Pine swung her long legs out and stood, her boots smacking the asphalt.
As the man and little girl stepped out from behind the cover of the truck door, Pine leveled her pistol at his broad chest.
“FBI. This is the end of the line. Step away from the girl. Lie facedown on the ground, legs spread, fingers interlocked behind your head. Do it now or I will open fire.”
The man didn’t obey a single one of her commands. Instead he squatted down and placed the girl squarely in front of him.
Okay, she thought, this sack of shit was going to play it the hard way and use a kid as a shield. Why am I surprised?
Under the illumination thrown from the truck’s interior light, Pine had observed that he looked to be in his early fifties. He was medium height, thick and muscled, with a bald head and a thin line of graying, unkempt hair creeping ivy-like around this dome. His features were weathered, ugly, and demented. He was a walking stereotype of an aging pedophile. He wore a dirty T-shirt that showed off his bulging barbell biceps and dusty corduroy pants with worn boots. The girl was about ten or eleven, tall for her age, with a lean, athletic build. Her twin blond braids dangled on either side of her head. She wore soccer shorts with grass stains on them and a matching jersey. Her knees were dirty, as were the long socks and her Adidas soccer shoes. She looked scared, of course, but there was also a resolute spirit that Pine could see in the girl’s eyes.
Pine didn’t know if this was a stranger-danger scenario or a family snatch case. He looked too old to be her father, but who knew these days?
“Cops are on the way. Do what I said, and you walk away still breathing.”
The man stared at her without answering.
“Habla ingles?” she asked.
“I’m American, bitch,” he barked. “Do I look like a Mexie to you?”
“Then you have no reason not to follow my instructions.”
He pulled a Sig pistol from his waistband and pressed the muzzle against the girl’s head.
“This is my way out. Throw down your piece or the princess’s brains get scrambled.”
“You drop your gun, you get a lawyer, and you do your prison time.”
“I’ve been down that road. I didn’t much like it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t try that good-cop crap with me.”
“I’m sure we can work this out.”
“Shit, you think we’re doing a deal here?” the man said incredulously.
“Let her go and we can try to solve what’s bothering you.”
“You believe I’m falling for that mumbo-jumbo?”
They could now hear sirens in the background.
“It’s not mumbo-jumbo if it’s true.”
“I’m not dealing.”
“Then how do you see this playing out?”
“With you moving your car and letting me outta here. I got stuff I want to do with this little beauty. And I’m itching to get started.” He put his other arm around the girl’s windpipe.
Pine’s finger moved closer to the trigger of the Glock. Should she chance taking a shot? “And what about the cops coming?”
“You talk to them.”
“I’ve got no jurisdiction over them.”
“Look, you dumb bitch, I’ve got the girl. That means I’ve got the leverage. You do what I say, not the other way around.”
“You’re not leaving here with her.”
“Then you got one big problem, bitch.”
Pine decided to change tactics. She glanced at the girl. “Do you know this guy?”
The girl slowly shook her head.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m—”
“Shut up,” the man cried out, pushing the gun against the girl’s head. “And you shut up too!” he barked at Pine.
“I want all three of us to walk away from this thing.”
“You mean two of you. You could give a shit about me.”
“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if you force my hand.”
“You shoot me, she’s dead.”
Pine looked at the girl once more, quickly sizing her up. She reminded Pine of herself at that age. Tall, rangy. But she was once more struck by the girl’s calm eyes. She ran her gaze over the uniform, the grass-stained shorts and dirty knees. This girl was a scrapper. So maybe, just maybe, this might work. It was risky, but Pine had no options that weren’t.
“You play soccer?” Pine asked.
The girl slowly nodded.
The man pulled her back toward the edge. Ten feet more and it was a thousand-foot drop.
“Do not move another inch to that edge,” ordered Pine as she moved forward.
The man halted. And so did Pine.
The sirens were growing closer. But if Pine didn’t finish this soon, things might escalate when the uniforms did arrive.
“I’m running out of patience here,” the man barked.
“I gave you an option. The only one I can give. Prison’s not great, but it’s a lot better than a grave. You don’t get released or paroled from six feet under.”
The man started toward the edge again, dragging the girl with him.
“Stop!” bellowed Pine, trying to line up her target through the tritium night sight installed on her Glock. Her rear sight ring held twin glowing tritium inserts, while her front post held a tritium insert surrounded by nonluminous white paint. It was very accurate, but she couldn’t fire. She might hit the girl. Or the guy’s trigger finger might jerk when Pine’s round struck him.
The man smiled triumphantly as he read Pine’s dilemma in her features. “You won’t shoot. Now that’s leverage, lady.”
Pine glanced at the girl. Okay, it’s do-or-die time. “I played soccer. Only goal I ever scored was on a back kick. Hit it right between the goalie’s legs. Bet you’re a much better player than I was.” Pine held the girl’s gaze, communicating with her eyes what she couldn’t do with her words.
The man barked: “Shut the hell up about soccer. Now, for the last time, put down—”
The girl’s foot kicked backward and up and struck the squatting man right in the crotch. He let her go and doubled over, his face scrunched in pain, and the Sig fell out of his hand. “Y-you l-little b-bit—” he moaned, his face turning beet red. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
Pine raced forward, kicked the man’s weapon behind her, grabbed the girl’s arm, and pulled her to safety.
That should have been the end of it. Pine had her gun, and he didn’t have his. Or his hostage. She was home free. It was over.
But it wasn’t over. Because when the man finally stood and straightened, he looked at Pine and spat out, “You think you got me? I got nine lives!” He glanced ferociously at the girl, who was staring back at him with revulsion. “I can’t remember how many like her I’ve done and then cut up and left for the animals. And I’ll be out again to do more. You hear me, FBI bitch?”
Pine stared at him for a long moment. In the man’s taunting face, she saw someone else.
Pine knew full well she shouldn’t take the bait. But she was going to do it anyway.
She looked to the sky, where the moon burned a dull yellow and red.
The hunter’s moon, she knew, also known as the blood moon.
More accurately the predator’s moon, and right now I’m the predator.
She holstered her gun and stepped forward.
In her mind’s eye the giant Daniel James Tor stared back at her. Pine’s nemesis, the stuff of nightmares. She was about to make it all go away.
The man grinned in triumph. “You just made a damn big mistake.”
“How’s that?” But she already knew what his answer would be.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, lady, I’m a man.” He charged her in a bull rush.
A moment later he staggered backward, dazed, his face bloodied by the devastating blow delivered by the size eleven boot at the end of her long right leg. He bent over, groaning.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” said Pine. “I’m now going to kick the shit out of you.”
She slammed her foot into his chin, lifting him straight up. A palm-out blow delivered directly to the bridge of the nose made the man howl in pain, and he collapsed on his back like he’d been struck with a sledgehammer.
The battle really should have ended there, but Pine jumped astride him and clamped the muscular legs of her nearly six-foot frame around the man’s arms, easily pinning them to his sides. Then she proceeded to rain blow after blow down on him, fist, elbow, forearm, open palm, using every technique she had learned from years of MMA and close-quarter battle training.
It was as though nearly thirty years of pent-up anger had just been unleashed. She felt cartilage and bone in his face give way at the same time she heard the FBI angel on her shoulder screaming at her that this was against every rule the Bureau had. And still Pine could not stop what she was doing.
At first the man had struggled against her, but then he had fallen limply into unconsciousness, his face quickly dissolving into a bloody, pulpy mass. She could smell the stink of him rise to her nostrils, mixed with her own sweat. It was both sickening and exhilarating.
Finally, exhausted from the effort, Pine slowly rose off him, her features pale and her limbs shaky. Her mind was suddenly aghast at what she had just done, as the FBI shoulder angel reasserted itself. Pine let out a gush of breath, looked down at her bloody hands and jacket sleeves, and wiped them on her pants. She walked over to the girl, who drew back at her approach. Pine stopped, feeling ashamed at the girl being afraid of her.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did…did he do anything to you?”
She shook her head.
As the sirens grew closer, the little girl looked over at the man.
“Is he…is he dead?”
“No. Just…unconscious.” Pine wasn’t actually sure of that. She squatted down on her haunches. “What’s your name?”
“Holly.”
“Holly, it was so brave what you did. And you understood exactly what I wanted you to do. It was amazing.”
“I have three older brothers.” Holly smiled weakly. “When they pick on me, I can kick really hard.”
Pine put out a hand and squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”
“Are you really an FBI agent?”
“I am.”
“I didn’t know girls could do that. I thought that was like, you know, just on TV.”
“Girls can do anything we want. Never doubt that. ”
Pine stood as the cop cars screeched to a stop a few feet away. She looked over at the bloody man lying motionless on the ground.
Pine took out her creds and headed over to explain what had happened, including the reason why she had nearly beaten a man to death.
This just might be the end of the actually not-so-very-Special Agent Atlee Pine.
Chapter 3
PINE ACCESSED THE SECURE DOOR of her office in Shattered Rock, Arizona, the closest town to the Grand Canyon. This topographical jewel was the only natural wonder of the world located in America, and Pine had jurisdiction over any federal crimes committed there. Her assistant, Carol Blum, was sitting at her desk in the office’s small foyer. Blum was in her sixties and had been at the Bureau for several decades working in various offices and capacities. The mother of six grown children, none of whom lived close by, she came in early and went home late. As she had told Pine, the FBI was now her life, as she didn’t really have hobbies for amusement. She was tall and attractive, her hair immaculately styled, her makeup and jewelry understated, and her clothing choices always professional.
“How was your workout?” asked Blum.
Pine normally exercised at the crack of dawn at a gym in the small downtown area of Shattered Rock. The workout facility was beloved by hardcore movers of iron for its minimalist style of fitness. There was no AC, no fancy machines, no Pelotons and Spandex workout clothes within miles of the place. Only barbells and enormous steel plates and grunting people heaving them into the air with a ferocious intensity.
And lots and lots of sweat.
“I didn’t make it this morning. Got back later than I thought from Colorado the other night and decided to sleep in yesterday to catch up. Then I slept badly last night and got up too late this morning to go. Stuff on my mind.”
Blum looked at her in concern. “What stuff?”
“Come into my office and I’ll fill you in on the ‘wonderful’ details. Oh, and you might be getting a new boss.”
Blum’s expression didn’t change. Pine loved that the woman was unflappable. In all her years at the Bureau, she had no doubt seen everything.
“Do you want some coffee?”
“Carol, you don’t have to make me coffee. That’s actually fulfilling a really bad stereotype.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me offering to make you a cup of coffee. Now, if you had demanded a cup, I would have felt differently. I remember a lot of male agents who ran afoul of that rule over the years.”
“What did you do when that happened?”
“I just trained them better,” said Blum brightly.
She walked over to the Keurig machine on the credenza set against the wall and turned it on, pulling a pod out of a drawer at the same time.
When she walked into Pine’s office with the steaming cup of coffee, Pine was seated behind her desk. Blum set the cup down and settled in the chair across from her boss.
The office had been recently renovated, although Pine had told the contractor to leave alone the twin indentations in the wall. The first hole had occurred when a witness Pine had been interviewing decided to take a swing at her. He had missed his target, and his fist had hit the wall instead. The second crack had been caused by Pine’s throwing the man headfirst into the drywall. It had been Blum’s idea to not repair the wall. As she had said, a picture was worth a thousand words.
“So?” said Blum expectantly. “What happened?”
Pine took a drink of her coffee before answering.
“While I was still in Colorado, I got an Amber Alert. I fortunately ran into the guy. And stopped him from getting away with an adorable little girl named Holly.”
“But that’s wonderful, Agent Pine. You’re to be commended.” She paused. “Then I don’t see the problem.”
“Yeah, well, the thing is, I got a little carried away in subduing him.”
“Carried away? How so?”
“He’s in the hospital now with a fractured skull among other injuries.”
“I’m sure you did what you had to do.”
“The fact is, I didn’t have to beat him up.”
“Why did you do it then?”
“He came at me, tried to attack me, and…I took out my frustrations.”
“Frustrations?”
“I had just spent time with Tor.”
“So…so maybe it was Tor you were attacking?”
“I could have stopped. I should have stopped.”
“But as you said, he attacked you.”
Pine shook her head. “After the girl was safe, I decided to escalate things.”
“But it would be difficult to judge your actions in the field at that moment.”
“The Bureau ‘judges’ actions in the field all the time, Carol.”
“That’s true,” she admitted.
There was a knock at the outer secure portal. The two women glanced at each other.
“Wolves at the door already?” said Pine.
Blum escorted the man into Pine’s office a few moments later.
It was Clint Dobbs, the head of the FBI in Arizona. He was in his fifties, around six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a developing paunch, and graying hair. He was so far above Pine in the pecking order that she saw the man only when there was a catastrophe. She assumed that this situation qualified as such. She was surprised, though, that he was here alone. Dobbs usually traveled with an entourage of
agents. She wondered why not this time.
Dobbs sat in the chair across from Pine, who had risen at the sight of her superior. When Blum made to leave, Dobbs put up a hand. “You can stay, Carol. You need to hear this, too.”
Blum shot a glance at Pine and then remained standing by the desk.
Dobbs looked back at Pine, his expression unreadable. “Sit down, Pine.”
“I suppose this is about what happened the other night,” said Pine as she sat back down.
“Not unless you kicked the shit out of somebody else I don’t know about,” he said gruffly.
“No sir,” said Pine quietly. “It was just the one.”
Dobbs nodded. “The guy you caught was a registered sex offender, Clifford Rogers. Just got out of prison six months ago. Paroled early after kidnapping and raping a nine-year-old. Only served nineteen years. The prison system was bursting at the seams, apparently, and the dipshit lawyer the scumball got hold of seized on some technicality and ran with it. Rogers was also suspected of murdering an eight-year-old two weeks after he got out. But they couldn’t find her body. Had to let him go. In fact, that was the case with four other victims going back about thirty years. Guy was a certified monster, but the law couldn’t prove it, except for the rape charge. He snatched the little girl you saved from a soccer match. She’d be dead if you hadn’t intervened. Instead, she’s back home with her family.”
“Has Rogers regained consciousness?”
“He has.”
“And?”
“And he said you beat him nearly to death for no reason.”
“Did he?”
“And what’s your story?”
“I did my job. A bit overzealously, maybe.”
“I see.”
“Did he say differently?”
“I’m not really sure I care what the guy says,” replied Dobbs, which surprised Pine, because the man usually went unfailingly by the book.
“Did he file a complaint against me?”
“He certainly wants to.”
Blum said, “Well, minds can be changed.”
Dobbs eyed her pointedly. “And what does that mean precisely, Carol?”
“Six years ago, Special Agent Voorhies out of Tucson.”
“You have a long memory,” noted Dobbs.
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