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They came to a skidding halt. Jackson’s heart was in his throat. Diaz had nothing to lose now; he’d shoot her regardless of what they did next. Jackson just needed to create a distraction to give him enough time to pull her behind him. His weapon was raised, but Jackson wasn’t certain who would win this shootout.
Will stepped out from behind the machinery, his weapon raised, and Jackson’s eyes darted to him. “Don’t kill her yet, Diaz. She still has information you need,” Will said as he took another step forward, then another as he moved toward Diaz. But Will didn’t lower his weapon, which was still raised at Jackson.
“He’s a—” Anna’s voice was cut off by the bullet that almost hit their feet.
She gripped his hand and Jackson used the distraction to pull her behind him.
“She’s still useful,” Will repeated. “Jackson, it’s over. Lower your weapon, or I’ll kill you both.”
Jackson’s heart stammered. He’d been briefed on Will’s role when he’d taken on this case. He’d thought Will was crazy playing a double-agent, given the risks it posed, and Jackson had raised his own concerns to John that Will could turn on them at any time.
And as they stood face-to-face, Jackson wasn’t sure why Will’s weapon was pointed at his chest.
This was the man he’d sat on surveillance with, who he’d gone to church with. Would Will really turn on him?
Jackson’s eyes darted between Diaz’s wild eyes and Will’s steady, warning eyes.
He weighed his options, which were all but none.
“Don’t trust him!” Anna said in a hushed, urgent whisper.
But Jackson did. He’d always had a connection with Will, right from the start of their time working together, and his instincts told him Will had a plan.
Jackson slowly began to lower his weapon.
Diaz smirked.
Will swung his arm, smashing his pistol into Diaz’s head.
Jackson raised his weapon, shooting Diaz twice in the shoulder.
“Go!” Will said. “I’ll sort him out, go!”
Jackson ran past him with Anna’s hand firmly in his. He looked over his shoulder, saw Will bending over Diaz cuffing him, and Anna looking at them both.
“You weren’t the only one to fool Diaz—Will has been feeding information to him for over a year. Diaz thought he’d outsmarted the Feds, but they’ve been playing him all along,” Jackson said. “Come on!” He tugged her hand as he reached for the door handle.
“Agent 227, south exit,” Jackson said.
“Copy. Exit, we’re holding fire.”
He grunted as he pushed open the heavy metal doors to a sea of blue and red flashing lights. “Hands up!” he said to Anna as he raised his own, dropping his weapon.
Her head snapped side to side, her eyes darting around.
“Anna!” he said, capturing her attention. When she looked at him, he gave her a reassuring nod. “Trust me, you’re going to be okay. Hands up.Please.”
She looked at him, searching his eyes, barely breathing.
He nodded again and she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and held up her hands.
Officers rushed toward them.
“She stays with me. Find John Peterson, tell him Jackson needs to speak to him—and she needs a medic. Now,” Jackson said.
The officer radioed it in, patted them down for weapons, then led them to the medics.
“Sit,” he said, helping her into the van. Then he took a step back, out of the way.
