Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(48)

“The next time won’t be a warning, motherf*cker,” Zoelner growled. “It’ll be a bullet in your brainpan.” Al-Rahma held his wounded head and whispered something foul-sounding in Arabic. Zoelner must have understood it because he barked out a laugh. “Not even on your best day, you piece of shit,” he said.

As for Luke Winterfield? He proved something Penni already knew. That he was a filthy, stinking, no-good coward. Because he didn’t even attempt to put up a fight or run away. He simply raised his hands over his head and hissed a nasty word that translated through the mics Dan and Zoelner were wearing. Not that she would have wanted him to put up a fight, of course. Not with Dan on the receiving end of any resistance. But still…it was all a little anticlimactic.

“Luke Winterfield,” Dan growled. “Under the authority granted to me by the government of the United States of America, I hereby inform you that you’re totally f*cked. You made a choice to sell out your country and now you’re gonna face the consequences. Reap the whirlwind, *.”

“Nice,” Zoelner said. “Have you been holding on to that one for a while?”

“Came up with it in Bogotá,” Dan admitted, a definite grin in his tone.

“I like it.”

“Thought you might.”

“Really though,” Zoelner went on, “I was expecting some quote from Ted Nugent or Eminem.”

“I can come up with my own material, you know,” Dan insisted. “It’s just I like to give credit to my hometown whenever I can. To make up for the place getting such a bad rap.”

“Maybe it’s because so much bad rap has come out of there,” Zoelner mused. “Insane Clown Posse comes to mind.”

“Hey,” Dan whispered urgently, “don’t say that too loud. You’ll have groups of juggalos beating down your door.”

Zoelner snorted.

“And just so you know,” Dan went on, “what I’ve learned out of this lifetime is you should be proud of where you come from.”

“I’m waiting…”

“Kid Rock said that. Via his Twitter account.”

“And there it is.”

Penni wanted to scream. Were they really standing there shooting the shit after finally catching Winterfield? Acting like it was no biggie that they’d just interrupted a deal with a member of the AQAP? Pretending like there was nothing at all urgent about the situation? I mean, really?

Chelsea must have been having similar difficulties because she piped up with, “Are we doing this or what? I’m still waiting for the signal to come get you guys.”

“Roger that, Chels,” Dan said. “We’re r—”

Boom!

A shot rang out over the square, making Penni jump at the same time al-Rahma’s head erupted like a melon loaded with firecrackers. Blood sprayed in a terrible arc, shining black in the dim light cast by the nearby street lamps.

What the hell? Where did that—

Boom!

Another shot blasted through the cold air, the round ranging wide, hitting the middle tier on the fountain and shattering the ceramic. Penni heard the crash of the broken pieces into the water in the base of the fountain at the same time Dan yelled, “Down! Down! Get down!”

Boom!

A third shot grazed Winterfield’s arm before Dan jerked him to the ground. Winterfield’s scream of agony echoed around the plaza. That, combined with the unmistakable sound of gunfire, had lights flashing on in two of the second-story apartments up the street to Penni’s right. Every dog within ten blocks started barking and howling and setting up a terrible ruckus.

She noticed all this as an aside since every part of her was focused on the spot where she’d seen a muzzle flash. She ran through the four rules of marksmanship. Rule one: steady position. Check. Her right forearm was still braced solidly against the post. Rule two: aim. Check. Check. She lined up the Ruger’s three-dot sight until the spot she thought she saw the muzzle flash was dead center. Rule three: control breath. Triple check. She punched all the air from her lungs. Rule four: Squeeze trigger…

Bam! Bam! Bam! The Ruger kicked like a mule in her hand as she lit up the dark spot catty-corner to her across the square. She could hear Winterfield bellowing like a wounded bull and Dan and Zoelner yelling orders to each other, to Chelsea, and to her. But she’d stopped comprehending English, concentrating entirely on laying down cover fire.

Time slowed to a crawl. Her heart was a steady, deliberate lub-dub. Her breathing was a calculated inhale and exhale between rounds. She counted off her shots to keep track of how many bullets remained in her clip. Four, five…

The column she was braced against took a round. Then another. The noise of the lead projectiles burying themselves in the thick post seemed oddly muted. And then she realized that was because her heart wasn’t a steady lub-dub; it was a dull roar between her ears. Her breathing wasn’t a calculated inhale and exhale; she was panting so loudly she sounded like she was auditioning for the role of Darth Vader. A chunk of concrete flew off, grazing her face, and she was slingshotted out of the momentary time warp.

Sonofa—

Now nothing was happening in slow motion. The whole world seemed to be spinning out of control, thrust into a chaotic twirl as she adjusted her position, aimed for the muzzle flashes, and let loose with another round of return fire. The Ruger belched .45-caliber bullets at a pulse-pounding rate, perfuming the air with the scent of cordite, slinging spent shell casings off to Penni’s right, and making the muscles in her wrist and hand burn from exertion.