Then everything was suddenly still, too still. Pulse skyrocketing, Gwyn pushed her hair out of her eyes to look up. The airbags in the front and sides had deployed. Frederick was on the phone, calling 911. Thorne was searching for his own phone, having dropped it during the collision. Clay was blinking rapidly, his side of the SUV having taken the brunt of the collision with the tree.
The first bullets hit the tires in sync – one, two, three, four – like a well-oiled machine. The next ones smashed into the bullet-resistant windows from all sides, rocking the SUV in little jiggles but not penetrating the interior of the car.
‘There are at least six gunmen,’ Frederick said grimly to the 911 operator. ‘You still with us, Clay?’
‘Yeah,’ Clay said unsteadily. He pushed the now-deflated airbag aside and reached to his feet, bringing up the rifle he’d placed there.
This is it, Gwyn thought, and drew her weapon from the girdle holster. She handed it to Thorne as the next barrage of bullets hit. The glass was compromised now, little protrusions pushing into the car interior. She could no longer see through it.
She pulled a smaller handgun from the holster at her thigh and racked it, making sure there was a bullet in the chamber.
‘I’ll get out,’ Thorne said, his voice tight and thin. ‘Let them have me.’
‘No!’ the three of them shouted in unison.
Thorne racked the slide of the gun she’d given him. ‘You are going to die. This glass can’t hold much longer. I will not be the cause of this.’
Slipping his phone into his pocket, Frederick shared a glance with Clay, who nodded. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ Frederick said calmly, with authority. ‘Thorne, take your hand off the door handle.’
More bullets pelted the windows, these in a steady stream, all aimed at one target – a one-inch-square area of glass on Frederick’s window.
Thorne complied. ‘And then?’ he asked acidly.
‘Clay and I will open our doors, roll out and start shooting. You and Gwyn wait five seconds, then do the same. We’ll take out as many as we can for you. It’s six on four. Not bad odds.’
And they were all wearing Kevlar, Gwyn thought, releasing her seat belt. We can do this. We have to do this.
‘On my count,’ Clay said. ‘One, two, three.’
Frederick and Clay threw their doors open and started firing, but Thorne grabbed Gwyn and pulled her to the floor, throwing himself over her before reaching up and opening her door. For a moment, all she could hear was shooting. She struggled against Thorne, then felt him jolt. Then shudder.
‘Fuck,’ he snarled. ‘Dart gun.’ He fell on top of her, nearly suffocating her. ‘Don’t fight,’ he ordered thickly. ‘Let them try to move me. Then shoot.’
The shooting abruptly stopped and Gwyn’s heart stopped with it. Frederick and Clay. They had to be all right. Then she heard a barked command: ‘On your knees.’
That hadn’t come from either of their guys. Dammit.
But at least the two men were still alive enough to be forced to kneel.
Atop her, Thorne was still breathing. ‘Love you,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘Love you,’ she tried to whisper back, but it was becoming increasingly hard to breathe.
Suddenly Thorne was sliding off her, a grunted curse coming from somewhere near his feet. ‘Fucker’s heavy. I didn’t give him that much, I swear to fucking God!’
‘Better not have,’ another voice said. ‘Boss gutted the two who OD’d him the last time. Nasty.’
‘Great, thanks.’
Pulling an extra clip from her girdle holster, Gwyn lifted her eyes in time to see her door opening. As instructed, she propped herself on her elbows, took aim and unloaded her clip.
‘Holy fuck!’ The man moaned as he staggered back, and Gwyn reloaded, on autopilot. A second man slammed her door closed. Twisting, she sat up, her back against her car door, the pockmarks in the armored metal poking into her skin. Thorne had been pulled out of the vehicle onto the ground. He lay on his back, his face and all his muscles gone slack.
‘Sonofabitch,’ she yelled. If they’d killed him, she’d—
Her door flew open and a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. ‘No!’ she cried, desperately trying to twist free, but the arms held on.
‘Get her fucking gun,’ the man holding her ordered. ‘She’s like . . . like I’m holding a fucking snake.’
Aiming down, Gwyn shot at the booted feet. The man cursed in shock, grabbing her wrist so hard she felt something pop. She dropped the gun and wrenched free, falling to the ground. Rolling to her feet, she began to run away from the SUV, toward Clay’s house.
‘Freeze!’ a voice called. ‘Take another step and loverboy dies.’
She faltered, turning to see a masked man on one knee next to Thorne, his gun pointed at Thorne’s temple. Run! She could hear Thorne’s voice in her mind, but her feet wouldn’t move.
‘Smart girl,’ the man said.
From where she stood behind the SUV, she could see the entire battlefield. The truck that had rammed them was an older-model Hummer and had sustained no damage at all, but their SUV was completely trashed.
Two of the masked men lay on the ground, unmoving. Their black clothing was dark and shiny, and blood was pooled around them. A third man lay in a fetal position on her side of the SUV. He was rocking and moaning.
She felt grim satisfaction for only a split second. Yes, she’d taken one out, but there were three left. Two stood over Clay and Frederick, who were both stony-faced. The third, who knelt beside Thorne, came to his feet.
‘I’m probably older than you are,’ Gwyn said flatly.
‘What?’ the man asked, and even with his face covered, she could tell he was giving her a puzzled look.
‘Don’t call me “girl”. I’m older than you are.’
‘Pack a damn fine wallop too,’ the man grumbled. ‘We deserve double pay for this job. Get your ass over here. I’m not chasing you.’
Probably because she’d shot his foot, at least once. Good for me, she thought as she moved to Thorne’s side, dropping to her knees and taking his hand, her heart beating so hard she could barely breathe.
She found his pulse easily, slow but strong. They hadn’t killed him. Relief hit her like the truck had hit their SUV, leaving her lightheaded and grateful that she was kneeling, because she wasn’t sure she could have remained standing.
The man whose foot she’d shot wasn’t injured so badly that he couldn’t function. He motioned to the two men guarding Clay and Frederick. ‘Cuff ’em, hands and feet. Then one of you stand guard over them. The other, come and help me with Thorne.’
A van appeared from a nearby clump of trees that had been concealing it from view. It rolled to a stop next to Thorne. The men opened the side door. Then one grabbed Thorne’s feet, the other gripping under his arms, and together they swung him into the empty cargo area and cuffed him with zip ties.
The man in charge swept into a bow, gesturing to the open van door. ‘Get in, or I throw you in,’ he snarled.
With a helpless look back at Frederick and Clay, who were watching grimly, Gwyn climbed into the van, freezing at the sight of the woman behind the wheel.
Laura. Their bartender. Aka . . . ‘Kathryn,’ Gwyn snarled her name.
Kathryn laughed, surprised. ‘Well, hello to you too. I’d like to know how you found out my real name, but we’ll handle that later. Please restrain her. And make sure she’s not carrying anything else.’
The man did so, then climbed in after her. He pointed to the second man. ‘Go help him get the bodies in the Hummer, and stow the two old guys. We’ll meet you there.’
Then the door was closed and Kathryn eased the van up the hill and back onto the road. Stepping on the accelerator, she sped toward town.
‘I’d welcome you,’ she said cheerily as she drove, ‘but you won’t be around that much longer. And the time you have left will not be enjoyable.’
Twenty-seven
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Thursday 16 June, 3.30 P.M.
Frederick watched the van drive away, disgusted with himself. ‘Fuck this,’ he muttered. ‘The white van that took Thorne and Gwyn is driving away.’ He’d phrased it as carefully as he could, hoping he was still connected to the 911 operator and that he wasn’t tipping off the gunmen that he’d just reported Gwyn and Thorne’s disappearance.