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Minutes.
Half an hour?
Long enough that his hands had dried.
What are you waiting for?
The idea seemed to come from nowhere. A single thought taking form amidst all the swirling doubt and confusion.
If you let something happen to Kennedy, you’re going to shoot yourself anyway.
He listened to the words echo through his brain.
His breathing slowed, calmed. He stopped shaking. Yes. That was the truth. If Gervase opened fire on Kennedy, Jason would be out that door in a heartbeat. So why not move now when there was still a chance everyone could walk away alive?
It was almost comically simple when you looked at it that way. You don’t have a choice.
Jason took a deep breath, released it, loosened his shoulders, and stepped through the doorway.
His heart thundered in his ears. His vision seemed to blacken around the edges. Nothing happened.
He kept walking.
He could see the half-sunken buildings to his right, like broken puppets peeping out of the water. And to his left, the long and straggling line of derelict buildings he had searched with Kennedy only days earlier.
Where the hell should he go?
His boots were squelching with each step. It was physically painful not to reach for his weapon, not to at least let his hand rest on the butt of his pistol.
Where to take cover? Where to take shelter? Should he just keep heading out of town, making for his vehicle?
Uneasy awareness rippled down his spine. He was being watched. Every step of the way. That feeling was unmistakable. Like a weight on his shoulders.
He was not going to get as far as his car. He was not going to get as far as the edge of town.
Well, he had never claimed to be a profiler.
“All right,” Gervase called from behind him. “That’s far enough.”
Jason kept walking.
“Stop walking, Agent West.”
The little blue building to his left… Twin broken windows on either side of a front door half-hanging from the frame. Whatever it was, it was his only option now.
“Agent West!”
The dust kicked up beside his boot before he heard the shot. The sound seemed to blow apart the sky. Birds took flight from inside the crumbling buildings like scattershot.
He doesn’t want to shoot you in the back.
Jason had no idea where the thought came from, but he knew it was the truth. For whatever reason, Gervase balked at the idea of shooting him in the back.
He leaped for the porch, hitting the ground, rolling, and landing on his haunches. He crashed through the broken front door, knocking it the rest of the way off its hinges.
Jason scuttled over behind what looked like an old soda fountain bar. He pulled his weapon.
His heart was racing, but his mind was actually focused. Not calm, but not panicked. He had not been shot. He was under fire, but he still had his weapon, and he was trained to deal with this.
