Jenna Kernan - Defensive Action

Don’t be stupid. You’re not a cop. You’ve never even seen a gun.

But they were going to kill him. She knew it in her heart. They would shoot him down and then they would find her. What if he had a family, children? What would happen to her mom if she lost her only surviving child?

Haley drew in a deep breath and clamped her jaw tight. Her sister had fought for her life. Haley would do the same.

She gripped the thermos in two sweating hands and crept along the opposite side of the rear bumper, inching toward the tall brown-skinned man still trying for a shot at the detective.

The metal exterior of the thermos felt cold in her hand as she hoisted it high. She had a moment’s hesitation as she stared at the stubble of his shaved head and the large shiny patch at the crown where hair no longer grew. It was enough time for the man to sense her there. He turned his head. She was out of time. Haley rose up on her tiptoes and swung. Her right hand clutched the thermos and her left gripped her opposite wrist. The sound at contact and the reverberation hit her simultaneously. Blood spurted from the gash she created in his scalp with the bottom edge of the bludgeon.

“Oh, gosh!” she said as the man completed his turn and sank to one knee. He used his free hand to reach up to the top of his head and pressed it over the wound. Then he drew it away and stared silently at the blood that smeared his palm. He never looked at her. The gun dropped from his hand and she snatched it up by the barrel.

She glanced toward the detective to find he had his legs wrapped around his opponent’s neck and held one of his own ankles to increase the force of the choke hold. The man gasped and struggled, his purple face illuminated in terrifying color by the cab light.

Haley staggered back two steps as the man went limp.

“Get their keys,” said the detective.

She shook her head and continued to look between the bleeding man, now on hands and knees, and the big one who lay motionless beside the car.

“Is he...?”

“Choked out. Now hurry.” The detective was already searching his opponent, coming up with a wallet but no keys.

The amount of blood issuing from the head wound she had caused made her queasy. But she tucked the thermos under her arm, crept forward and used her free hand to reach into one of the large side pockets. She felt a wallet and reached past in search of the keys but found nothing. Withdrawing her hand, the wallet fell to the ground and flopped open. The badge and ID were unmistakable. DEA was printed in large blue letters and the gold shield looked very official. Not a wallet, she realized. It was the identification of a representative from the Drug Enforcement Agency of the United States. And she had just clobbered him over the head and taken his gun.

She gaped up at the detective, if he were a detective.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her arm and hustled them toward the agents’ car.

She pulled back and shook her head. What if they were trying to apprehend a criminal and she’d brained one of them?

“There’s one more,” he said, pressing her down behind the front of the car. “Wait here.” He pointed at the ground and, as if she were his hound, she sank to her knees.

He gripped his enemy’s gun and disappeared from her sight.

Haley heard the sedan door chime and then gunfire. Four rapid discharges. Pop-pop-pop-pop , like a string of firecrackers. Then came a thud.

She bit down on her fist and waited.

Run, you idiot.

But her legs would not lift her and her knees clanked together like the Tin Man’s in The Wizard of Oz .

“Come up,” he called.

Haley lowered her hand and rose. Then she ran in the opposite direction toward the woods. He had her around the waist before she reached the beckoning darkness of the tree line. He hauled her off her feet. One iron arm gripped her about the waist.

He ignored her struggles as he carried her past the two still figures. A third lay beside the open passenger door that now held four bullet holes. The driver lay facedown, red head turned to the side. One eye stared vacantly out and his mouth gaped. There were four holes in the back of his jacket.

The door chime had ceased and all she could hear was the blood pounding in her eardrums.

“Is he...?”

“Get in,” he ordered and set her on her feet.

She took a step away from him. He captured her wrist, the one holding the bloody thermos. There could be no mistake now. He’d killed this man. Detectives did not shoot people down and then run.

“I don’t have time to argue.” He opened the passenger door and shoved her inside. It was then she realized she had the DEA officer’s gun, but was still holding it upside down.

When he got into the driver’s side, she had it the right way around, at her side between the passenger-side door and the bucket seat. She was no longer defenseless.

Haley found herself inside the stolen sedan as they rocketed backward onto the road. The man she had brained with the thermos was now standing. He hunched with one hand on the trunk and the other holding his gashed head, illuminated in a perfect still image in the sweep of the headlights before they raced past the pair.

She’d seen the badge of the DEA agent and she was fairly certain the ID was a counterfeit. She cast a glance at the bleeding, dirty man who had represented himself as a detective. Her gut told her that had also been a lie. So did she challenge this stranger or keep quiet?

He’d forced her into this car and what had started as an act of mercy on her part now seemed a mistake so grand that adventure camp paled in comparison.

This was a kidnapping—her kidnapping.

She looked down at her hands, one holding the thermos and the other gripping the agent’s gun.

* * *

RYAN CARR CLENCHED the wheel and headed down the open road. He’d taken these goons on a wild-goose chase, ending with him rolling out of a car moving way faster than he’d realized. He’d skipped along the asphalt like a rock and had road-burn all over his shoulder and back. It would be a while before his skin would heal and he was sure he’d have scars.

It didn’t matter. The pain helped him focus on getting back. He’d acted as the rabbit to draw away the hounds. Now he needed to find out if his contact, Takashi Tanaka, had succeeded in making the drop, as promised.

The woman beside him cleared her throat. He glanced in her direction.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Gotta check on a friend.”

“Could you drop me somewhere?”

The local authorities were already after him, thanks to the job his enemies had done impersonating federal law enforcement. It was a good long way to Lake George Village and every trooper between here and there was looking for him. If Takashi had gotten through, it would be simple, he could pick up the intel from the drop and return to base. If not, he needed to stay ahead of the law and the sleeper cell he knew would be after him just as soon as his captors failed to report in. Were they members of the organization Takashi had mentioned—Siming’s Army, the Deathbringers?

“You still have your phone, Haley?” he asked. He already knew the answer. She didn’t. “Maybe you can call the police for us?”

She hesitated at that, her mouth pursing. The woman was not only his savior, she was beautiful, and smart enough not to automatically believe him. Haley had light brown hair and intelligent blue eyes that were trying to work this out. Her brows arched as he debated if it was her full, tempting lips, the heart-shaped face or the widely spaced eyes that made her such a knockout. The sum of her parts, he decided, and the fact that she had literally picked him up off the road and taken out a spy with years of military training with a thermos. The man made a classic blunder, underestimating his opponent or perhaps not even recognizing that she was an opponent. Ryan knew that she was deciding her next move and she still had Needle’s handgun.