Bruce sneered at him with teeth gritted. He swung with his free arm and clapped Caleb over his right ear, the concussive force making his head swim.
Caleb kneed him again, but Bruce backed up out of reach. The move pulled Caleb off balance, and he stumbled forward. Slammed into Bruce. Felt the knife hand moving toward his back, his strength unable to continually force it away from him.
Caleb pulled his head back and slammed it into Bruce’s forehead. Sure, he saw stars and nearly went down. But so would Bruce.
He shoved at the dirty FBI agent, pushing him away.
Spun around and looked for Bruce’s gun on the ground, but his momentum took him too far and he slammed his shoulder into the side of the car.
“You did me a favor burning that cabin.” Bruce sounded like he was laughing. “Kessler said destroy the evidence. That just leaves you.”
As long as he was the only target. “He can’t run forever, always covering up his tracks. Sooner or later someone will catch up.” He glanced over at Bruce and knew this man’s intention here was to kill him. “You won’t get away with it.”
“You’re the one who should listen to that.” Bruce rolled his shoulders.
Caleb spotted the knife on the ground between them.
“Accept what’s going to happen.”
“Destroying my career? Bet it chaps his hide I got away in Guatemala. Too bad, so sad. Harder to kill me than that.” Calebjust needed a moment, then he’d be able to start up the fight again. “Kessler isn’t going to get away with this.”
“Cause you have someone feeding you information? Unlikely that’s going to help, considering I’ve got it now.”
The package. Did he think that was the contents of the envelope?
Caleb nodded, as if what Bruce just said was correct. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. I’m all the evidence I need.”
“No one will ever believe anything you say. Once Kessler is done destroying your career you’ll have even less credibility than you have now.” Bruce shifted and pulled a gun from the back of his belt. Another weapon?
Caleb really needed to start carrying three…no four, on his person.
Bruce pointed the gun at him.
Caleb lifted his hands, seconds from death. The writing on the wall was clear.
Lord have mercy.There was so much he still wanted to do in his life. Marry. Have children. Spend years loving a wife and the kids they made, feeling how sweet life could be when things were good. Facing the hard stuff together, learning that it didn’t change God’s love for him.
If Bruce pulled that trigger, Caleb would never have any of those things.
A police siren cut through the air, followed by flashing blue and red lights. The white SUV the sheriff drove pulled over on the road behind Bruce. The FBI agent didn’t take his aim off Caleb, and Caleb didn’t lower his hands.
Sheriff Cartwright got out of his truck. “Special Agent Edwards! Looks like you found him.” The sheriff wandered over, one hand on the butt of his gun. “Caleb. How are you?”
Caleb stared at him, not sure what to make of the sheriff’s attempt at diffusing whatever tension there seemed to bebetween him and Bruce. The fact he wasn’t treating Caleb as the threat—at the expense of anything else—made him wonder what had been called in that drew him here responding to the civilian report.
“How about you stand down, Edwards. I’m sure we can resolve this situation peacefully. The Rourkes are reasonable people.” Sheriff Cartwright strode toward Bruce.
Caleb spotted the intention Bruce probably didn’t realize he telegraphed in his movements. The slight shift in his shoulders before he turned his upper body first, the rest of him following. How he brought the gun up.
“Don’t do it, Bruce.” Caleb started to move toward the sheriff, forcing Bruce to confront what he was about to do.
“It’s just collateral damage.” He brought the gun up and pointed it at Sheriff Cartwright.
The old law man was pretty quick on the draw, but not quick enough. The bullet from Bruce’s gun hit him high in the shoulder.
Sheriff Cartwright fired back, missing Bruce as he stumbled and his behind hit the asphalt in a heap. He cried out, blood on his shoulder.
Caleb spotted the knife, discarded on the ground where it had fallen.
