They approached the car carefully. He had the sense that Misty was even farther behind him. Maybe he could jump past the car down into the Ditch. But then he remembered how far down it was; he’d break both his legs.
“Stop there,” she ordered. He complied.
“Get down on your knees.”
He didn’t move. There was nothing moving in the car, which he could see now was held in place by a lone steel pipe bent under its frame. The nose of the car was below street level, kept from falling all the way through into the Ditch by the pipe that was jammed up under its left front wheel well. No one was visible inside.
“Get down on your knees or I’ll wrap you. Then you’ll get to roll all the way to the van.”
He sighed and got down awkwardly onto his knees, his hands still held out in front of him. His arms were getting tired, but he was determined not to get his hands tack-welded to his body if he could help it. The firelight behind the building shell was dying out, and the street was slipping back into darkness. Misty was moving around him, staying at least ten feet away, the gun still pointed at his head while she examined the car. Then he thought he heard distant sirens.
Janet awoke into a red haze with a splitting headache. Getting tired of all these goddamned headaches, she thought irrelevantly, and then she tried to open her eyes. They were stuck together by some warm sticky substance, which she finally realized was her own blood. Her forehead was covered in blood, and she could feel it dripping down her chin and onto
her chest. She moved sideways and tried to wipe the blood out of her eyes.
She wiped the blood off her hands and felt around for her Sig, then I remembered it was in her holster. She looked over to see what had happened to Lynn, but the girl was not visible. Then she was, a crumpled I white-faced form scrunched into the space between the dashboard and ; the front seat. No, not white-faced—red-faced. She, too, had hit the windshield and was bleeding profusely from a scalp cut. Janet swore softly and tried to untangle herself from between the front seat and the steering wheel. Then she heard something outside, sat up very carefully, raised her head, and looked through the shattered windshield. There was just enough light coming from the fire to reveal Kreiss on his knees in the street, and a tall black figure with a gun moving slowly toward the car. She recognized that figure, and she moved her hand behind her to draw the Sig. Lynn moaned from under the dashboard, but she did not move.
“It’s your cavalry all right,” Misty said.
“She drives like she shoots, though. Nice going, Special Agent.”
Janet shook some more blood out of her eyes as she struggled to get more upright in the seat. She glared at Misty through the open side window.
She saw two Mistys, then three, then one, and blinked her eyes rapidly to clear her vision. She held the Sig just out of sight below the windowsill, her fingers sticky with blood. Misty was stepping closer, but her gun hand kept that Colt aimed right at Kreiss’s head as if it had its own fire-control system. Janet looked over at Kreiss. He appeared to have a ball of fabric wrapped around his hands, which he held out in front of him as if praying.
“We’ve come for Kreiss,” Janet said.
“We? We? Got a mouse in your pocket, there, Special Agent?” Misty was smiling wolfishly.
Janet swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. She thought she heard distant sirens, but she dismissed it as wishful thinking. Then she saw Misty’s expression change. Damn it, she did hear sirens.
“Here’s the deal,” Misty said.
“He’s going with me. You try to interfere, I’ll execute plan B.”
“Plan B?” Janet repeated stupidly.
Misty gave her a patient look but said nothing. Janet figured it out.
Janet tried to think of something to say, a move to make, but she was staring at an impasse here and she knew it. God, her head hurt. Her teeth hurt and her eyes hurt and she was feeling a little nauseous.
She felt the Sig in her hands, and wondered when she’d managed to draw it. Misty smiled as if reading her mind.
“Whatcha got there, Special Agent?” she said in a taunting voice.
“Got your gun, do you?” She stepped closer, her weapon still pointed unwaveringly at Kreiss. Janet definitely heard sirens now, but they were getting closer not nearly as fast as she wanted. Lynn groaned again behind her.
Kreiss looked over at the car; he had heard his daughter.
“Want to try it out, Special Agent?” Misty asked. She took a fighting stance, extending her arms, crouching, and gripping her weapon with both hands, still keeping it pointed at Kreiss. She was maybe six feet from the car, her body facing Janet but her head turned to watch Kreiss.
“Think you can actually shoot someone? Because I don’t think you can. I think I can nail you and then him in the time it’ll take you to work up your nerve, because you’re just another fucking amateur and always will be.
But, hey, Carter, I’m game if you are.”
Kreiss moved then, struggling to his feet. Janet felt her heart start to pound. Her mouth was now absolutely dry and there was a chemical taste in her throat. The Sig suddenly seemed to weigh twenty pounds, and she gripped the butt even harder.
This was the moment she had dreaded the whole time she had been in the Bureau.
“Get back on your fucking knees, Kreiss,” Misty hissed, steadying the gun on him but now watching Janet.
“No,” he said, starting to walk toward her. Janet realized what he was doing. He was creating a diversion, forcing Misty to split her concentration.
Giving Janet the shot. But only if she did it right now.
Time slowed down. A rivulet of blood ran into her right eye and she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. Misty saw Janet blink and smiled.
Kreiss kept coming.
“Watch this, baby face,” Misty said, snapping her eyes back to Kreiss for a second and then back to Janet.
“Let me show you how this is done.”
Janet fired right through the car door. She didn’t try to aim. She just stared at Misty and forced her hands to track that stare, willing the bullets to slash through the six feet of air between them and tear into that goddamned woman’s body. She fired until the Sig wouldn’t fire anymore, her fingers burning as the car’s insulation caught fire, watching with grim satisfaction as Misty staggered back from the hail of bullets that were tearing into her, still trying to bring the
Woodsman around and then dropping it with a wail that was cut off as the final round tore out her throat, spinning her around and down onto the concrete. Janet’s last three rounds hit the concrete wall behind, sending two ricochets howling down the ruined street and one back into her own car, inches from her knee.
When the noise finally stopped, Janet tried to focus on the scene in front of her. Misty was motionless on the ground. Janet turned her head to locate Kreiss. Oh God, oh God, Kreiss was down, too, face flat on the concrete, not moving, his face buried in the rubble.
She dropped the Sig by her foot and tried to get the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. Lynn was crying behind her now, making a whimpering little-girl sound that surprised Janet. She pushed herself sideways, getting more blood in her face, wiping it off on the seat back, and then started climbing through the window feet first She felt the car move then, swaying as she changed position. She froze, then resumed her movements, forcing her legs and then her hips out the window, straining her back, and then dropping out of the car onto—nothing.
She yelped, grabbed the blood-slick windowsill, and hung there for a moment while the car rocked dangerously on the single pipe holding it over the hole. She heard the end of the pipe grinding ominously. She climbed partially back into the car, got another faceful of blood, and then blindly kicked out with her legs until her feet hit solid ground. She arched her back, making a bridge of her body between the rim of the hole and the car, and then stood up, windmilling her arms until she could get her balance.