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Sam was nowhere.
Where are you? Don’t do this to me, Kennedy. Not now.
Jason ran into SAC Reynolds, who was directing agents to fan out through the streets surrounding the club. “This guy can not slip through our fingers,” Reynolds was shouting. “I don’t care what you have to do. Turn over every lid of every trash can. Check every doghouse, treehouse and outhouse.”
“Have you seen Sam?”
Reynolds’ face was streaked with soot. He looked at Jason without recognition for a moment, then said, “He went after Van der Beck.”
“Went where after Van der Beck?”
“Out through the kitchen into the back alley. Wait. West!”
Jason turned and started back the way he had come, ignoring Reynolds’ shout, “Special Agent West!”
He jogged down the length of the building, turned a corner, and found a crowd of firemen and cops.
No Sam.
I don’t believe it. It’s not true. If you let that evil little shit get the drop on you, I’ll kill you myself, Kennedy. A sound alarmingly like a sob caught in his throat.
Don’t be a dumbass, West. He’s fine. He’s like those Old West marshals. Too tough to die.
Kennedy, where the fuck are you?
Hand resting on his weapon, he continued down the alley, past Dumpsters and stacks of cardboard boxes and mountains of black trash bags. The smell of smoke permeated everything. He heard a faint sound—for an instant he thought it was the mewl of a cat—then a chill went down his spine. He began to run toward the cross street he could see at the end of the alley.
He skidded to a stop as a tall form came around the corner, dragging something along the ground with him.
Jason’s heart was still banging in his chest, but now it was with relief.
?
?I curse you with the power of the demon lords,” Terry Van der Beck was babbling through his tears. “You will face the wrath of—”
“Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo to you too,” Sam drawled.
“Sam?” Jason called. His voice was almost steady.
“Right here,” Sam called back. He sounded as cool and untroubled as if he’d gone for a stroll in the park.
Jason waited, working to control his breathing and his face as Sam dragged Van der Beck along like a sack of potatoes.
“Look what I found hiding under a bush,” Kennedy said.
“I see.”
Kennedy peered at him. “Okay, West?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Jason asked tersely, joining the procession. “Just because you shoved me out the door like a goddamned civilian while you—”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said mildly. “Let me just drop this off.”
And that was, in fact, about what he did. Hurled Van der Beck into a crowd of cops, who delightedly took possession of him. Cameras began clicking, flashes going off in bright white flashes. Sam led Jason by the arm away from the smoldering and soggy club. They ended up in the sheltering alcove doorway of the neighboring building.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
The weird thing was, as scared and angry and dying to speak his mind as Jason had been a few minutes earlier, he was suddenly just…tired.
