“It’s opening,” Jane continued. “Man coming out. That makes four—” She stopped abruptly. “Kid on a cot.” Soft as her voice was, he heard the triumph. “Looks like tape over his mouth.”
Clay closed his eyes. But he thumbed his radio and said it. “Go.”
* * *
GLASS SHATTERED. FLASH BANGS. Oh, Jesus, gunshots. Jane. The motion-activated light above the barn doors came on as Cherney and Tucker charged forward and smashed the battering ram into the doors. McAllister and Raynor were poised to enter.
Wait, Jane. Goddamn it, wait until there’s some confusion. Don’t play heroine.
At the next rush, the doors cracked and fell open. Already running, Clay was only steps behind McAllister.
Inside the barn was chaos. Trapped in stalls, horses kicked and screamed. Men were shouting. A couple of voices yelled, “This is the police! Hands in the air.” The light was unnaturally bright. Clay made himself slow down in his head, see that the broad aisle opened into a space probably designed for a veterinarian or farrier to work. He saw only one room separate from the stalls—a tack room? Smells were sharp in his nostrils: hay, manure, beer and burgers, gunpowder, fear. As reported, a group had been sitting around a card table, already kicked over. Clay saw Raynor vault it. Metal folding chairs were flying, tangling underfoot.
Nearly in front of him, Carson Tucker went down, clutching his belly and screaming something. No time to stop.
There was Jane—alive, yes!—but someone swung a chair at her. As she ducked away, it connected with her shoulder and knocked her to her knees. Even as Clay fired, he saw her gun bark, too, and the guy collapsed, sprawling hideously over the chair. She didn’t even look at Clay, only swung in a circle with her weapon held ready.
A burst of gunfire from the small room brought Clay’s head around and an expletive escaped him. That was where she’d seen the kid.
Don’t be stupid. Make sure it’s secured in here first.
They all had assignments. Raynor had gone after the boy.
Like Jane, Clay was turning carefully, looking for targets. All four were being cuffed or lay still on the floor. Clay checked to be sure the guy he’d shot no longer held a weapon, then crouched by him. His eyes were open and sightless. Dead. And no wonder—his body was riddled with bullet holes.
Clay was the closest to the open door that led into the tack room. He spun in, weapon extended, and found two more bad guys down, one dead, the other bleeding and cuffed. The kid was alive but bloody. Chief Raynor was trying to yank the boy’s T-shirt off, hampered by the duct tape binding his hands and ankles. Clay had forgotten the poor kid wore a cast on one arm already.
“Where are you hurt?” Raynor was saying in a voice Clay hadn’t heard from him before.
“I’m okay.” The boy’s voice was thin and high. “I’m okay.” And, damn, the skin where the duct tape had been ripped off his face was painfully red.
Clay saw the moment relief hit Raynor. “I need a knife,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ve got one,” Clay said. He’d worn a backup .38 on one ankle and a knife sheathed on the other. He pushed up his pant leg, took out the knife and sliced the duct tape, freeing the boy’s ankles and then his hands.
Matt Raynor leaped into his uncle’s arms, clutching on with his one good arm while the chief grabbed tight and bowed his head over the boy’s.
Clay backed away, feeling an unfamiliar sting behind his eyelids.
It was all over but the mop-up.
* * *
WITH THE TAILGATE of her Yukon open again, Jane peeled off the vest. She felt...weird.
She was in the here and now, but every blink brought a miniflashback. The effect was like a strobe light.
Dark, slow shapes moving in the pasture—horses.
Diving in the window, shards of glass ripping at her vest and clothing. Fear.
Blue, white and red lights swirling atop aide cars.
Knowing she couldn’t totally evade the chair swung at her. Dodging, feeling it connect.
She gingerly fingered her shoulder and upper arm and knew there’d be a bruise. A whopper.
The weapon jumping in her hand. Blood. Astonishment on the man’s face as he stumbled and began to fall.
Men’s voices on the other side of her SUV, a rumble that might be comprehensible if she could bring herself out of this fugue state.
The slackness of death. Death she had caused.
Jane heard herself make a sound. Either she had killed a man tonight—or Clay Renner had. Or both of them.
“You okay?”
Of course it was his voice. Of course she hadn’t heard him coming.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said sharply.
“You ever shot anybody before?”
The angle at which she thrust her jaw forward made her neck hurt. Pride was a powerful force. Even so, she hesitated. “No,” she admitted, grudgingly.
He swung the back door of the Yukon wider open and half sat on the back, one booted foot braced on the ground. “I have,” he said, tone flat, reminding her of his military service. “This is the first time as a cop I’ve killed a man.”
“You sure you did? I thought I killed a man.” The words were no sooner out than she cringed at the hostility in her voice. What? Was she turning this into a competition?
And what did that make her?
Clay didn’t say anything for a minute, only watched her. Uneasily, she wondered how much he could see.
Finally he stirred. “The M.E. will let us know eventually. My guess is, we killed him a couple of times over.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and saw it all over again.
Astonishment on the man’s face as he stumbled and began to fall. She swallowed and opened her eyes.
“We all hope we’ll never have to do that,” Clay said, in a tone so gentle she didn’t recognize it coming from him.
Jane was suddenly horrified at how terribly she was behaving. If he could be decent, she could, too.
“No,” she said. “Or yes. I never wanted—” At the taste of bile, she had to swallow again. She turned her back on Clay.
The faint sound of the Yukon sighing made her realize he’d risen to his feet and stood behind her.
“Jane.”
“Don’t say anything,” she whispered.
A pause. “Why?” His voice, too, was so soft he wouldn’t have been heard by anyone more than a foot or two away.
“Because—I can’t talk to you.”
“You don’t trust me.” Now he sounded harsh.
“No.” She steadied. “I can’t.”
“You can, but you’ll never believe it, will you?”
She held herself together by pure force of will. “No.”
It was as if they were in a bubble of silence. Everything around them seemed far away. Jane didn’t move, wasn’t sure she breathed.
Then the bubble popped and she heard him walking away. One of the aide cars was pulling out, accelerating. She realized she should have been out there while the wounded were loaded, not hiding here in the darkness.
Following