JD
Fucking rain.
Working outdoors most of the time, I’m used to all kinds of weather, but I like rain least.
It started when I was backing up the trailer to the pinto’s holding pen at the rodeo grounds. The place was quiet, the only people I encountered were security at the gate, and one of Mackey’s hands walking through the stockyard. Whoever else is staying on the grounds must’ve retreated to the trailers in the back.
At first it was just a few drops as I was getting out of the truck, but that soon turned into a fucking monsoon.
Lowering the tailgate of the trailer, I rushed to get the horse out of the pen. Water was sluicing down the ramp and the first bolt of lightning struck, as I was trying to lead the horse into the back. She spooked and one of her hooves slipped on the slick surface. When she reared back, she almost ripped the lead from my hand.
After that, she hadn’t been too keen on repeating the experience, and it took me forever to get her into the trailer. I ended up soaked; not a dry fucking stitch left on my body. Everything is stuck to my skin, and I can’t wait to get out of these clothes and into the shower.
It’s still raining when I get to Janey’s place, but at least it’s no longer coming down in sheets. The sky doesn’t appear quite as black anymore as the thunderstorm slowly moves out of the region. Driving past, I notice there are no lights on in the house and I wonder if Janey is sleeping. If so, she must be dead to the world to be able to sleep through a storm like this. I should check on her, but first I’m going to unload this horse.
“Almost done, girl.” I reach out and scratch Ginger’s head. She’s been patiently waiting in my truck. “I’ll feed you as soon as we get inside.”
She has no trouble understanding those words, her tail tapping out a happy rhythm on the old leather seat.
I’m surprised Jackson hasn’t shown up yet either, but when I pull around the front of the barn, his truck is parked outside.
What the hell is he doing over here?
I stop when the back of the trailer is lined up with the barn door. I’m about to get out when my phone rings in my pocket.
“Move your fucking truck,” Jackson hisses when I answer his call.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s trouble,” he whispers. “Keep coming this way, toward me. Park it here, right in front.”
My eyes scan the building toward the clinic, where I finally catch a glimpse of Jackson. He’s no more than a dark shadow pressed to the right side of the clinic’s front entrance. I have no trouble recognizing the shape of the rifle in his hand though, and it feels like a punch in the stomach.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and immediately put the truck in drive, moving slowly forward until the trailer is directly in front of the clinic. I’m not sure what the fuck is going on, or what Jackson is up to, but I’m not about to question the urgency in his voice.
Turning off the engine, I slip out of the truck, reaching for my gun the moment my boots hit the ground.
“What the fuck is going on?” I whisper as I sidle up beside Jackson, my back pressed against the wall.
“Drove up, knocked and rang the bell at the house. No answer. Then I saw a faint light coming from the barn so I figured someone was up here,” he explains. “I drove up and got out of the truck when I heard Doc start yelling inside. Something about a gun. Next thing I know a fucking bullet rips through the barn door. Retreated to the truck, grabbed my rifle, and took shelter here. That’s when I saw you coming up the driveway.”
“Janey is in there?”
“Sounds like it. And clearly, she’s not alone.”
The urge to barge through those doors, guns blazing, is great, but I resist. It’s a sure way to get Janey hurt, if she isn’t already. We need to know what we’re dealing with first.
“Any sign of the FBI agents?”
At least one of them should be here manning their command center.
“Haven’t actually seen anyone.”
As I move to the clinic’s front window to peer inside, I can hear Ginger’s high-pitched whines from the truck behind me. She must sense something is going on.
The clinic is dark, none of the faint light in the barn is filtering through inside, which would mean the connecting door is closed. That may be a good thing. If we can sneak in through the clinic, we may be able to catch whoever is in there by surprise.
I try the front door, but it’s locked. However, I walked right in the back door when I came by for the trailer earlier. Hopefully it’s still unlocked, otherwise, I may have to put some of my ill-gotten lock-picking skills to use. A leftover of quietly rebellious teenage years.
“Do you have Stephanie Kramer’s number?” I ask Jackson.
He shakes his head sharply, so I hand him my phone.
“I need you to stay here, keep an eye on the front, and call her. She’s in my contacts. If you can’t get through to her, call Ewing.”
“And what are you gonna do?”
I cock my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna get us inside.”
Just a few minutes have passed since I drove up, but every minute Janey is in there with the gunman—possibly getting hurt or worse—is one too many. So, without wasting any more time, I duck around the corner of the building and hoof it to the back.
Only to trip over a leg.
I manage to keep my balance, but immediately crouch down to check on the body attached. It’s Agent Wilcox and he’s bleeding from his head. I’m not sure whether it’s from a bullet wound or blunt force trauma. I press my fingertips to the side of his neck where I find a pulse, but his breathing is very shallow.
“Hang in there, buddy,” I whisper, tapping his shoulder in case he’s aware of me. “Help is on the way.”
I feel bad leaving him, but there isn’t anything I can do for him. Neutralizing the threat has to be my priority, otherwise medical help won’t even be able to get to him. Besides, I have to get to Janey before it’s too late.
Of course, the rain picks this moment to start coming down hard again and I’m dripping when I get to the back door. When I find it unlocked, I let out a big breath of relief. I very slowly open it, listening for any squeaks. As soon as I fit through the opening, I slip inside. I take off my boots to minimize noise, and use one of them to keep the door propped open.
I wait for a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior before I start moving toward the front of the clinic. As I tiptoe past the connecting door, my ears are pricked for any sounds coming from inside the barn, but I have a hard time hearing anything over the heavy rain hitting the roof.
Jackson is already waiting when I carefully turn the lock on the front door and step outside.
“Found the agent around the side. He’s injured and unconscious,” I fill him in.
“Shit. Kramer is on her way,” Jackson shares. “But she was gonna put a call in to the sheriff because she’s about twenty-five minutes out.”
Hopefully he has someone closer. Plus, whenever the sheriff’s office gets called out to a situation that involves gunfire, EMTs are generally on their heels. But, we’re about ten minutes from town, and I’m not about to wait around.
I have to get Janey out of there.
Janey
Mackey is losing whatever was left of his marbles.
He’s been mumbling to himself, pacing back and forth in the empty stall ever since he pulled me in here.
I had no choice, I had to warn JD when I heard him walking up to the barn door, or he would’ve walked straight into the barrel of Mackey’s gun. I did not expect Mackey to shoot right through the damn door, but I jumped on the momentary distraction to try and wrestle the gun away from him.
Unfortunately, I ended up getting pistol-whipped again, this time hard enough to knock me out. Not for long, probably no more than a minute or two, but it was enough to rattle my brain. It took me a moment to realize he was dragging me into the stall next to Red’s.
I decided I was probably better off feigning to still be out. As long as I’m unconscious—or at least he thinks I am—I can’t tell him where the drugs are. I’ve been pretending, staying very quiet while he’s mostly talking to himself, occasionally kicking me in the stomach or the legs in frustration.
I’m determined to be tough and grind my teeth to keep from crying out, hoping I’m buying time. Enough time for help to show up, provided that bullet didn’t hit JD, preventing him from calling for backup.
“…I’m a fucking dead man. I’m a dead man. This was supposed to be my retirement,” he rambles on under his breath. “Except he’s not gonna pay me, he’s gonna fucking kill me piece by piece. If the FBI doesn’t shoot me first. I wasn’t thinking, but when that bitch started yelling, I reacted. Now I’m in big fucking trouble—dumbass—shooting at the feds. I’m a dead man. And if not for this fucking cunt poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, I’d be home free. If only he had her under control the way he was supposed to.”
I bite my tongue to keep from yelling out, as his boot connects with my kidney, but a grunt escapes me anyway. Immediately the barrel of his gun is shoved in my ear.
“Good…you’re awake. I need them to hear you scream.”
Clenching my jaw, I’m determined not to make a sound. He may think it’s the feds outside and maybe has some deluded idea he can use me as a bargaining chip for the drugs, but I know better. I have no doubt the moment I scream, JD will come barreling in here, and when Mackey realizes it’s not the FBI out there, he will shoot JD.
I don’t think the man is functioning on all cylinders if he thinks the agents are just going to hand over those packages. He’s desperate, and a desperate man is a dangerous one.
The next moment he removes the gun from my ear. I jerk at the deafening bang too close to my head, but it’s not until a second later I feel the hot burn of the bullet entering my leg.
Then I scream.
JD
I’m waiting by the connecting door, ready to barge in as soon as Jackson gets in position.
The plan is for me to draw the shooter’s attention, hopefully giving Jackson a clear target from the barn door. He was a sniper before his discharge from the Army, and is the most accurate shot.
I’ve been picturing the layout of the barn, anticipating where they might be and how I might find cover in case Jackson doesn’t have a good visual.
But as soon as I hear the man start talking inside, I realize time is running out.
The moment I hear the shot, I reach for the door. It’s followed by Janey’s scream, and I’m already busting through.
I’m moving on blind faith my teammate is in the right place, because there is nothing holding me back.
Ignoring the small hallway to my right I’d thought of potentially using as cover, I’m banking on the element of surprise as I head straight for the direction of the sound.
I’m vaguely aware of Red, kicking the boards of his stall in distress, and to my left I see Jackson coming in through the barn door in my peripheral view, his rifle at the ready.
He’s taking aim at the last stall on the right side, where the right shoulder and arm of a man are just visible. I just catch the glint off the gun when it goes off, the bullet shooting splinters off a post right next to me.
The sharp crack of Jackson’s rifle is loud in the enclosed space, and the man is already down before I make it to the stall.
Inside I find Mackey on the ground, clutching his shoulder, and behind him I see Janey, her blue eyes blinking wide as blood runs down her face.
Enraged, I kick the gun Mackey dropped on the ground out of reach, before hauling back and aiming my boot for his injured shoulder, making him howl in pain. Then I step over him and crouch next to Janey.
That’s when I notice the blood streaming from her leg.