Caught by You. Kris Rafferty

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СКАЧАТЬ his revolver at Avery. “Get up, girlie.” Shaking, feeling weak with fear, she stood straight, only to discover Charlie was aiming his shotgun at Nat, the retired barber.

      “Now we got to do them all. Right?” Charlie said. “I’m not leaving witnesses.”

      Vincent moved so quickly Avery only saw a blur as he put his back against the nearest wall, then her heart sank when she saw him hold his FBI wallet credentials out to Charlie…and a Glock. Damn, handsome guy was a Fed. She should have known he was too good to be true.

      “Everyone needs to calm down.” Vincent kept all the men in sight, but his gun didn’t waver in its aim. It was leveled at Charlie. “Put the shotgun on the floor, Charlie. And you, Eric, right? Put that gun down. Gentle like…on the floor.”

      Charlie swung the shotgun toward Vincent, prompting Avery to bolt for the kitchen, just as Jim came back out, causing her to collide with him. He wrestled her into a bear hug from behind, aided by the sting of his blade at her throat.

      The shotgun discharged. She flinched, and saw Vincent tuck and roll, shooting his Glock.

      Charlie’d missed. Vincent hadn’t.

      Customers screamed, ducking, overturning tables and chairs. Charlie screamed, too, rolling on the floor—shoulder wound. Vincent must have hit an artery because Charlie was bleeding like a fountain. His brown-haired buddy, at his side, was pressing on his wound.

      Vincent’s Glock was aimed at Jim and Avery, and she appreciated the attention, because Jim was strong, high as a kite, and enjoying himself. The blade at her throat burned as it scraped skin.

      “Put the gun down, Mr. FBI man,” Eric said, “or Jim here is going to need a new shirt.”

      Vincent didn’t blink. Eyes on Avery, he looked as if he were struggling to read her mind, though Avery couldn’t have been more of an open book. She was scared, clutching Jim’s wrist, trying to keep the knife’s edge from biting deeper. Yet, all she saw was Vincent’s hesitation.

      “Shoot him,” she croaked.

      Jim head-butted her, but was kind enough to drop the knife an inch or two before doing it, so she saw stars instead of her maker. The stars didn’t last long, because he pressed the knife back to her neck, which served to clear her head quickly.

      “Blood thirsty, isn’t she?” Eric laughed. He peered at her uniform’s name tag. “Patty? Such a lovely name.” He indicated Vincent with a tilt of his head. “Patty, Mr. FBI man knows Jim will slice you ear to ear if he shoots. Won’t you, Jim?”

      “Looking forward to it.” Jim chuckled as a warm trickle of blood worked its way down her neck, to her collarbone, and all the while, Charlie continued to scream, writhing on the floor.

      “Shut up, Charlie!” Turning his back on Vincent, who still aimed the gun at Jim, Eric walked to Charlie’s side, picked up the discarded shotgun and cocked it. The brown-haired friend took one look at Eric’s face and hurried to move, slipping in blood. Then Eric aimed carefully, and shot Charlie in the head.

      The discharge was deafening, echoing off the diner’s walls, and at that range, Charlie’s head was…gone. It was messy, covering Eric and the surrounding area with blood spatter and brain. Customers’ screams were deafening.

      “Shut up!” Eric waved the shotgun, and everyone fell silent as if a switch had been flipped. Some people had their hands pressed to their mouths. Some averted their eyes. Most were slack-jawed, but all were silent. The diners. The robbers. Even Eric took a moment to recognize the brutality of his actions, but only Eric was smiling.

      He turned to Vincent. “If I’m willing to kill my cousin, what makes you think I’m not willing to kill all of you?” He aimed the shotgun toward the customers, not deigning to look where he aimed. “Or I might let you all go free.” He allowed the muzzle to point at the floor, shrugging in a playful manner. “Let’s chock this up to a bad day, folks. What do you say?” He aimed the shotgun at Vincent, and between that, and him being covered with a fair amount of his cousin’s remains, nobody put much credence to Eric’s negotiations. “Put the gun down. No one wants more bloodshed. Right, Jim?”

      Jim’s body shook with silent laughter, making the knife at Avery’s throat jiggle, scraping at her skin. She was no fool. She knew she’d be the first to die when things went south, and things were going south with the speed of a roller coaster on its first descent. Vincent needed to end this.

      “Shoot him,” she croaked.

      But Vincent didn’t shoot. He turned the gun so it’s flat side was parallel with the floor, doing as Eric asked. Then he bent his legs, lowering the Glock, his eyes now fixed on Eric and the shotgun.

      Avery’s heart sank. Why didn’t the Fed understand? These were killers; they wouldn’t be satisfied with one or two kills. Her, the Fed, Nat, the rest of the customers, they were all going to die like Sam, and Charlie, but…

      “Not today,” she said.

      Avery slid her fingers from Jim’s wrist to his thumb pad and yanked on it with all her strength, weakening his grip on the knife as she stomped his foot. Then her back scoop-kick connected with his groin, forcing Jim to fold forward and faceplant her oncoming skull. She heard the bridge of his nose break with a snap as she upward palm heeled his elbow, loosening his choke. It allowed her to slip free, lunge forward, and with a vicious pivot toward him, wrist-lock him and strip the knife from his grip.

      All in the space of two heartbeats.

      Eric stared at her, stunned. Jim roared with rage and pain. Vincent opened fire.

      It was confusing, and Avery lost track of who was winning, because Jim bent his elbow, breaking her hold. Avery lunged with the knife, aiming her slices at nonlethal targets, but the guy had no fear, and took all her damage without slowing his attack. He kept swinging, forcing her to parry, duck, back up and slice.

      Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eric hiding behind a table, aiming his shotgun at her and Jim, as Vincent lay down cover fire. But the Fed didn’t have a line of sight. Avery did, so with all her strength, she threw the knife at Eric. He flinched, and messed up both their aims. His shot went wild, and hit the mirror behind her as Avery’s knife pinned Eric’s hand to his shotgun’s stock.

      Eric howled just as Jim punched Avery’s jaw, sending her crashing backward onto the counter. Cups, plates, food were pushed to the floor, as she gained a front row seat to Vincent’s fight with the greasy-haired robber. In three moves, Vincent broke the man’s elbow, knee, and then jaw.

      Jim grabbed her hair and dragged her across the counter, clearing the surface, and sending everything to the floor. Scalp burning with pain, she whipped her fingers at his eyes, and connected with a slimy orb, buying her time to chamber a white “nurse” shoe, and kick his groin. The fight should have ended there. It usually ended there. But drugged up, Jim was still in it for the win. He rushed her. Avery hook punched his temple, stopping him cold. He dropped to the floor at her feet.

      Avery backed up against the wall, out of breath, her heart beating a painful mile a minute. A gunshot had her ducking, and when she peeked over the counter again, she saw Eric writhing on the ground, bleeding from the shoulder. Vincent caught her eye, his concern evident. Well, Avery was concerned, too. Jim still thrashed on the floor, clutching his watering eyes.

      Vincent ran to her, peering over the counter СКАЧАТЬ