He sneered when she approached him. Turner was forty-eight, tall, with salt and pepper hair. Like Ryder, he was lithe but sinewy.
And he gave Annie the creeps.
She’d been around all kinds of thugs— drug dealers, mobsters, outlaw bikers, and their crimes all made sense to her. But she didn’t understand someone who got off on the pure joy of murder.
“Turn around.”
He didn’t comply. Instead, he glanced at the clock on the wall, acting as though he hadn’t heard her.
Mike stood up straighter but didn’t intervene. Annie was glad he held back because she didn’t want him to compromise her authority. Telling a convict to shut it, and taking over, were two different things. Any sign of weakness would be exploited by a misogynist like Turner.
Clearly, it was a dominance display, but she couldn’t figure out who was the intended audience. Was it for her and Mike? The other prisoners? Evidently, he wanted someone to know he had a big swinging dick. She couldn’t wait to get to Desmond and shove his ass into another cell.
“I said turn around. Now.”
He checked the time yet again, before complying.
Why? A cold chill trickled down her spine.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Annie said to Mike. They rounded up the prisoners and loaded them into the van. A half an hour later, they were on a lonely stretch of highway outside of the city.
To pass the time, they bullshitted.
Annie asked Mike about the bachelor party, and whether or not she could go along. She wasn’t wild about visiting a strip club, but she’d be there to support her friend. And he doubted Becky would let him have one. She’d ribbed him about being henpecked and the time went by pretty fast.
And then a series of bangs came from the rear of the van.
They’d shackled the prisoners to the steel benches and then buckled them in, for their own protection. Nobody should’ve been able to move.
What if I missed something during my pat down? The thought haunted her.
She swallowed. “Should we check it out?”
“I don’t know. Listen.”
It sounded like someone was pounding on the wall, deliberately trying to get their attention. Had one of them gotten loose?
“I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, me either. I’m pullin’ over.” He steered the van to the side of the highway, while she pulled her sidearm. They were in the ass end of nowhere with no back up.
Annie picked up her cell phone, but she only had one bar.
“Hey, how’s your service?”
“I don’t know, check.” Mike handed her his phone.
His was a bit better. Mike had two bars, instead of one. Decent cell phone coverage was hard to come by in these parts. Being without it, made her anxious, in case they needed to get in touch with the office. Unlike the police, they didn’t have a dedicated radio in the van either.
Cutbacks are a real bitch.
“How is it?”
“It sucks. Maybe we should both change carriers?”
“Or stay in the big bad city.”
Annie called in the unauthorized stop on Mike’s cell, but there was so much static on the line, the dispatcher had trouble understanding her and she had to repeat herself several times. Annie hoped her colleagues fully understood the message.
Afterward, she struggled with a sense of foreboding.
“Why are you so jumpy? They’re probably just horsin’ around, givin’ us some shit.”
“Turner scares the snot out of me. At least we’ll be at Desmond in three hours, and we never have to see their ugly mugs again.” She tried to comfort herself with the thought.
They walked around to the backdoor, and pulled out their weapons. There were patches of black ice, so they had to be careful.
He held up three fingers, counting it down. When he put the last finger down, she reached for the door handle, but as soon as Annie unlatched it, the door came flying open, knocking Annie to the ground, and her weapon skittered across the pavement.
Fuck it all. That was rule number one, never lose your weapon.
The inmates jumped out. Evidently, they’d gotten free of their shackles. In a flash, Turner grabbed the gun and pointed it at her. Before she could scramble to her feet, Turner hauled her up and placed her in a chokehold. His forearm was tight against her windpipe, cutting off the air supply. Ryder and Doe stood behind him.
“Freeze, or I’ll shoot,” Mike gritted out.
“If you do, I’ll kill your partner.” Turner’s grip on the weapon tightened.
She mouthed I’m sorry to Mike. Annie had failed him. Her search hadn’t been thorough enough, and now she’d given Turner a weapon. This was all her fault.
He nodded but said nothing.
“It would be a shame, too. She’s a pretty one.” He slid the barrel against her temple. “What’s your name, honey?”
“It’s Marshal Foster,” she bit out.
Mike tried to reason with him. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid, Turner. Think about it, she’s a federal marshal. If you hurt her, the judge won’t be lenient.”
“Yeah? What’s he gonna do? Sentence me to death again?”
Turner was already in desperate circumstances. She doubted his appeal would be granted and he would be put to death soon. Even if he died today, it would be better than being put down like a stray dog.
“Fine, let’s talk. Which one of you got free first?” Mike asked.
One of them must’ve used a hair pin or paper clip to pick the locks on their shackles. Annie’s money was on Turner. He’d been the one watching the clock. Evidently, he’d been planning this for a while.
Nobody piped up.
“Fine,” Mike said. “Let’s play this out. If you make your escape, you’ll be caught within a few days, at most.” Prison breaks had a poor success rate. “And then you’ll have a bunch of new charges tacked on. Is it worth the risk?” Mike glanced behind Turner. “And what about you guys? Doe’s only got eight years left on his sentence. And Ryder? You haven’t committed a violent crime. Do you really wanna be part of this?”
“Shut up,” Turner said. “You’re tryin’ to manipulate us.”
Just then, a black Forrester pulled up alongside them. Who was driving? His accomplice? Annie doubted a civilian would pull over in the middle of this mess. The windows were tinted so she couldn’t see inside. Annie craned her head, trying to glance at the license plate, but couldn’t see it.
“I’m gonna tell you how this ends.” Turner’s tone was smug.
“And how’s that?” Mike asked.
“We’re leavin’ and you two can either be corpses or live to tell the tale. Which do you prefer?
Enough.
She stomped on Turner’s shoe, through the thin canvas and the man yowled in pain. And then she drove an elbow into his ribcage. While she fought Turner off, the other two went after Mike.
Just then, a man wearing a ski mask stepped out of the vehicle. He carried a sawed off shotgun.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
“Stop!” Turner screamed. “Or he’ll shoot.”
They stopped. There was no other choice.
Doe disarmed Mike and turned his gun on him. Mike stood beside her, and they both held their hands up.
This is it. Any second now, he’d pull the trigger, and they’d both be gone, roadkill on the highway.
“We just wanna go. Stand down, and nobody gets hurt,” Doe said. To his credit, he did seem regretful, but then again, he wasn’t the monster Turner was.
Somebody would get hurt alright.
Turner would kill again. The other two might not be physical threats to society, but neither one of them were model citizens either. Ryder would probably die of a drug overdose, and if he was driving, he might take someone else with him. Doe would steal from more people.
Not to mention, she and Mike could kiss their careers goodbye.
They’d face a disciplinary he
aring. Even if they weren’t fired on the spot, they’d most likely never move up the chain of command either. They’d be treading water for the rest of their time with the Marshal Service.
After patting them down, Doe tossed their cell phones on the ground and then stomped on them, while Turner shot the tires out on the van.
Now, they didn’t have either communication or transportation.
Annie silently prayed for a good Samaritan to come along and report the crime, but the highway was deserted. It was barely four in the morning, in the middle of nowhere.
“I think they want to be heroes. Since that’s off the table, maybe they’d like to be martyrs instead?” Turner got closer and placed the gun barrel against her chest, right over her heart. “What do you say? Wanna have a highway named after you?”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Annie shook her head. She schooled her features into a blank mask, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her terror.
Annie thought she’d be brave, but she was scared stiff—for herself and for Mike. All thoughts of their future aside, they might lose their lives.
Suddenly, worrying about her career path seemed laughable.
“Pullin’ the trigger isn’t nearly as satisfying as chokin’ a woman to death, but I’d get off on it.” He caressed her with the gun, running it up and down the length of her cheek.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” Mike growled.
“What did you say?” Turner asked, swinging around to point the gun at Mike.
“Let’s just go, Turner.” Doe walked backward toward the Forrester while keeping the weapon trained on them.
Ryder had already climbed into the vehicle. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, rocking, as though trying to ignore the chaos around him.
“Who’s in charge here? You or me?” Turner asked.
“You are, so can we hit the road boss?” Doe hopped in the SUV, and the armed thug joined him. The masked man started up the vehicle.
And then Turner pulled the trigger— shooting Mike in the chest.
Before Annie could react, he shot her too. The bullet pushed into her torso, slicing through skin and bone.
With a cry, she fell to her knees.
Dimly, she was aware of the vehicle screeching off, the spray of gravel, the stench of burned rubber. Annie turned to see the taillights, only her vision was too blurry to make out the license plate number. She suddenly realized she was crying.
“Annie?” Mike called.
“I’m here.”
“I can’t move…”
“I’m coming.” Slowly, painfully, she crawled over to Mike. Blood poured from his mouth. His wound was right by his heart, while she’d been tagged closer to the shoulder.
Annie pressed her hands on his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks.
“I’m dyin’, Annie.” He squeezed her hand.
“No you aren’t. I’ll get us help.” She started to stand, but she was dizzy and slumped to the ground once more. “Just give me a second to catch my breath.”
“You’re too injured to walk. Civilization is miles away, and even if you did, I’d be dead before the ambulance arrived.”
Annie struggled to hold on to hope, but it was difficult. She was cold, exhausted, and in pain. They both were.
“No! We’re gonna get through this.”
“I’m cold…” Mike started to shiver.
“Here, take this.” Wincing, Annie gingerly removed her coat and placed it over him.
“I need you to tell Becky somethin’.”
“You’re gonna tell her yourself. Stay with me. A week from now, we’ll be laughing about this.”
He shook his head sadly. “A week from now, I’ll be in the ground.”
Annie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Please don’t say that.”
“It’s true. You got hit in the shoulder, so you got a chance of makin’ it.” His face had gone ashen, and his breathing was labored. “But I don’t.”
“No, shut up. Stay with me, and we’ll both be all right. Remember? Our kids are gonna go to school together?”
“Annie…”
“You have to live. You haven’t asked Becky to marry you yet.”
“And I never will.”
She whimpered. It isn’t fair. This isn’t right.
“I’m so sorry, Mike. This is all my fault. I should’ve strip searched them. Obviously, I missed somethin’.”
“No, don’t.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll drive yourself crazy. Listen, you’ve gotta talk to Becky for me. Please?”
The “please” got to her.
“Okay.”
“Tell her I love her and more than anythin’ in the world, I wanted to be her husband.” Mike dug into his pocket and pulled out the ring box once more and passed it to her. “And give her this.”
“Mike…”
“Promise me!”
“I promise.”
“Thank you, and tell her I want her to move on and find somebody else to love because she’s gonna make one hell of a wife and mother.” He wheezed, coughing. “He won’t be as good-lookin’ as me, but she’ll make do.”
She laughed through tears. “I will.”
After she’d made the vow, Mike got real quiet, went as still and silent as the grave. Every so often she checked his pulse, and it got weaker and weaker with each passing moment.
With blood on her hands, Annie shivered in the cold, waiting to be rescued.
Chapter 2
Six months later…
“Get down!” A bullet went whizzing by Jackson West’s ear and hit the wall behind him, shattering the brick.
“Lay down on your bellies. Now.” The gunman fired off another shot, to emphasize his point.
Three robbers circulated around the bank lobby. They had shotguns and wore DC superhero masks— Batman, Superman, and The Flash. At least they hadn’t gone all in and wore the tights, too. While West couldn’t make out their features, they had youthful voices. Batman had a pudgy frame, but the other two were beanpoles.
Obligingly, West and his colleague, Travis “Storm” Reynolds, laid down on the ground. As a former Navy SEAL, this was hardly the worst situation West had ever found himself in, although it was pretty damn inconvenient.
Their other teammate, Mackenzie Pierce, Mack for short, was across the room and she also got down on her stomach. She faced them so they could maintain eye contact. The comic book dudes didn’t know it, but they’d picked a shitty time to stage a bank robbery.
It was right after 9 a.m. on a Thursday morning, so the place wasn’t crowded, only a handful of customers were in the room, along with the wide-eyed bank tellers. While Superman ordered a frightened woman to empty the cash drawers, the other two watched the crowd.
Only three tangos. West liked the odds, and these dumbasses didn’t strike him as a crackerjack operation. Batman had clearly never held a shotgun before. The genius still had the safety on.
So what do we do about this? West wasn’t about to stand by as the good people of Liberty Hill, Kentucky were robbed. This was his hometown, and he’d defend it.
He glanced at Stormy and whispered, “Any insights?”
“These guys suck at theft.”
Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.
West and Storm had worked together for years, although Storm had been with the Central Intelligence Agency. He’d coordinated targets and intel for West’s Navy SEAL team.
A short time ago, West had handed in his resignation and started his Black Star Security firm. Storm had already been working for the private sector, at a Silicon Valley startup and it hadn’t taken much arm-twisting to get him on board.
“Yeah. And…?”
Storm shrugged in a fuck you sort of way. You could say he was having trouble adjusting to small town life.
Back to the robbers.
West thought they were first timers. For one thing, this was taking way too long. To avoid a police
response, they should’ve been in and out in less than a minute. This might not be a large city with lots of resources, but the cops didn’t have much ground to cover to get to the bank.
“And I’ve been here about ten minutes and I already hate the place.” Storm gave him the side eye, his tone dripping with mockery. “Come to my sleepy little town, its picturesque.”
Before moving here, Storm had lived all over the world—Los Angeles, Washington DC, Paris, Rome, and all over the Middle East. West imagined Kentucky was a bit of a letdown. He’d grown up in the Bluegrass State, and he loved it. It was a relief to be home. West planned on never leaving again. As far as he was concerned, they could bury him here.
Although I wasn’t planning on it today
“Why don’t we discuss your complaints after we both don’t die?”
“On the flip side, we can’t have this argument if we’re in the great beyond.”
Storm had a lean, muscular build. He stood a bit over 6 feet tall, with dark brown hair and eyes. Storm had just turned thirty years old a few weeks back.
Since he’d grown up in Venice Beach, he had this whole surfer guy/health nut thing going on. Storm believed in working out, juicing every fruit he could get his hands on, and he hated gluten with a passion. As far as he was concerned, it was right up there with ISIS and Al-Qaeda.
“Or we might be havin’ it forever.”
Storm snorted with laughter.
“Shut the fuck up!” Batman yelled as he tried to fire a shot. He smacked the barrel as though it were a vending machine that wouldn’t spit out his Cheetos. And then walked over to Flash for help. The two of them tried to figure out what was wrong with the gun while Superman grabbed all the cash he could get his hands on.
Mack rolled her eyes as though to say, do you believe this shit?
And, no, he didn’t.
Mack was thirty-one years old with curly red hair, a snub nose, and wide-spaced blue eyes. A light dusting of freckles dotted her face. Mack was an incongruous name for a woman who was only an inch or two over five feet tall, but it suited her. For what she lacked in height, she made up for in attitude. He’d certainly never want to cross her.
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