Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(88)

“Here?” Jasper looked at him.

Sean checked his phone again. Callie had sent him a satellite map of the area, and Sean checked it against the nearby landmarks.

“The third gate past the low-water crossing. This has to be it.” Sean pushed open his door and looked at Jasper. “No noise.”

They got out and looked around. Sean checked the sky, but still no sign of the police chopper that was supposedly combing the area. Several Marshall County sheriff’s deputies were supposedly on the way, too.

Sean went around to the back and opened the trunk.

“Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” Jasper asked.

“You can, but I’m going in.”

“I am, too, then.”

“Your call.”

Sean reached into the trunk and grabbed the two long guns, a Remington 870 and a Ruger Mini-14 rifle.

“Which do you want?” Sean asked.

“I’m better with the Ruger.”

Sean handed Jasper the rifle and took the shotgun for himself, along with a box of shells. Jasper combed through the trunk. He found a box of bullets and stuffed some in his pocket. Sean grabbed the Kevlar vest and handed it to him.

“You have it,” Jasper said.

“No.”

“Really, man.” Jasper tried to hand it back, but Sean wouldn’t take it.

“I outrank you. Put the damn thing on.”

Jasper shook his head and pulled the vest on, tightening the Velcro straps as he glanced around.

“Remember the layout we talked about,” Sean said. “There’s only one road in. I’ll keep to the western property line and circle around to the house. I expect they’ll either be there or by this shed near the pond.” Sean tapped the satellite map on his phone. “You come from the north, but keep off the road and try to stay out of sight.”

“Roger that.”

The distant hum of an engine had them both turning toward the open gate. Someone was on the move.

“Listen to me.” Sean clasped Jasper’s shoulder. “To Mahoney, prison with a bunch of convicts is a fate worse than death. You understand? He’s going to feel cornered and desperate when he realizes we’re here.”

“I got it.”

“Be careful.” Sean gripped Jasper’s shoulder. “And don’t hesitate.”

? ? ?

Brooke lay on her stomach in the truck bed beside Cameron as they bounced along the road, picking up speed. Where was Mahoney taking them?

“Cameron,” she yelled over the noise.

He turned to face her, and he was crying. Brooke squirmed closer to him and used her bound hands to check his bindings. His zip cuffs looked even tighter than hers. But at least their feet were free.

She glanced at the back window of the truck cab to make sure Mahoney wasn’t watching, but his attention was on driving.

“Cameron, I’m going to create a distraction, okay? When I signal you, you need to run for cover. Did you see all those scrubby-looking trees and bushes? Run there. Get as far away as you can and then stay hidden.”

The truck jerked to a halt. Mahoney jumped out. Then the tailgate opened with a squeak and he grabbed Brooke by the ankles. She scrambled out of the truck, landing hard on her tailbone. Mahoney seized her arm and hauled her to her feet, then grabbed Cameron by the ankles.

Brooke glanced around frantically. Nearby was a large pond surrounded by grass on three sides. The nearest tree cover was at least thirty yards away.

“Move!” Mahoney shoved her, and she tripped forward. He shoved her again, and she felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.

Her pulse raced as she struggled to formulate a plan. A weathered wooden pier stretched out over the water, and a small metal skiff was tied on the shore beside it.

She glanced at Cameron, then Mahoney. “You won’t get away with this.”

Another shove. “Shut up.” Mahoney pointed the shotgun barrel at the ground beside a wooden shed. “Sit down.”

Cameron sat. Brooke lowered herself into a crouch, but Mahoney poked her shoulder with the gun, pushing her off-balance and onto her butt.

He tromped across the grass to the shed, which evidently had a door facing the water. She heard what sounded like a padlock rattling as she glanced around. She noticed a rock on the ground in front of her and snatched it up.

Mahoney reappeared with yet another black duffel bag, which he dropped beside the pickup.

“You think you’re so smart?” Brooke yelled. “They will come after you! Everyone will. You’re a disgrace to the justice system. You’re an embarrassment. Every law enforcement officer in the state will track you to the ends of the earth.”

He returned to the shed, and Brooke glanced at Cameron. She lifted her bound hands, showing him the rock. He nodded.

Brooke waited, trying to time the moment perfectly. She glanced at Cameron, who was perched on the balls of his feet now, ready to spring.

Mahoney returned to the truck, this time carrying a metal toolbox, which he heaved into the truck bed. The moment his back was turned, Brooke lifted her arms over her head and hummed the rock at the metal boat.

Ping!

Mahoney turned and jerked his gun up. He frowned in the direction of the noise and walked slowly toward it, pumping the shotgun with a loud sch-schick. Brooke’s heart hammered in her chest as he moved past her and approached the boat. One step, two, three.