Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

Rink parked the rental a block away and we rushed toward the house. Dawn in Arkansas can be cool at this time of year, but that wasn't why we wore coats. Rink's Mossberg was slung from a harness beneath his armpit. I had my SIG holstered in a shoulder rig.

Harvey was waiting for us, standing in the shadows of a shed on the next-door property. He gave a low whistle and we angled toward him.

"What kept you guys?" he hissed. "I thought I was gonna have to start the party without you."

"What's the deal?" I asked. "They still inside?"

"Yup. Two of them." He nodded up the road. "Another guy in a Chevrolet parked a block over."

"Same guys as before?"

"Yeah."

"Any movement?" Rink asked. Our view of Louise's house was partially blocked by a hedge. But we could see her kitchen windows. They re?ected the early sunrise. Our vantage point didn't offer a view of the front, but as we had arrived, I'd noticed that the blinds were drawn.

"Haven't seen anything since they went in. Heard raised voices just before you got here, but it's been quiet since." Harvey held my gaze. There were the beginnings of a cold sweat on his brow. "We going in or what?"

"We're going in," I told him.

"Good," he said. He pulled a Glock from within his leather coat, racked the slide. "They've touched her, I'm gonna rain some hurt on these assholes."

"We don't know what we're going into," I cautioned him. "Could get nasty."

"Believe me, Hunter. If they've hurt her, you can bet your ass things is gettin' nasty."

"Just so long as you know things're gonna get hot in there."

He winked at me. "Don't you worry. I'm up for it."

"Okay." That was the prep done. Now all that was left was the hard part.

We fanned out. No preamble, just instinct sending us on our merry way. Harvey headed for Louise's backyard, Rink and me to the front door. Best tactic? In fast and noisy, shoot anything that wasn't wearing lip gloss.

The ginger cat was wise enough to?ee.

From within, I heard something crash to the?oor. Before the sound stopped echoing, I rammed straight through the screen and unlocked door and into a scene straight out of Goodfellas.

It was one of those snapshot moments where everything is so viv idly imprinted on the optic nerves that you don't have to physically look to see even the minutest of details.

It was like this:

Louise Blake on her knees,?owery skirt gathered up around her thighs. Streaked mascara. Smear of blood on her lips. First Latin male holding her bunched hair and her two hands in one of his. Stretching her up. Exposing her ribs. Second Latin male lifting a rolled telephone directory for another whack at her side. These guys weren't CIA or FBI. Even if they were, they still deserved to die.

I fired.

The report of the SIG set the world back in motion.

The man with the impromptu torture device took my 9-mm slug high in his shoulder. The directory spun from his hand, pages?uttering. He staggered away, crashing up against a dresser. Stacked dishes slid and exploded onto the?oor.

My next step was followed by another shot. We all have imperfections; this bullet missed him, drilling a hole in the plaster behind him.

Rink burst into the room all spit and venom. His shotgun remained silent. The second man had the sense to place Louise in the way of Rink's attack. Shielded by her body the man backpedaled. From his hip he snatched a semiautomatic handgun. The gun?ashed metallic blue as it passed through a beam of sunlight pushing through a gap in the curtains.

I leaped and rolled, putting a chair between us. It wasn't any protection from a high-velocity round, but that wasn't my purpose. I threw myself into the room to draw the man's attention to me. Away from Louise.

Sure enough, he shot at me. I kissed the carpet and tatters of upholstery sifted down on me. Then I was up and moving. So was Rink. The man was caught in a pincer move and there was only one way out. He spun Louise into Rink's arms. His gun came up. And for one second I feared he would put a bullet in her spine. My response was to?re.

Lucky son of a bitch jerked aside at the exact same moment and my round nicked only a small portion of his ear-instead of a large chunk of skull. The slippery bastard lurched away from me, and now Louise and Rink were between us. Encumbered with Louise, he couldn't bring the Mossberg to bear on the man.

The man took three running steps and dove headlong at the nearest window. Drapes tangled him, glass wedged in his deep blue suit, but then he was crashing out into sunshine. I charged across the room and leaned through the window after him. The man vaulted through the topiary hedge we'd so recently stood behind. That suit of his was going to be a mess.

As he charged through the neighboring yard toward the street, a pale blue Chevrolet squealed along the asphalt toward him. I got a bead on him. I squeezed. His suit was going to get messier.

A bullet cracked the window frame next to my head. Splinters of wood jabbed into my cheek. Automatically I?inched, the action transposed to my trigger?nger, and my bullet went wide.

Only one person could have?red on me. The guy I'd already winged. Move, Hunter, or die, my mind screamed at me. I dropped and spun onto my haunches. My gun began to rise, but I was again caught in a snapshot moment.

The injured man was coming toward me. His mouth was wide with a silent curse. The muzzle of his handgun was a yawning black hole about to suck the life out of me. John's face?ashed through my vision. Eyes sad.

There was a single crack.

Despite myself, I jerked against the pain.

Above me the man swayed. His angry face lengthened in surprise, eyelids shuddering. I saw a deep red blossom on the breast of his silk shirt. His knees folded and he fell toward me. He was limp as I shoved him aside. Beyond him, Harvey Lucas was like an angel with a Glock in his?st.

"Welcome to the dance," I said to him.

Harvey stepped forward and, gripping the shoulder of the man, pulled him over onto his back. Air escaped from the man's lips. A grunt. A spark remained in his eyes. He made a futile attempt at lifting his gun. Futile because Harvey's size twelves ground his wrist into the?oor.

"You like hurting girls?" Harvey asked him.

Then he placed a single round in the man's open mouth.

It was a classic hit. One in the heart, one in the head. It's the only way to make sure your enemy is dead. Harvey stretched a hand out to me. I took it and he hauled me up. "Thanks, Harvey," I said. "I owe you." "Was nothin'." His eyes were a re?ection of my own. As a Ranger, he'd known action. But not up close. Eye to eye. Harvey was now one of the exclusive club that Rink and I held lifetime membership in.

There was no time for cleanup.

We had to move fast.

Priority was getting Louise away from any backlash from the turmoil at her house. Harvey was up to the task. He took Louise one way with instructions to meet us in an hour. Rink and I streaked away from the house and the rising wail of approaching sirens.

Away from the cordon of police vehicles, I asked Rink to pull up at a telephone booth.

The call was enough to ensure that police action would be in our favor. Walter has that effect. It's the weight a sub-division director of the CIA wields.

We met at the same diner as last time. Louise was dressed as before. Still good-looking. Still worn around the edges. But she was different now. She held herself tentatively, like every muscle in her body ached. Fear haunted her eyes.

She was hurting from the beating she'd taken. Scared half to death by what she'd witnessed. I sympathized with her, but that wasn't why we were there. The men who'd tortured her did so for a reason. She knew more than she was admitting to.