An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 42

Sequential shots from Stone's automatic had Reynolds running for cover, which from his angle consisted of a few trees behind his cabin. For an ace shot, the man acted like a coward in face-to-face combat.

A round clipped Reynolds' ankle, sprawling him into the woods. He got off another two shots as he rolled over. One hit my truck, the other grazed Stone's shoulder and made him jerk to the left while his right arm kept firing.

Stone walked us forward, continuing the shooting spree while Reynolds was down. Bullets pelted the man's body, making him buck with each hit. We fired till the chamber was empty.

By then, Reynolds's body settled at the base of the tree, his wide arms welcoming the snowfall, his Wall Street coat looking disjointed against the cradle of snow-laced branches.

“No, asshole. Nobody double-crosses me,” said Stone.

Wheezing like a blown-out tire, he pulled his gun away, leaving my hand throbbing, and bent over to catch his breath. Maybe he’d pass out from so many shots to his ribs in one night. Then Sam and I could escape. Or maybe I couldn't count on luck to save my ass anymore.

Sam lay unconscious, Stone was off-guard. Yet I just stood there, staring at Reynolds’ body. My throat constricted, so I couldn’t swallow. The gun had burned an imprint into my hand, the report still rang in my ears, and cordite filled my nostrils. I’d killed a man. Not Luke, not Raul or Petosa, or even Burke. But this man I had killed. And intended to kill.

Time was on pause. Snow blurred the edges around me, as I couldn’t take my eyes off my victim. He’d never hurt Sam again. I'd sacrificed to make sure. Finally, I walked toward the body and waited for a word, a breath, a twitch from the proud, undefeatable Reynolds. His chest was a colander of oozing holes, his blood shimmering under the cabin’s skim of light. The bastard was so arrogant he hadn't worn a vest.

“Trust me, you got him,” said Stone. “Now let’s go.”

I retrieved my keys from Reynolds’ pocket and released the alarm on my truck.

“Leave the truck,” Stone called, checking Sam's pulse. “I’ll call a bus for Sam, but you and I are leaving now.”

“I’m not leaving without my dog,” I answered.

While Stone busied himself planting his spent gun on Sam, I found Sam's .22, which Reynolds had dropped in the ferns. Small caliber. Just like a woman would use.

 Stone turned, registered his new opponent. Not even a tick of fear crossed his face. Rather, he looked bemused for a man who no longer held a gun in his hand.

“I don’t take orders from you,” I said, aiming the gun at his chest. The vest, I remembered, and lowered my aim

“Jules.” Sam’s voice was only a whisper, but I was so cold, so numb I couldn't listen.

The trees cracked.

Stone staggered backwards into the bumper of his Crown Vic. I'd aimed for his balls but hit somewhere near his kneecap. Another bullet belted his side. Another hit his thigh. Another buried itself somewhere into the engine, but the last one sent his arm swinging outward, though that shot I’d aimed for his head. At less than ten feet, my aim had improved.

His body slid down the hood of his car till his crotch caught on the license plate and he froze there, like embedded roadkill.Shadows emerged from behind Burke's SUV. Tall shadows with big sticks.

I aimed the gun, though I knew I was out of bullets.

James stepped into the light, a rifle crossing his arms. “We heard gunfire. Whoa.” He noted Stone’s body spread eagle on the hood.