Line of Fire

by Jo Davis

  “My friends know I’d never kill myself for such a superficial reason. They know I’m too resilient for that.”

  “What they believe won’t matter much in face of the evidence. Get in your truck, behind the wheel. We’re going for a drive.”

  A glimpse of red in the trees caught Tommy’s attention. A man ducked behind a tree trunk . . . a man wearing a red ball cap.

  Shit. “Where are we going?”

  “Just get in,” Prescott snapped, waving the gun.

  As he complied, Tommy felt Fear Central in his brain sort of . . . shut down. Was this what Donny felt like when he’d been led away to be tortured and eventually executed? Just numb, the scene surreal, as though he was on the outside watching it happen to someone else?

  Tommy liked to think so. Maybe the human brain, unable to accept the inevitability of its own demise, simply departed for greener pastures. Or maybe your thoughts became clearer, the world around you sharper, as you became utterly calm. Waited for an opportunity to strike back. Anything except going blindly to your fate like a calf to slaughter.

  Yes, this last was how he felt. Calm, waiting. He would not accept that some asshole was going to take him away from Shea after all they’d been through. It wasn’t going to happen.

  “Take a right out of the parking lot, away from town. We’re going to a more secluded place, where you’ll decide to end your life.”

  Tommy started the truck and followed Prescott’s directions. Had Will Hensley followed, or called for help? He hoped so. The winding road took them to a higher elevation, twisting and turning, with sheer rock on one side, a long, treacherous slide down into a wooded hollow on the other.

  In that moment, Tommy knew what had to be done. He couldn’t allow Prescott to get him to their destination, which was sure to be far away from any witnesses. He had two choices, and both of them might sign his death warrant.

  But the choice he made would be his.

  He hoped it was worth the price.

  Hitting his brakes, he swerved toward the narrow shoulder of the road.

  And drove right off into thin air.

  19

  Shea checked her watch for the tenth time. “He’s not coming, Shane. Something’s wrong.”

  “He was fine when he called. I’m sure he got held up again.”

  “No. It’s been thirty minutes. He was only ten minutes from here. I’m telling you, I have a bad feeling.”

  “Well, call him. He must have his phone on now, right?”

  So reasonable, her brother. “Right. I’ll try him.”

  She called, listened to it ring. And ring. This time his voice mail didn’t pick up right away, and that increased her anxiety.

  “Thomas Wayne, where the hell are you? Either get your ass here or call me!” She hung up and frowned at her brother’s half smile.

  “Wow, what motivation. A man knows he’s in deep doodoo when his lady calls him by both names.”

  “And you came by this tidbit, how?”

  “Never mind. How much longer do you want to wait before we go looking?”

  “I’m ready now. I can’t stand this.”

  “No problem, we’ll go.” Shane stood, threw a couple of bills on the table to pay for their sodas, and gave the hostess an apologetic look. “Sorry, family emergency.”

  As they walked outside, Shea latched on to what he’d said. “If all goes well, he will be family.”

  “I’m glad, Sis,” he said, hugging her shoulders. “I’ll drive.”

  “You probably think I’m being silly.”

  “Nope. A good cop never disregards his gut feeling. And you’re my sister, so it’s in your genes.”

  “That may be, but I don’t want to be right.”

  “Hey, maybe you won’t be. We might run into him coming from the opposite direction, on his way to meet us. In fact, I’d bet on it.”

  He would’ve lost. They must’ve passed five trucks that resembled Tommy’s, but none of them were his. As they approached the site of the warehouse fire, Shea’s dread grew. When the parking lot came into view, she gasped.

  “That Escalade belongs to Forrest! What is he doing here?”

  Shane frowned. “I don’t know.”

  He pulled close and circled around the vehicle. It became obvious right away that no one else was around.

  “Where is Tommy’s truck? Where is he?” A sense of desperation blossomed in her breast. The beginnings of real fear.

  Her eyes met her brother’s, and the message was conveyed without words. There was one reason that made perfect sense as to why Tommy hadn’t arrived at the restaurant, why his truck was not here, but Forrest’s SUV was.

  “Shane.” She gripped her brother’s arm. “He’s got Tommy.”

  “All right. Let’s stay calm. Where would Forrest take him?”

  “I don’t know! Not—not back into town.”

  “Well, there’s only two ways to go from here, into town and away from town. Let me make a quick phone call, tell dispatch to have the patrol units keep an eye out for his truck.”

  After he’d done that, he took a right out of the parking lot and headed into the hills.

  Shane gripped the armrest and tried to push down her panic.

  They’d find him, and when they did, he would be all right.

  Forrest was going to pay for everything he’d done.

  Tommy groaned, the steamy hiss and tick, tick, tick of the engine block penetrating the fog. He struggled to remember what had happened and automatically brought his right hand to his face.

  “Dammit!” He’d forgotten about his injury.

  Immediately, two facts were made clear—his right wrist hurt worse than ever, and so did his head.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at the bandages. Blood. Whether from the wrist or his head, he didn’t know. From the relentless throbbing, it could be either. Lowering his arm, he directed his gaze forward and tried to make sense out of what he was seeing. The trees were upside down.

  No, wait. He was upside down. Looking out his shattered front windshield. “Christ . . .”

  Everything came back in a rush and he turned his head, seeking his captor. Prescott hung beside him, and any hope that the bastard was dead vanished when he moaned and began to stir.

  Time to go.

  Tommy wrestled with getting his seat belt unlatched, no easy task under the circumstances. The button was stuck and didn’t want to release, and he had to work on it for several minutes. Hurt like a son of a bitch because he had to use his injured hand. The left one wouldn’t reach that far over on his right side.

  Finally, it popped open and he was dumped on his head. “Ow!” He supposed he ought to be grateful since the blinding pain all over meant he was alive.

  Wiggling, he inched forward through the opening, aware of being cut to hell on his arms and belly by the jagged glass. But he’d walk over boiling oil to get away from the man now moving around in earnest behind him, cursing a blue streak.

  “Where do you think you’re going to go, Skyler? You can’t get away from me!”

  Wanna bet?

  He wriggled onto the carpet of dirt and weeds and pushed to his knees, fighting off a wave of sickness. Looking over his shoulder, he winced to see his truck lying on its roof in a crumpled, smoking heap. He’d rolled the thing down an embankment a good fifty feet. Fuckin’ A, his insurance rate was going to skyrocket.

  Pretty ironic, considering.

  Prescott’s head appeared, the man hot on his heels, and Tommy cursed, staggering to his feet. His left ankle complained and he swayed, took a couple of tentative steps. A twinge shot through it, but the pain wasn’t too bad. Other places hurt worse.

  Which way? He sure couldn’t make it up the steep incline, so he might have to—

  A gunshot popped, the bullet whizzing close enough to his head that he felt the heat cause his scalp to tingle.

  “Fuck!”

  Every ounce of pain vanished in the flood of adrenaline that rushe
d to his limbs. It didn’t matter which way he ran—forward suited him fine at the moment.

  And so he ran like a quarterback on the twenty-yard line with no open receivers in the last three seconds of the Super Bowl. Balls to the wall.

  He plunged through the brush, using his arm to block branches, protecting his face. His breath was harsh in his own ears, legs pumping. The fear that had eluded him before owned him now, pure self-preservation. Because while a soft man like Prescott couldn’t hope to beat Tommy in a foot race, his gun had no such problem.

  A couple of bullets pelted the brush and a tree trunk next to him as he bolted past, leaping a fallen log. Hope flared as he realized he was running toward the river. If he could get there, he might be able to get help. Prescott would be forced to abandon his chase if he could reach a populated area.

  The trees ahead began to thin out and Tommy could see blue sky. The river was close. So close.

  He burst from his cover and ran full speed for the river-bank. That must be it, right there . . .

  His eyes widened and he skidded, almost stopped too late. Almost went straight over the sheer one-hundred-foot drop to the river below.

  Rocks skittered over the edge, kicked up by his tennis shoes. Chest heaving from exertion, he stared down from the dizzying height, from side to side, frantic to find another escape route.

  “Told you,” Prescott said, panting from behind him. “You’re not going anywhere but to hell.”

  The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he turned to face the man he hated.

  He was absolutely, totally screwed.

  Shea hoped and prayed. They had to find him.

  As they rounded a bend in the curvy road, a plume of smoke could be seen rising from a gulley some fifty feet below. Even more curious, a Sugarland city truck was parked off to the side of the road. Shane slowed down, pulled to the shoulder behind it. “Let’s see what this is about.”

  He got out and she followed him to the side, and looked down at the twisted wreckage of a dark truck.

  “Oh, my God! That’s Tommy’s truck!” A sob welled in her chest as she scanned for a quick way down.

  “Hang tight. I’m going to call for backup.”

  “What about an ambulance?”

  “Let’s see if we have any injuries first.” He flipped open his phone and called the station, requesting more officers.

  “And someone call the chief and that FBI agent who came to see him, Nick Westfall. Let them both know what’s going on.”

  After he hung up, she yanked on his arm. “Let’s go!”

  “You’re staying here. I’ll check Tommy’s truck.”

  “No, I’m not. Don’t waste time arguing with me because it won’t help. Let’s move!”

  Shane shot her a foul look, but when it didn’t work, he took her by the hand and led her down the road a ways, to a spot where the incline wasn’t so steep. Before they’d gotten far, the unmistakable crack of a gunshot split the air.

  “Oh, God! Where did it come from?”

  “I don’t know. Sounds out here echo all over the place. Come on.”

  They had to hike back to the truck, and halfway there, two more shots sounded, farther away. By the time they got to the wrecked truck, they were running. At a glance, it was easy to see the cab was no longer occupied.

  The front windshield was shattered. Shards of the glass stabbed inward like broken teeth, some of them bloody. A scrap of cloth dangled from one sharp finger.

  “He got out,” she whispered. “He got out and he’s hurt and Forrest is chasing him.”

  Shane clasped her hands. “Please, stay here and wait for my backup. I don’t need you hurt as well.”

  “I can’t—you know that. I’ll just follow you, so you might as well take me with you. Let’s hurry.”

  “Dammit.” The tenseness of his body, the grim set of his mouth, revealed his frustration. “You stay behind me, understand?”

  “Got it.”

  Palming his gun, he started away from the road, deeper into the brush. As they walked, she asked, “How do you know we’re going the right way?”

  “Blood on the underbrush,” he said quietly.

  “Oh.” She wished she hadn’t asked.

  “And this. Hello,” he said, bending to pick up something. He held up a black cell phone. “Must be either Prescott’s or Tommy’s.”

  “Tommy’s,” she said, lungs constricting in anxiety. “Forrest’s is silver.”

  Shane pocketed the phone. “I’ll hold on to it for him.”

  Like everything was normal and they were simply going for a little nature hike. He’d just give it back to Tommy, and they’d all smile and go home, crack open a bottle of wine.

  Somehow she doubted today would end on such a pleasant note, even if Tommy was fine. There would be police, endless questions, and they’d all be exhausted.

  When they found Tommy and put Forrest in prison to share a cell with a lonely inmate in need of a bitch.

  Tommy took a couple of steps away from the ledge.

  “Stop right there,” Prescott snarled, jabbing the muzzle of the gun in his direction. “You’re going to go over the edge, Skyler. This is a great place for you to commit suicide. I appreciate you choosing so well.”

  “Fuck you, asshole. I’m not jumping. If I’m going to die, it’s going to be murder, and here’s a news flash—once you shoot me, you’d better take my advice and skip out of the country, fast. The FBI is already onto you.” He laughed to cover his nerves. “Dude, you can’t even go home by now. They’re probably crawling all over that nice house—”

  “Shut up.”

  “—and they’ve probably seized your phone records, your computer—”

  “Shut up!” he yelled, advancing. The black hole in the end of the muzzle wavered as his body shook in rage.

  Tommy swallowed hard. That hole was centered on his heart, held there by a lunatic. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard, done such a good job convincing his nemesis of his imminent downfall, even if it was true.

  “You can still get away,” he said, coaxing. “But not if you waste time here with me. My death gains you nothing now, nothing but trouble. And I heard you say yourself that you don’t prefer to resort to murder.”

  A maniacal light shone in Prescott’s eyes. “You also heard me say if it’s you or me, I’m saving myself.”

  Tommy raised his hands, palms out. “Hey, I can’t do a thing to you, so it’s not a ‘me or you’ situation. Think. You haven’t actually killed anyone yet except by accident, right? Once you cross that line, there’s no going back. You’ve got a shitload of money. Take it and go.”

  For a few seconds, the gun began to lower, and he had hope that his words were taking root. But Prescott quickly raised it again, the hatred overshadowing all else.

  “What money? I scammed him too, kept some of his cut and now there’s nowhere to hide. I might’ve been okay, played it cool, if it hadn’t been for you, but you had to have Shea for yourself!”

  He pushed down his anger. Focus. If he could give the FBI a name, they’d cream their Jockeys.

  “Who did you scam? Maybe we can figure a way out of this, then you can go.”

  “You’re the reason I have to go! You! She belonged to me, her and that gold mine in scraggly riverfront property that she and her brother don’t even realize is worth a fortune. Everything fell apart when you interfered, and now you’re going to die.”

  Tommy sucked in a breath as Prescott shoved the gun out and his finger tightened on the trigger.

  Oh, God.

  “Don’t do it!”

  Tommy barely had time to register the shout from behind Prescott, had just a split second to throw himself to the dirt before the gunshots erupted.

  Shane moved faster through the brush and Shea hurried to keep the pace, driven by desperation.

  Hurry, hurry.

  He’s in trouble.

  Shane broke through the trees and she looked past him, saw the cleari
ng. The edge of an overlook.

  And the tableau before them filled her with horror.

  Forrest had Tommy backed up to the edge, a gun trained on his chest. He was screaming, shaking the weapon, losing it. As he stiffened his arm, a man in a red ball cap stepped from the trees, raised a rifle toward the pair.

  Will Hensley!

  “Don’t do it!” Will yelled.

  Shane was already running, raising his own gun, shouting, “Police, freeze!”

  Forrest whirled and fired at the nearest threat, which was Will. The younger man flew backward, hit the ground, rifle knocked from his grasp. Shane closed the distance but didn’t fire as Prescott swung the weapon his way.

  “Freeze, goddammit!”

  Shea saw why—her brother couldn’t fire at Prescott for fear of hitting Tommy, who right at that moment tackled the older man from behind.

  Prescott’s gun went off and Shea screamed as Shane jerked, fell. Tommy and Prescott rolled in the dirt, struggling for control over the gun.

  Shea ran to her brother and fell to her knees, crying out when she saw the blood seeping through the shirt on his side. “Oh, God! Shane!”

  “Jesus fuck,” he gasped, pressing one hand against his side. He scrambled to his feet, listing a bit. “Shit, they’re going to kill each other.”

  Torn, she followed his gaze to where Tommy fought with Forrest, doing his best to hold off the man with one arm, landing a few blows with his good hand. He was holding his own surprisingly well given his disadvantage, but she was terrified by how close to the ledge they were.

  Shane took off, ignoring his own wound to get to Tommy. On the way, he paused to check on Will. The man was sitting up now, one hand clamped over a gushing bullet wound in his shoulder. When Shane bent and would’ve reached for him, Will flinched and scooted backward.

  “No! Don’t touch me,” he said, gasping. “I’m HIV positive. I’ll be fine until help comes.”

  Shane nodded and straightened, kicking the rifle out of easy reach. “Shea, call for a couple of ambulances.”