Chapter Seventy-Seven
“It’s clear,” Walker called to Stanton.
“Mirabelle?”
“I’ve got her,” Walker said back.
Stanton pivoted and ran back toward his vehicle.
Belle buried her face against Walker’s chest, her rage turning to sobs.
“I’ve got you,” Walker whispered.
“They didn’t… I mean, I fought them and you got here in time,” she said.
Thank God.
“Come with me,” he said. “We’ve got to help Stanton’s partner.”
With his arm supporting Belle, they made their way outside, stepping over the body in the doorway and moving to the front of Stanton’s FBI Tahoe, where he knelt cradling his partner’s head. His M4, trauma kit, and a Streamlight were next to him.
“She’s breathing and has a pulse, both are weak,” Stanton said as Walker knelt. “Come on, J.J.”
“Hold this light, Belle,” Walker said, handing her the black flashlight.
Walker started at J.J.’s feet and conducted a visual inspection while feeling for blood and broken bones.
“Did you see her go down?” he asked.
“I did. They beat her in the head with a rifle.”
“She needs to get to a hospital. Help me get her to your truck.”
They carried J.J. to the left rear passenger door of Stanton’s vehicle and laid her across the seats.
“Was Bates driving his Charger?” Walker asked.
“Yes,” Stanton responded.
“Belle, go with Agent Stanton. Ride back here with J.J. Hold her head and neck.”
“You need to get to the hospital too,” Stanton said.
“I’m going after Bates.”
“Not like that you’re not.”
“Don’t try and stop me, Stanton.”
“On the contrary,” Stanton said. He reached into the back cargo area and threw Walker a navy-blue windbreaker emblazoned with gold letters that read “FBI.”