engine. If Hugo had been with her, she wouldn’t have needed to rely only on her weapon.
Bikes were fun but she’d had enough fun for a while.
*
X waited until the sound of the bitch’s bike had faded before he stopped on the side of the road to take a leak and grab a smoke. When those two urgent needs were handled, he pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort from his saddlebag and took a deep swallow.
He was pretty pleased with his plan so far.
After that night in Georgia a month ago, he’d had no trouble tracking a DEA K-9 unit’s license plates to D.C. Then it had become a matter of spreading a little cash around for eyes to watch the office building until Rhino was spotted and followed home.
Rhino was a narc, all right. A narc named Scott Lucca.
X spit a stream of liquor between his teeth just to watch the golden stream arc through the afternoon air like piss.
He could have killed the bastard a dozen times that first week. But that would have been too easy. Over too quickly. He didn’t want him dead so much as fucked up.