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SEVENTEEN
Impressed with her ingenuity, Beth smiled inwardly. She’d managed to set the groundwork to get into the rat’s nest that was the Mischief Sheriff’s Department. Styles wasn’t an easy nut to crack. She’d expected him to question her a little closer about her reasons to want to go to Mischief. As she waited for her dessert to arrive, she observed him, wondering if his silence meant he was running her plan through his mind, evaluating her reasons, but then he didn’t think like she did. His thought processes were normal, whereas it had been necessary for her to be aware of everyone around her. She needed to dissect people’s thoughts and actions to survive, and she did these calculations in nanoseconds. When he looked up at her, she smiled at him. His eyes held no hint of concern. He was just enjoying his pie. “Have you had any more thoughts about me looking for your sister?”
“Nope.” Styles pushed his plate away and reached for his coffee. “It’s a big step to take, and I’m not quite ready for it yet. I’ll let you know when I am.”
Nodding, Beth sipped her coffee. “I hope that facial-recognition software has picked up someone, or better still, a few people. I know the local sheriffs are searching for suspects by linking people to different occupations, but that idea is hit andmiss. We have a general idea of his height, weight, and build. If we can add an occupation or even a hobby that takes him to the towns on the days of the murders, we’ll have him.” She shrugged. “Or I’ll risk it and go undercover. We could both go into the convenience store, as in one at a time, and linger. He’s not going to draw down on both of us before we’ll be able to take him down because we’ll be expecting it. The moment he walks into the store, we’ll be on him.”
“Let’s try the conventional approach first.” Styles dug into his pie and sighed. A look of absolute bliss crossed his face. “First, we need suspects, interviews, and hopefully we’ll make an arrest before we need to risk our lives.”
They left TJ’s Bar and Grill and followed Bear along the sidewalk, his mouth grinning around a large bone and his tail wagging back and forth. They were just about to cross the road to go to the office when a woman came screaming out of the general store. “What is it?”
“Call the sheriff.” She pointed wildly behind her. “There’s a man in there. He has my little girl and says he’ll kill her if the clerk doesn’t empty the cash register.”
Time was of the essence and Beth grabbed a passerby. “Call 911. Tell the sheriff there’s a gunman in the general store and the FBI is on scene.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The stranger pulled out his phone.
“Stay here. We’ll get your daughter.” Styles looked at the woman and then turned to Beth. “Take the back. I’ll go in the front. I’ll give you time to enter, and then it’s showtime. When you hear the store bell, come out.” He pulled his weapon. “Bear. Stay.” He took off at a run.
Beth ran after him, pulling her weapon from the shoulder holster. She dashed down the alleyway. The back door of the general store stood wide open, and ahead she could make out a typical storage room. It was empty and she dashed inside.Something caught her across the throat and her legs shot out from under her. Her weapon spun across the floor. Gasping for air, she tried to get to her feet, but the floor was covered in liquid detergent. She slipped and turned to see a man staring down at her with an evil grin on his face. In one hand, he carried a baseball bat. He stood outside the slick of slippery soap and swung at her, but she ducked away, unable to avoid a vicious jab to her ribs that sent her sliding across the room.
Scrambling on hands and knees, she looked around for anything to use as a weapon. With the ground so slippery, standing and fighting hand-to-hand would be useless. Her gun had slid under a bank of metal shelves and was out of reach. She slithered slowly to one side to peer into the store, hoping to see Styles and warn him. The man holding a gun to a small girl’s head was clearly visible. The child was crying fitfully, tears streaming down its chubby cheeks. The store bell rang as the door opened and Beth held her breath. Styles would be expecting her to back him up.
“FBI. Drop the gun and put down the kid.” Styles sounded calm as usual. “My weapon will take your head clean off your shoulders. I don’t give second chances.”
“I’ll shoot the kid, and everyone will blame you.” The man laughed. “You don’t figure I’m alone, do you?” He indicated with his chin toward the back room. “Your girlfriend is in big trouble. She’s on her knees where she belongs.” His face screwed up. “I want you to know how it feels to lose someone. You figure you’re the law in town, beating up on innocent folk. Someone needs to take you down.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Styles shrugged nonchalantly. “If you take her out, the bureau will just send me another one. The FBI has plenty of agents.” He barked a laugh. “She’s a pain in my butt, and I’ll be glad to see the back of her.”
“We’ll see about that.” The man waved the clerk forward. “Stand here in front of me and hold the kid. Move and I’ll kill both of you. He ain’t going to shoot me, with the kid and you between us.” He laughed. “Your girlfriend might not be so lucky. She’s already down and she ain’t leaving here alive. My friend will mess her up real bad.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Styles was edging closer. “She’s an FBI agent, same as me. Right now, you and your buddy are in deep shit. Put down your weapon and we’ll talk about what your problem is with me. So far, what’s happened here, I can forget about.”
Beth stared at the man. “You heard him. Stop now and we’ll discuss your problem with Agent Styles.”
“I’ll have me some fun first.” The man swung the bat at her, again catching her across the back.
Gritting her teeth, Beth grabbed the legs of a set of shelves stacked with cans of fruit and vegetables and pulled herself closer. Her attacker was not risking slipping in the liquid soap and had one hand wrapped around a post for support. The best he could do was prod her legs as she moved. Getting into a sitting position, she grabbed the shelves and pulled to her feet. “Now what do you plan to do, huh?” She shook her head. “The soap idea was pretty lame.”
When he moved to look at his friend, she noticed a pistol stuck in the back of his pants. The situation had suddenly gotten serious. Without a second thought, she grabbed a can of peas, took aim, and hit him full on the back of the head. With a grunt, he hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Not wasting any time, she grabbed his legs and slid him toward her in the soap. She took his weapon, checked the load, and pushed it into her holster. Using the shelves to keep her balance, she maneuvered to the edge of the soap and stepped onto industrial carpet. She wiped her feet and drew the weapon. Needing to get into Styles’ line ofsight, she moved across the doorway into the store. He’d seen her. Although his eyes hadn’t moved, he’d blinked twice.
Heart thundering, she pressed her back against the wall and nodded to him. The next moment Styles moved closer, engaging the perpetrator in conversation, and she edged silently behind the counter, weapon held out in front of her with both hands. The clerk’s attention was fixed on Styles and only the little girl noticed Beth and let out a wail. She’d gotten within a foot of the perpetrator, holding her weapon steady, but didn’t dare say a word. His gun was still aimed at the child.
“My partner has her weapon aimed at your head. Your friend is down.” Styles moved into the open and Beth could see the massive barrel of his gun. “Put down your weapon. Now!”
If Styles fired, his bullet would go through the clerk and the man and likely Beth as well, but she didn’t move. Beth looked at the little girl and smiled. Keeping her voice low and calm, she aimed the gun at the man’s head. “I can’t miss at this range. Put down your weapon or I’ll kill you before you get off a shot.”
“Don’t threaten me, woman.” The man’s finger dropped to the trigger.
Confident, Beth fired and shot the pistol out of his hand. The bullet traveled through the man’s hand and ricocheted, missing Styles by six inches and exploding a sack of flour. As the man screamed and fell to his knees clutching his hand, she grabbed the child and pushed her into the arms of a middle-aged man pressed against the wall beside a display of fish hooks, before turning back to assist Styles.
A siren wailed in the distance. Beth rushed forward but Styles already had the perpetrator face down on the floor and had secured him with zip ties. She sat the shaken clerk down in a chair behind the counter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The clerk sighed. “My ears are ringing, something bad.” He pushed a finger in his ear and looked at her. “You don’t look so good.”
“No, you don’t.” Styles frowned. “What happened? You’re soaked through, bruised, and have something dripping off of your hair. You smell good though.” He raised both eyebrows leaned forward, sniffed, and smiled. “Cherry blossom.”
His comments on her being disposable and being a pain in his butt had hurt her feelings, but she just shrugged it off. Acting nonchalant usually worked when co-workers made unpleasant comments about her and she’d heard many, but usually when her back was turned. She shouldn’t care. Psychopaths didn’t care about anything—butshedid. It would be better if he didn’t know his comments had stung. She lifted her chin. “There’s a guy out cold in the back. He knocked me over when I ran through the door. I slipped on some soap and dropped my gun. It went under the shelves. I couldn’t get up and he attacked me with a baseball bat. I threw a can of peas at him and knocked him out and then came out to help you.” She looked up at him. “I’ll watch this guy if you can secure the other one.”
