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The side doors flew open. Beckett appeared on the driver’s side of the truck and another man on the passenger’s side. In front of the other man was Francine, with a pistol against her head.
Beckett screamed, “You’re gonna get her and you killed.”
“You’re not leaving here with her. Then she’s dead for sure.”
“She’s dead now,” called out the other man.
“The cops will be here any second,” said Gibson.
“And we got two guns and you got one,” said Beckett. “So this is not ending well for you.”
“Just like it won’t for you,” Gibson snapped, the rain streaming down her face.
A massive bolt of lightning hit nearby, and struck a tree. That explosion, combined with an unholy crack of thunder, made them all look at the now-flaming tree about a hundred yards away.
The man holding Francine grunted as someone hit him, knocking him down.
Gibson saw this and called out, “Run, Francine.”
Francine sprinted away as the man rose and fired several shots in her direction before he was pounced on again by his assailant. This person pounded the man’s face until he fell limp.
Beckett, seeing what was happening, tried to run over to help his partner, but Gibson shot the man in the leg and dropped him in the dirt, where he lay screaming and holding his wounded limb.
Gibson ran forward and scooped up his gun where it had fallen. She held up a finger. “You move one inch, I finish the job.”
Right as Gibson turned to run over to the other man, Beckett slipped a second gun from a side holster. He was about to fire when a muzzle was placed against his head.
FBI Special Agent Cary Pinker took the gun and said simply, “You’re under arrest.”
Gibson turned, saw what had just happened, and said, “Thanks for having my back.”
“No, thankyou. I’ve been after this SOB for a long time.”
Gibson hustled over to the other side of the truck to find Doug Langhorne hovering over the unconscious man. Gibson shone her light on the man’s battered face.
“Who is he?” she asked.
His chest heaving and his clothes soaked through by the rain, Doug said, “Rochelle’s father, Darren Enders.”
When they heard the scream, they both turned and ran toward it.
They stopped near the tree line, where they saw Francine standing over something on the ground.
“Rochelle!” cried out Doug. He pushed past his sister and knelt next to Rochelle, who had a bloody bullet wound dead center of her chest. Right as Doug gripped her hand, she opened her eyes, saw him, mumbled something, and died.
Gibson looked in disbelief at Francine and then back where Darren Enders lay unconscious. “When he fired at you—”
“—he hit Rochelle,” said Francine, swaying on her feet.
Gibson managed to catch the woman right as she fainted.
CHAPTER82
THE DEAD HAD BEEN COLLECTED.The crime scene was still being processed. Witness statements had been gathered. The wounded Sullivan was at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery, as was Earl Beckett. The battered Darren Enders was also in the hospital and under arrest.
Gibson, Francine, and Doug were sitting in the federal building in Norfolk in a small conference room, with warm blankets around them, sipping hot, strong coffee.
Agent Pinker walked in and closed the door. He carried a file with him. He drew out a chair and sat down. “How are you all doing?”
