Chapter 43
“Blue-six! I’ve got three people running out the front.”
“Sniper-two! Three people are coming out the basement door.”
“—going in different directions!”
“—out the back door!”
Two gunshots sounded.
The shouting voices jumbled together over the radio as several more reports came in at once.
Max tried to make sense of them. “Is it the hostages?”
“Let’s go,” said Noelle, grabbing her shield and running toward the perimeter. Max took his AR off his shoulder and followed. Voices continued to shout through his radio.
“It sounds like a mass exit,” he told Noelle as he followed her, weaving through the pines.
They reached the edge of the woods and stopped, each taking cover behind a tree. Max saw SWAT running between the vehicles in front of the cabin as they shouted, “Get down, get down, get down!”
“People to the east!” shouted Noelle.
Three more people were running toward the woods from the side of the cabin. Several SWAT peeled off and went after them, shouting orders.
Two are hostages.
Their hands were bound, making them stumble as they ran.
“On the right!” Max told Noelle as three more people on the other side of the house ran for the woods. One SWAT team member ran after them.
“I’ll back him up.” Noelle sprinted after the agent.
“Damn,” muttered Max. Shouts were coming through the radio and echoing out of the woods.
There.
A man ran into the woods from the east side of the home, pushing a small figure in an orange coat. Max lifted his AR and looked through the scope.
Emma. And Bourdon.
Max was too far away. He sprinted at an angle, trying to get ahead of the duo. Emma was fighting back, slowing her pace and pushing against her captor. Bourdon grabbed her arm and hauled her through the snow with brute power. A gun in his other hand.
Max’s chest heaved as he ran. The snow was a foot deep and hid every rock and crevice. He stumbled a dozen times.
I’ve got to get ahead of them.
Emma and Bourdon were having the same problem with the snow.
Suddenly Emma stopped and raised her bound hands over her head.
She whipped them down as if to touch her elbows to her shoulder blades.
Her hands flew apart, the zip tie broken.
She turned and slammed her palms into Bourdon’s chest. Bourdon laughed and grabbed her hair, yanking up.
As he continued to run, Max saw Emma’s feet leave the snow. He estimated he was twenty yards away. He came to a stop, tucked the butt of his gun into his shoulder, and looked through his scope.
“Bourdon! Put down the gun!” shouted Max.
The man swung his arm around Emma’s neck, pulled her to his chest, and ground his gun into her skull. “I’ll kill her!” Bourdon yelled back. “Let me pass!”
Emma’s face filled Max’s scope; her green eyes were wide with fear.
Green eyes.
Déjà vu swept through him. He’d been in this position before. His decision to shoot had taken a teenager’s life and put Max’s in a tailspin.
Max blinked rapidly as Emma’s blonde hair and light eyes moved through his crosshairs and called up a face from his past. Another terrified girl being used as a human shield.
Eleanor. The twelve-year-old cousin of Jacob McHale.
The boy Max had shot and killed.
I’m breathing too hard.
I did the right thing. Jacob was ready to kill his cousin.
Max adjusted his aim up a fraction, and part of Bourdon’s face came into view. He was ducking behind Emma’s head.
I should’ve fired immediately at Bourdon. Not shouted at him.
It would have been justified.
Am I scared it’ll create more life-altering consequences?
“Let her go!” shouted Max. “It’s all over, Bourdon!”
“I’ll kill her!” he shrieked back. “I’ll do it! Doesn’t matter that she’s a woman! I’ve done it before!”
Max didn’t doubt him.
He killed Rachel. I know he’ll do it again. Right here, right now.
I must stop him.
“Let her go, Bourdon!” Noelle’s voice sounded from far to Max’s right.
Bourdon swerved to look in her direction.
Now.
Max fired.
Bourdon dropped to the ground in an explosion of blood and brains, landing on Emma as she screamed.
Max lowered his rifle, his heart pounding, her wails filling his ears, but he knew Emma was safe.
His shot had gone through Bourdon’s right eye.
I did the right thing.
It’s over.
Screaming, Emma shoved Bourdon’s arm off her chest and rolled away as fast as she could. She pushed up to her hands and knees, staring at the man who’d said he would kill her.
One eye was a red, bloody hole. The other looked blankly up at the falling snow. The white fluff around his head was covered with red, chunky spray.
He’s dead.
“Emma!”
She blinked. Detective Marshall sprinted toward her, a pistol in her hand. To the right, a man with a rifle approached more slowly, his gaze fixed on Mark.
That man shot him. She scrambled unsteadily to her feet, fear slicing through her veins, as she scanned the cabin and woods, terrified of more danger.
I should run.
“Emma!” Detective Marshall halted a few yards away. She holstered her gun and held her hands out as if to stop her. “You’re safe, honey. It’s over. It’s all over.”
Emma held her gaze, every cell in her body screaming that nothing was over. She stumbled back two steps and spun in a circle, searching for more threats.
“Emma. It’s okay. He’s dead. Everyone else is in custody. It’s over,” the detective repeated, still holding out her hands as she slowly approached. The man who’d fired stood back, watching, somehow knowing he shouldn’t come closer.
“You shot him,” Emma said, her voice trembling as she met his gaze.
“I did. You’re safe now.” He didn’t move.
“That’s Max, Emma,” said Detective Marshall. “He’s a friend.”
Emma looked at the motionless man in the snow, his gun a yard away.
He shot Uncle Tommy.
“Uncle Tommy!” Emma lurched away, stumbling until she caught her stride, and ran toward the cabin. “Uncle Tommy!”
“Emma, wait!” The detective ran behind her.
Is he dead?
Her brain wouldn’t accept it. She tore up the steps to the cabin’s back deck. The slider was still open, the sheer curtains waving through in the breeze. Emma darted through the door and slammed to a stop. Detective Marshall came through the door and halted beside her.
“Oh, Emma.” She gripped Emma’s shoulder.
Two men in SWAT gear were on their knees next to Uncle Tommy, who was spread out on the floor, blood pooling around him. “Can you apply pressure?” one yelled, looking at them. “We’ve called for the medic!”
The detective was at his side in a flash. Emma approached more slowly, taking in the blood, the anxiety on the faces.
He’s not going to make it.
“Uncle Tommy?” she asked, kneeling at his head, tears burning down her cheeks.
He opened his eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. You’re going to be fine.” She set a hand on his forehead.
Suddenly anger flooded his gaze as he looked past her. Emma glanced back. It was the man—Max—who’d saved her. He was staring at Uncle Tommy, his face blank.
“You—you!” Uncle Tommy spit out, blood wetting his lips, hatred in his eyes.
He’s confused.
“That man saved me, Uncle Tommy. Mark had a gun to my head. He was going to kill me.” Her voice shook. “That man shot before Mark could.”
Some of the fire went out of the old man’s gaze.
Max knelt behind Emma. “I know it was you who sent those things,” he said quietly, looking at Uncle Tommy. “I understand why you did it, but I had no choice that day. Just like I had no choice today except to save Emma.”
What is he talking about?
Uncle Tommy closed his eyes.
“No!” shrieked Emma.
“Where’s the medic?” The men and Detective Marshall worked more frantically.
Uncle Tommy’s eyes opened. The anger was gone, resignation left behind. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking at Max. Then he met Emma’s gaze. “Your daddy’s dead, girl. Mark killed him months ago.” He struggled to get the words out. “I didn’t know until today. I’m sorry, baby.”
Shock froze her lungs.
I don’t know what to say.
“It’s okay to hate him, Emma.” Breathing hard, Uncle Tommy licked his lips, spreading more blood. “I love you, girl. Always have.”
“I love you too,” she said, her tongue tripping over the words, misery filling her. No one had said the words to her since her mother left.
Someone finally loves me, and he’s gonna die.
“Max,” said Detective Marshall. She motioned for the man to take her place, and she moved to Emma, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against Emma’s hair.
Uncle Tommy’s eyes were still open.
But he was no longer there.
Emma leaned into the detective and cried, her heart breaking again.