Dwight was knocked out cold, but Hank was limping around the rear of the car to stand near Sara.
Will rubbed his jaw as he silently probed for points of weakness.
There were none.
All of them were armed. Hank’s weapon wasn’t visible, but a guy like that was always strapped. The bulge at Vince’s ankle was a concealed revolver. Clinton had a Glock on his belt as part of the security uniform. Merle’s revolver was tucked into the small of his back. Will could see the outline of the grip when the man crossed his arms over his broad chest. He stood like a cop, feet planted wide apart, tailbone curved, because the weight of a thirty-pound service belt could break your spine.
They all stood the same way.
“Give us a hand, big guy.” Clinton’s feigned helplessness had evaporated. He gestured for Will to help him get Dwight out of the car. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Sara tried. “He could have a spinal injury or—”
“Ma’am, excuse me.” Merle didn’t move her out of the way so much as stand there until Sara moved for him. Together, he and Clinton lifted Dwight out of the car. The guy was dead weight. His feet flopped against the asphalt until they finally flattened back like a duck’s.
Will let his eyes slide toward Sara. She wasn’t looking at him. She was taking in her surroundings, trying to figure out whether or not to run. Hank was standing beside her. Too close. Most of the front yards were more like football fields. If she took off, he would have a clear shot at her back.
So, Will would have to shoot him before that happened.
He told Sara, “I’ll get your bag.”
He didn’t try to catch her eye. Instead, he stared at Hank in a way that let the man know if he touched a hair on Sara’s head, Will would beat the skin off of his face.
There were thirty feet between Will and the BMW. Sara had parked it at an angle across the road to calm any oncoming traffic. Will walked just fast enough to keep his distance from Merle and Clinton, who dragged Dwight between them.
Will felt the heat leave his body. His heart slowed to a steady thump. Some people got calm when they were in control. Will had been out of control enough times in his life to find calm in chaos. His ears strained for sounds. He heard scuffs and grunts and sirens and horns. Nothing from Sara. No words, anyway. He felt her eyes on him, almost like a tractor beam trying to pull him back to her.
How the fuck had he let this happen?
Will looked down at his hand. There was a valet key hidden inside the fob. Will slid it out of the compartment. He took a cue from Faith, who always kept the longest key on her ring jutting out like a knife from between her fisted fingers. He thought about using it to rip open Hank’s throat. The man wouldn’t be so calm with his larynx dangling below his chin.
Motherfucker.
They weren’t just going to take the BMW. That would’ve been an easy solve—all they’d needed to do was pull out their guns, jump in the car and make their escape. No conversation required. But they had kept talking. They had given their names, which was Interrogation 101: establish a rapport with the subject. They had given a bullshit story about a gas main explosion. They had a guy who was injured, one who was knocked out. They couldn’t go to a hospital, but they needed medical help fast.
They were going to take Sara.
A very specific type of fury coiled every single muscle in Will’s body. His nerves were electrified. His vision was crystal clear. His thoughts slid along the edge of a razor.
The folding knife in his pocket.
The key between his fingers.
The gun in the glove compartment.
Will couldn’t reach into his pocket, press the button on the spring-loaded knife, and have it open in time to do anything but drop from his hand when he was shot.
The key was only good for close quarters combat, and Will didn’t have a chance against two guys.
He had to get the gun.
Four armed cops or ex-cops. Maybe five if Dwight woke up. Will hadn’t checked, but the guy should have a Glock on his belt, part of the security uniform. Part of the disguise.
Still a real gun.
Will could pretend to help Dwight into the car, then grab the Glock. Even close range, he would need to be fast. Clinton first because of the gun on his hip, then Merle because it would take longer for him to reach for the revolver tucked down the back of his pants.
The instructors at the range always said shoot to stop, but Sara’s jeopardy changed the rules. Will was going to shoot to kill every single one of these fuckers.
He finally reached the BMW. Will opened the door, leaned into the passenger’s seat. He slid the key into the glove box. He glanced up to locate Sara.
Will froze.
It felt like a literal thing—dry ice penetrating his bloodstream. Muscles cramping. Tendons splitting. He had a weird, unnatural quiver in his bones. All the angles he’d been trying to work evaporated because of one thing:
Fear.
Sara wasn’t standing anymore. She was on her knees, but now she was facing Will. Her fingers were laced behind her head, the position a cop would put a suspect in so that he could search and cuff them.
Hank was standing behind her. Another woman was at his side. Separate from him, not with him. She had short, almost white hair. Her cheeks were sunken. She held up her unzipped khaki pants with both hands. Blood stained the inside seams, making a lurid, upside down V between her legs. She looked up at Will, her eyes begging him to make this stop.
Michelle Spivey.
The scientist had been abducted a month ago. She had worked at the CDC.
Not an explosion from a gas leak.
An attack.
“All right,” Hank shouted at Will. “I need you to slowly get your head out of the car and put your hands up.” He had taken a gun out of his pocket: PKO-45. The muzzle barely extended past his finger, which was placed above the trigger guard the way a cop would hold it. The extended magazine peeked out from the bottom of his fist. Tiny, but powerful. It was called a pocket cannon because it could blow the brain out of a woman’s skull.
Sara’s skull.
Because that’s where the gun was pointing.
Will felt a physical illness rack his body. He did as he was told, his hands slowly going into the air. He looked at Sara now. Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. Her fear was so palpable that he could feel it like a fist squeezing the blood out of his heart.
Merle jammed his revolver into Will’s side. “We got no beef with you, big guy. Just need to borrow the doctor. You’ll get her back eventually.”
Will’s eyes found the blood dripping down between Michelle’s legs. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t draw air. Sweat streamed down the sides of his face. He looked down at the Smith and Wesson revolver that was prying apart his ribs. If he was shot in the gut, could he still grab one of the guns? Could he give Sara cover so that she could run?
From four armed men? Across open space?
Broken glass filled his throat, his chest, his lungs.
They were going to take Sara.
They were going to kill him.
There was nothing Will could do but watch it or make it happen faster.
Clinton loaded Dwight into the back of the BMW. Dwight was still out, slumped over to the side. His holster was empty. Vince was too far away for Will to take his gun. He had already slipped behind the wheel of Sara’s car. The key fob was inside, so he was able to turn on the vehicle by pressing the button. The battery turned on, but not the engine.
Vince laughed. “Stealing a hybrid. We’re owning the libs.”
Will forced his shaking hands to still. He flooded out the fear with rage. This could not happen. He would not let them hurt Sara. He would eat every bullet in every gun if that’s what it took to stop them.
“Careful, bro.” Clinton’s palm rested on the butt of his Glock.
“I’m a cop,” Will said. “You’re cops. This doesn’t have to go sideways.”
“We need a doctor,” Hank called across the chasm between Will and Sara. “No offense, brother. Wrong place, right time. Let’s go, lady. Get in the car.”
Hank tried to pull Sara up, but she wrenched away. “No.” Her voice was low, but she might as well have shouted the word. “I’m not going with you.”
“Lady, that wasn’t a gas main that exploded at the campus.” Hank glanced up at Will. “We just blew up dozens, maybe hundreds of people. Do you think I give a shit about having your blood on my hands?”
Will could see the anguish on Sara’s face. She was thinking about the hospitals, the sick patients, the children, the staff who had lost their lives.
Will did not care about any of them. All he cared about was Sara. These men were cold-blooded murderers. If they took her, she would be dead within a few hours. If she refused to go, she would be dead where she knelt on the ground.
“No,” Sara repeated. She had already made the same calculations as Will. Tears ran down her face. She didn’t sound scared anymore. She was clearly resigned to what was going to come next. “I won’t go with you. I won’t help you. You’ll have to shoot me.”
Will’s eyes burned, but he would not look away from her.