Final Stand

by Helen R. Myers

  Gray aimed straight for the patrol car, hoping to draw some attention away from the house and Sasha as much as to make sure neither vehicle went anywhere again. Bracing himself, he hit the rear tire on the driver’s side. The rubber deflected some of the impact, but he still shot upward, sending his head into the roof and smacking his chest into the steering wheel. Flashing lights distorted his vision, and a searing agony stole his breath. In the surreal moment he saw the giant reemerge from the house, teeter and crash backward onto the ground.

  “Attagirl,” he gasped.

  Buoyed by hope, he struggled to overcome the dizziness and pain. That’s when he glimpsed what the man’s bulk had hidden—another man crushing the crepe myrtles as he pressed himself against the wall. From Sasha’s description of the snake, he knew who he was seeing.

  Borodin.

  Reaching for Maureen’s old service weapon, he found an empty seat. Swearing, he saw that the gun had fallen to the floorboard during the impact of the crash. Gray swore again as his body protested his bending to reach for it. A split second later, in a deafening roar of gunfire, the truck’s windshield exploded over his back.

  Borodin was coming after him.

  Not wanting to be trapped inside the cab, Gray grabbed up the automatic. Forced to abandon the shotgun on the gun rack, he dived out of the truck. That’s when he realized not only was the gunfire coming from in front of him, but the shooter was using an assault rifle, not the handgun he’d spotted in Borodin’s grasp.

  Baldy had given up on the kitchen entrance for the moment.

  As quickly as it started, the firing stopped. Gray ducked to look under the deputy sheriff’s vehicle and saw nothing. Ignoring the fire in his lungs and his bruised ribs, he eased up to look over the hood of the patrol car and saw the bald guy go back to testing the kitchen door.

  He must think he’d got him, Gray thought, aiming at the same time Baldy fired at the kitchen-door lock. Gray shot, but in that same instant the Russian lunged forward and disappeared into the house.

  A sound behind him had him glancing back, and he saw why both he and Borodin had given up on him. The Suburban was barreling into the yard.

  Virtually a sitting duck where he was, Gray hoisted himself to his feet and launched himself over the wreck of the patrol car and front end of his truck. His bruised or cracked ribs rebelled and he landed badly, immediately suffering a wave of nausea. But knowing he couldn’t afford to acknowledge the pain, he righted himself. Just as the Suburban was about to pass him on its way to the side of the house, he rose and started shooting into the passenger window. One of his bullets hit the guy bearing yet another Glock shimmering in the morning light. The Russian jerked backward, the momentum carrying him into the driver. The Suburban veered wildly out of control and hit the corral corner post hard before jerking to a stop.

  Gray breathed shallowly, his gut twisting at the sound of new gunfire in the house. “Come on, come on,” he said to the Suburban. He knew the right thing was to wait out the men inside, to let them make the first move, then pluck them off one by one. The problem was, Sasha was under siege inside the house.

  About ready to try his luck at retrieving his shotgun and charging the bastards, he heard rather than saw a door open.

  The stocky Russian driver emerged from the rear of the black vehicle and started blasting away with another rifle, this one a bull-pup type, spraying Gray’s pickup and forcing him to duck from the flying glass and metal as much as from the bullets. He crawled to the back end of his vehicle. When the second volley ceased, he rolled clear and opened up on the man who was squatting to peer under the truck as he had moments ago.

  The ungainly position and the speed of the two shots striking in virtually the same spot knocked the man off his feet. Gray didn’t have to check to know he was dead before he hit the ground.

  With no time to spare, he returned to his truck for the shotgun, knowing he needed more ammo than what was left in the .9mm. But as he turned back into the yard, he endured a horrific instant as his gaze locked on the man in the Suburban aiming at him.

  The Glock was gone and in its place the thug held his own assault rifle. Gray registered the man’s bloody hands just as the Russian opened fire. The blood explained why the first shots went wild. Knowing he couldn’t delay, Gray pumped the shotgun and fired. But as he pumped again, the wounded Russian’s gun went haywire, and in the deafening roar Gray felt a sudden punch that slammed him against the truck, knocking the shotgun from his grasp. As he slid to the ground, he could only turn his head aside as the ground exploded around him.

  40

  Trapped. Sasha had wanted to avoid facing Borodin in the house, but it couldn’t be helped. Borodin and his other man, the baldheaded one who’d appeared out of the kitchen and was waiting for her just inside the guest-bedroom doorway, had been forcing her deeper into the house. Now she was all the way in the back of Gray’s bedroom. There was nowhere else to go, save the closet, the master bath that had no window or out the floor-to-ceiling window behind her. And who knew how many of Borodin’s men waited for her out there. She’d heard more gunfire outside. Could someone have gotten hold of the sheriff’s department or state police after all? She had to stay alive to find out, and that meant getting out of here.

  Knowing that they were waiting for her to make a move, she rose to her knees behind the bed and tested the window. It wouldn’t budge, so she quickly stretched and flipped open the lock. Making a point to be as noisy as possible, she pushed up the window.

  As she suspected, or at least hoped, the bald one guessed she would be trying to escape, would have her back to him. He charged out of the guest room and into the master bedroom, shooting toward the window. But Sasha had shifted to the far corner by the headboard and ducked low.

  The instant the blasting ceased, she straightened and greeted him with a steady shot from the .12 gauge. The trajectory and force of the blast lifted the slightly built man up off the floor, slamming him high against the door and staining it stark red before he slid to the ground.

  Certain that Borodin was not far behind, Sasha dropped the shotgun and reached for her Smith & Wesson from the back of her jeans, needing speed and ease of movement now. She threw herself through the screen and her stiff and sore body hit hard.

  With tears blinding her, Sasha cursed the baked Texas earth, but also the man responsible for causing her so much pain in the first place. Things had grown strangely silent out front, as well as inside the house. Dreading the worst, she scrambled to her feet and started running. Borodin would not be going anywhere. If she did have an ally, she owed him or them what protection she could. Her heart said “Gray,” but because her eyes had seen what they had seen, her mind rejected the possibility.

  She experienced a new jolt when she spotted the Suburban, but the man slumped half out of the open passenger window eased a little of her anxiety. She found his partner next. What had her almost crying out, though, was the sight of Gray’s truck.

  He hadn’t left her after all! But where was he?

  It had now been too quiet for too long. Not even Jessie was making a peep. Poor pup, she had to be quaking in terror.

  Increasingly uneasy, Sasha stooped to check under both the truck and the patrol car before easing her way around the destroyed vehicles.

  Where are you?

  Where was Borodin? And how many more men were there?

  As she came around the pickup, she saw Gray.

  He stood by the front door, leaning against the jamb. At the sight of the red stain spreading over the side of his arm and chest, saturating his white T-shirt, she lunged forward.

  The slightest negative motion from him had her stopping in midstep and readying her weapon. Before she could speak, Gray was pushed forward. Borodin emerged from the house pressing a gun to the back of Gray’s head.

  Dear God, she thought, no more. Not Gray, too. Hadn’t Borodin stolen enough from her and her loved ones?

  “What an expression on your l
ovely face, my Sashitska. After all this time, has the ice princess found a man to defrost her? In that case, it will give me all the greater pleasure to have you watch him die before I send you, too, to your eternal sleep.”

  As aware of Gray’s intent gaze willing her to take the shot as she was of Borodin’s smirk, Sasha knew an instant of doubt. Her hands were too wet, her eyes were tearing from grit and emotion, and every muscle in her body was warning her of complete betrayal at any second.

  “Take the shot!” Gray ground out.

  She ignored him, focusing instead on Borodin grinning against his own discomfort in this ghastly environment of dust-clogged air and perspiration bleeding into his eyes. There wasn’t even time to draw in a fresh steadying breath. All she saw was the sweat and understood what had to happen.

  Then he blinked…and she squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet found its mark precisely where Borodin’s men had shot her mother. Sasha continued to hold her breath as the momentum jerked back his head, as the hand holding the Glock twitched. There was an echoing shot as the gun discharged. Then he and Gray both went down.

  “No!”

  Sasha ran. By the time she reached Gray, he was struggling to sit up and distance himself from his would-be killer. Borodin’s bullet had missed, but there was enough blood on his side to scare her to death. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out the handkerchief her mother had embroidered for her years ago that she always carried for good luck. It was ridiculously inadequate, but she stuffed it into Gray’s bloody hand, directing it up to his side. “Press. Damn it, you have to press it to stop the flow,” she ordered, her voice shaking. “Oh God, was it a side shot?”

  “I’m fine. Radio.”

  Afraid to believe that it was over, she first checked the house to be sure, then used the deputy sheriff’s radio to call for help.

  Returning to Gray, she momentarily stared down at the Russian who had caused so much tragedy. “I guess Gloria neglected to tell you that I was on the precinct’s shooting team,” she murmured bitterly. “Do svidaniya, Gospodin Blat.”

  Epilogue

  Bitters, Texas

  Sunday, August 27, 2000

  10:12 a.m. CST

  “We’re ready to go when you are, ma’am.”

  Sasha nodded to the FBI agent poking his head through the doorway. Drawing a deep breath, she gave the living room one last inspection. There hadn’t been much time to repair the damage, especially once the DPS and FBI agents arrived and the interviews started. But one trooper based in Sonora had relatives in the construction business and had been great about getting several members of his family out here fast to replace the front and kitchen doors, cover the shattered windows and do whatever necessary to protect the place from vandalism. She couldn’t have left in good conscience without at least taking care of that.

  Much of the blood was gone, too. Of course, the house would need a major paint job after the Sheetrock and plasterwork was done, and the carpeting would need to be replaced. She felt so responsible for the damage, which was part of the reason she’d worked late into the night doing what she could. But even in the dim light, she had to admit Gray might be better off razing the whole house and starting from scratch.

  “Time to go, Miss Mess.” She stooped to clip the leash on Jessie’s collar. The agents liked this contingency least of all, but it was one she’d been most adamant about. Once she’d radioed for help from the deputy’s vehicle and got some towels to put more pressure on Gray’s wound, she’d freed Jessie, who hadn’t left her side since. Much to the nurses’ displeasure, Sasha had even snuck her into the hospital to check on Gray, and back at the house Jessie had slept on the bed with her when she’d finally turned in. She didn’t trust anyone here to care for the dog, so taking her had become a moot point. Sasha had even gone so far as to arrange for a first-class seat for Jessie on the flight to Las Vegas. She was paying the fare herself to keep some independence from the bureau boys, who were already trying to dictate to her. Besides, using Borodin’s money gave her another small sense of retribution.

  At the door she hesitated. She wasn’t leaving Gray a note. She knew it was cold not to, but who knew his plans? He might hire someone to come in and do more work while recuperating, and she didn’t want a personal message intercepted by a stranger. No, that wasn’t honest. He hadn’t had much to say last night, and she was beginning to think that risky shot she’d taken had planted a seed of disappointment or even resentment in him.

  In any case, it was time to move on. She pulled the door shut, ducked under the police tape and tested the lock. Discreetly caressing the cascade of overgrown crepe myrtle one last time, she remembered her first moments standing here. Finally, she headed for the silver Ford sedan. Out by the street a car pulled in, a white SUV that Sasha recognized and informed the wary agents was someone she knew.

  J.M. emerged. In the busy aftermath, she’d almost forgotten about him. He’d cleaned up well, and except for the leather sandals, was dressed like an attorney heading for a morning round of golf. As far as she was concerned, he could have done that and skipped this visit.

  “You probably don’t want to speak to me,” he began.

  “We do have a plane to catch.”

  He nodded and cast the two young agents a respectful look as they monitored his every twitch. “You’ve become quite the heroine. Now that the phones are working again, the lines are buzzing with talk about you. Sasha Mills…a big-city cop, no less. Very exotic.”

  “A metro cop. Hardly TV chic.”

  “Small towns like their celebrities, too. It’s already been suggested we name a street in your honor.”

  “No doubt the one with the truck-eating potholes.”

  With a delicate cough, J.M. continued. “I suppose it is too little too late, but I wanted to come and tell you that I didn’t learn about what happened until almost noon yesterday. And then I was at the hospital. I confess, I succumbed to the temptation of excess libation after being called away from the meeting with the investigator Thursday.”

  “Friday.”

  “Well, there you go. Um…I’ve already filled in Gray. He told me about your mother. About…I’m very sorry.”

  Sasha knew she was being hard, but she’d had no time yet to grieve let alone find understanding for all of what happened. She’d been busy with interviews to help the police and government do whatever else they could to take out more of Borodin’s network and begin confiscating his assets. The jet at Sonora had put smiles on faces. The Suburban towed out of here along with the patrol car might buy the local boys a decent barbecue. It would take longer to repair her attitude, to get used to the hollowness in her heart left by all she had lost. And she wasn’t sure what it would take to reconcile her feelings for the citizens of Bitters.

  “At least some people have the courtesy to keep their distance.” She nodded to where Elias stood at the front of his station looking sheepish and very left out. The DPS officers had informed her that the mayor was already looking into the legalities and cost of breaking his contract. As far as Sasha was concerned, the mayor needed to be informed that someone was apt to run against him, too.

  “Would it interest you to know who started the fire that got you stuck here in the first place?”

  Sasha shook her head. “I discovered that myself, not that it matters at this point. Lonnie Metcalf.”

  “Gray said you recognized his truck. You’re wrong, though. It was his half brother, Tim Pike. My nephew-in-law,” J.M. intoned, adding a roll of his eyes.

  Her mind was reeling with names, dates and stories; however, Tim’s jumped to the front of her mind without a problem. Not just for his attempts to help with the car, but his humiliation suffered at the hands of his wife and Frank Elias. “No way.”

  “A man in love can be driven to do desperate things. You’re right, firemen are among the first we consider heroes. Problem is, you can’t be a hero without a fire. Truth is, we don’t have that many, and those that oc
cur, we tend to let burn themselves out so as not to waste water.”

  “Come on, J.M., that was the church where he married Gerri Rose.”

  “I’m not saying there wasn’t a little anger mixed in with his desperation. But it was an outside fire, not one started inside the attached Sunday school addition or the church itself. I feel containment was always his intent.”

  “Now you sound like a defense lawyer.” Sasha didn’t say it as a compliment. “You can’t excuse his actions. What if I had identified that truck sooner and his brother had been arrested? Would Tim have let him go to jail? To prison?”

  “No, of course not.” However, J.M. did look momentarily doubtful. “All of that is irrelevant now anyway.”

  “Don’t tell me the insurance company cut the check and everyone’s going to keep their mouths shut because there’s enough for expansion?”

  J.M. eyed her over the vague line of his bifocals. “Don’t become hard, Sasha. Leave me one ideal, please. It’s not the fire, it’s because Gerri Rose is pregnant.”

  “Great. The new American family—Daddy’s doing time and Mommy’s having an adulterous affair.”

  “The child isn’t Tim’s.”

  Now Sasha was willing to listen.

  “Yes. Words escaped me, too. And I’m afraid I showed my true colors yesterday when I let you down by leaving the church site to soothe my hysterical sister. Between her asking me to talk sense into Gerri Rose and Tim insisting on DNA verification, and Gerri Rose—Well, suffice it to say, I tied on a good one and was of no use when you needed an ally most. I’m so ashamed. When I get home, I’m pulling out the phone jacks from the wall and making myself a monster pitcher of Bloody Marys and seeking oblivion until Monday, when I’m expected to come up with divorce papers for my near-catatonic niece.”