By going down there, Bryce essentially had committed, so he decided to go get his man. He slid forward on his belly. His tactical gear pressed unpleasantly against his chest. Jagged rocks dug into his knees and elbows. He’d been down there all of four minutes and all he wanted to do was get out.
“You’re going to have do things you don’t want to do to get your man,” Bryce’s favorite instructor at the training center had once told him. “Tracking isn’t just following footprints. Any clown can do that. What makes a marshal exceptional is an innate ability to read each clue, to understand the nuances, the essence of the movement, so picture in your mind these movements and imagine them as if they were your own.”
No surprise his instructor’s words came back to him at that particular moment. Without his flashlight, without light from the hatch, Bryce’s only option was to imagine Buggy’s movements. What would he do in a similar situation? How would he think?
Fear.
It was the first word that came to Bryce’s mind. Buggy would be utterly terrified. He wasn’t a killer. He was a dealer. So why did he shoot? Fear. A cornered animal was a most dangerous one.
He’ll move toward the wall, Bryce thought. Search for that vent.
But where was the wall? Damn this darkness. Bryce held a breath and gave a listen. A scraping noise sounded not too far away. Bryce guessed fifty feet, but it was hard to gauge distance by sound alone.
Imagine their movements as if they were your own.
Bryce took the advice to heart as he played out a scenario in his mind. For a moment, he became Buggy down in the hole with his back against the wall, both figuratively and literally.
Bryce had only a general idea of Buggy’s location, but he came up with a way to pinpoint it exactly. In one hand, Bryce held his Glock, and his flashlight in the other. He rocked his body and rolled onto his back, then onto his stomach, then onto his back once more. His momentum began to pick up. Rocks bit at his flesh, then released, then bit again. As he rolled, Bryce powered on his flashlight and sent it spinning in the opposite direction.
The rolling flashlight was bait, nothing more. Bryce stopped rolling, but the world kept spinning. In the dark it was hard to regain equilibrium. Hopefully, Buggy’s addled brain would think Bryce was still on the move.
Sure enough a shot rang out, aimed at the rolling flashlight. Bryce did not hesitate. He fired where he saw the flash of gunfire. A groaning sound told Bryce his aim had been true.
“Are you done shooting, Buggy?”
A second groan.
“I’m not taking chances. You toss that gun where I can see it.”
Bryce rolled toward the flashlight. He heard a noise, a thud. A gun, perhaps?
Bryce retrieved the flashlight and directed the beam where he heard that thud. The outline was distinct enough for Bryce to make out the shape of a gun. He trained his beam on Buggy. His back, indeed, was against the wall, clutching his leg, taking in short and shallow breaths. Buggy’s face was smeared with dirt turned muddy from his sweat. Bryce crawled toward Buggy, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, his finger never leaving the trigger of his Glock. Buggy’s face was filled with panic. The bleeding was brisk.
“I need a doctor,” Buggy said, clutching his wound.
“Better that than a mortician,” Bryce said. In the cramped quarters, Bryce managed to take out a pair of TUFF-TIES, the best nylon restraints on the market. Buggy cried out when Bryce yanked his arms to get the restraints in place. He secured another set of ties around the leg wound to form a tourniquet, and then flashed his light in Buggy’s eyes.
“Ramon Gutierrez, on behalf of the United States Marshals Service, I am pleased to inform that you are under arrest.”
CHAPTER 38
Angie took the elevator to the third floor of the Mercy Medical Center where Nadine Jessup was being kept overnight for observation. Nadine’s parents were en route to Baltimore and Angie wanted a few minutes alone with Nadine before they arrived. She’d also wanted Mike to come up with her. Without him, they might never have found Nadine.
Mike, being Mike, saw right away how his presence could be a negative. Even though he’d played no part in Nadine’s suffering, he was still a male, and might bring back memories of all she had endured. He was headed home, back to his kids, eager to hug them extra tight.
A nurse stopped Angie in the hallway to let her know Nadine was sleeping.
“I won’t wake her,” Angie said, masking her disappointment. “I just want to see her.”
“She’s heavily sedated. I doubt she’ll wake up until morning.”