Steven James - The Knight

Before I could pull the trigger, a gunshot ricocheted through the barn and the dog slammed against the side of the cage, dark blood spouting from a gaping wound in the back of its head. One of the small windows at the far side of the barn was shattered.

Cheyenne.

She’d fired through the glass, threaded the bullet between the bars of the cage, and hit the dog in the eye in mid-attack at fifteen meters.

Brilliant shot.

Admire her later.

I ran to Bennett but kept my gun trained on the hay bales. “Are you hurt?” He was staring blankly at the dead dog. “Mr. Bennett, are you OK?”

At last he nodded. Swallowed. Nodded again.

We were too exposed. No time to untie him.

No time.

I tried to push the chair to safety, but the wheels were locked.

Quick. Quick.

With one eye on the hay bales, I unsnapped the locks and yanked the wheelchair across the barn floor, bouncing it over the boards and into an empty horse stall in a shadowed corner of the barn. If the suspect were armed, the gate to the stall would offer at least a little protection.

Cheyenne was outside. She could cover the door in case John tried to escape.

Unless there’s another way out.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Bennett.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be back.”

“Untie me!”

I started for the hay bales as Cheyenne threw open the tack room door.

“He’s behind the bales,” I shouted to her, and she slid into position to cover the east side of the bales. Bennett kept yelling for help, but for the time being I ignored him. I had to find John.

“Step out now!” I yelled.

I saw shuffling movement somewhere in the darkness, but I had no visual on the suspect. “Hands in the air!” I signaled to Cheyenne that I was heading in, and she ducked behind the tractor to cover me.

Giovanni lay still and silent beside the gasoline cans and looked down the barrel of his Wilson Combat Elite Professional. 45 ACP at Detective Warren’s back.

He had a clear shot at her. Yes. He could shoot her right now and then take out Bowers as he rushed to help her, but he didn’t want to do that. Not after all the planning, all the preparations.

Giovanni considered his options.

He doubted the FBI or DPD could offer him any better adversaries than these two.

Well, one way to find out just how good they were.

The sound of a gunshot sent me pivoting backward behind a horse stall.

I looked at Bennett and saw that he was still struggling to get free.

“You OK?”

“He’s shooting at me!” He sounded unhurt.

Cheyenne still sat crouched behind the tractor. I called to her, “Cheyenne, are you-”

“I’m fine.”

Then I saw that the bullet had shattered a bucket near the cage and sent rose petals spewing across a silk sheet laying on the hay.

“Drop your weapon!” I yelled.

End this now.

I nodded toward Cheyenne, and she leveled her gun. I rounded the corner of the stall and entered the maze of hay bales.

Nothing.

Heart beating.

Around another bale.

No one.

Where is he?

I edged around the second row of bales near the wall of the barn.

Still nothing. Still quiet.

Maybe there’s another way out.

Then, the scent of gasoline.

And then a line of flames, leaping, springing to life from the dry hay near the Appaloosa’s stall. The fire raced across the floor to one of the barn’s support beams. In the tangled light I saw a figure bolt toward the tack room out of Cheyenne’s line of fire.

I aimed. “Stop, FBI!”

Identify the subject. Confirm that it’s This man wore a gray polo shirt, not a black sweatshirt.

No shot! No shot!

“There’s two of them!” I yelled to Cheyenne. I ran forward.

He slipped through the tack room door. A moment later I arrived and grabbed the handle.

Locked.

I shot out the lock, then threw my shoulder against the door, but it wouldn’t move. I slammed into it again, but it held fast. He must have propped something against the other side or bolted it shut.

The fire was spreading quickly around me, devouring the hay in great gulps, snaking around the perimeter of the barn.

Smoke billowed toward the ceiling.

A shift in priorities.

Get Thomas and Cheyenne out of the barn. Now.

I holstered my weapon and ran toward Bennett as Cheyenne wrestled with the metal sliding doors at the far end of the barn. “Will it flare up if I open the door?” she yelled.

I wasn’t sure. The rush of oxygen might cause the barn to fill with flames, but we didn’t have any other options. “It’ll be fine. Open it!”

Beside one of the stalls I noticed the black sweatshirt.

He changed shirts so you wouldn’t shoot him!

Man, this guy was smart. Really smart.

Either that, or there are two men…

“Help!” Thomas yelled. I made it to him and grabbed the wheelchair’s handles but quickly realized that the fire was spreading too fast to roll him all the way across the barn. I needed to cut him loose. I flicked out the blade of my Wraith and slit the tape binding his right arm.

Cheyenne opened the sliding door.

The barn didn’t explode into flames-thankfully, yes, thank-fully-“Get out!” I yelled to her, but she ran toward the stalls to free the horses.

I cut Thomas’s left wrist free. Bent to cut his legs loose.

Smoke began pooling at the ceiling. The two horses circled in their stalls, snorting, stomping. Tossing their heads.

“Hurry!” Bennett yelled at me.

How is this fire spreading so fast?

As I cut the tape from his left leg, I took a quick glance around the barn. Almost immediately, I could see that the hay and the boards hadn’t been strewn randomly across the floor, but were laid in careful, crisscrossed rows. All designed to block the exit with flames.

John was ready for us. He was prepared.

I cut the tape from Bennett’s other leg. Put the knife away. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.” He tried but collapsed backward. He shook his head. “Drugged me. Knocked me out.”

A quick survey of the barn.

It was bad.

The fire already barred the exit and was moving steadily toward us, sealing us into the corner of the barn that lay farthest from the sliding doors. I couldn’t carry Thomas through the field of flames. We’d never make it.

Cheyenne unlatched one of the horses’ gates. A black horse reared back, then took off at a dead run, jumping over the two-foot-high ridge of fire now encircling the barn’s perimeter, and disappeared out the door.

Cheyenne reached for the Appaloosa’s gate, and I had an idea.

“Wait!” I yelled.

I hoisted Bennett over my shoulder and snatched a bridle from a hook on the wall.

Even if I couldn’t get Bennett out, Cheyenne could.

She must have read my mind because she grabbed the horse’s halter to steady her.

“Take Thomas!” I yelled.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I lowered Thomas to his feet and wrapped an arm around him to support him.

The horse tensed and whinnied, but Cheyenne worked at soothing her, calming her down. Then she shouted to me. “I won’t leave you!”

Two of the walls were completely consumed. I grabbed Cheyenne’s arm. “You have to go.”

“Get me out of here!” Thomas hollered.

I handed Cheyenne the bridle, but she tossed it aside, grabbed a handful of mane, and swung onto the horse’s back. “I’ll come back for you,” she said.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

With a surge of adrenaline and Cheyenne’s help, I hoisted Thomas onto the horse, where he wrapped his unsteady arms around her waist and then slumped forward. I hoped he’d be clear-headed enough to stay on the horse.