“Where’s—”
“You’ve already killed her, haven’t you?”
Her screeching roused Emily. She stirred, then lifted her head and murmured, “Mommy?”
“Emily!” she shouted and extended her arms.
Doral began backing away toward his car. “Sorry, Honor. Coburn screwed the pooch.”
“Emily!”
Hearing her mother, Emily started squirming against him.
“Emily, be still,” he hissed. “It’s Uncle Doral.”
“I want my mommy!” she wailed and began thumping him with her small fists and kicking at his thighs.
Honor continued shouting her name. Emily screamed in his ear.
He released her. She slid to the pavement, then ran toward the car, directly into the bright headlights.
Doral aimed his pistol at Honor’s chest.
Before he could get off a shot, something smacked him in the back of his head hard enough to make his ears ring.
Simultaneously the car’s headlights went out, their twin beams replaced by two bright purple circles on a field of black.
He blinked wildly, trying to restore his vision, even as he realized what Coburn’s strategy had been. Blind him, rattle him, deafen him, and then attack from behind. He spun around in time to catch the full brunt of Coburn’s impetus as he launched himself over the hood of Doral’s car, landing on him like a sack of cement and forcing him down onto the pavement on his back.
“Federal agent!” he shouted.
Coburn’s impact had knocked the wind out of Doral, but he’d been fighting all his life. Instinct kicked in along with a surge of adrenaline. He whipped his gun hand up.
A gunshot rang out.
Coburn backed off Doral.
There wasn’t much blood, actually, because Coburn had fired point-blank into the man’s chest. In death, he didn’t look all that sinister, only bewildered, as though wondering how someone as clever as he could have been done in by a soccer ball. Doral had stalked prey. His target was always in front of him. He hadn’t thought to check his back.
“You should have learned from your brother. I don’t negotiate,” Coburn whispered.
He patted down the body and found Doral’s cell phone. He feared it would conveniently disappear when the police investigated, so he slipped it into his pocket before standing up and walking quickly to the car where Honor was sitting in the driver’s seat, clutching Emily to her, rocking back and forth, crooning to her.
“Is she okay?”
“Limp as a dishrag and already asleep again. He must’ve given her something. Is he…”
“In hell.”
“He refused to surrender?”
“Something like that.” He paused, then said, “You did good.”
She smiled shakily. “I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I don’t believe that. You aren’t afraid of anything.”