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Now, though, as she inhaled and shoved out of her car, her booted feet hitting the asphalt, she nearly choked on the breeze.
The acrid scent of burning rubber and gasoline filled the air from where the red sports car had come to a screeching halt, its mangled metal frame twisted and warped. Billowing plumes of smoke rose from the wreckage, accompanied by a symphony of shattered glass and debris that rained down like a violent hailstorm.
“Blackwood, are you okay?” Ethan’s voice crackled through the radio, urgency punctuating every syllable.
“Fine,” she replied as she began moving toward the waiting vehicle.
She approached cautiously, her weapon drawn.
She could feel the heat of the crash radiating against her skin, her boots crunching on gravel strewn across the asphalt.
Suddenly, there was another screeching sound, and an unmarked car skidded across the asphalt.
In an impressive display of coordination, Ethan launched from the front seat just as it came to a stop, the sound of his rapid footfalls replacing the screech of rubber on gravel.
He hurried toward her, giving her a quick once-over.
She flashed a thumbs-up. “Fine,” she repeated.
He nodded, looking relieved.
The two of them had their weapons raised now, both of them shoulder to shoulder, moving in tandem as they closed in on the crippled car, their guns aimed at the shattered windows and the still form of Allen Boyd slumped inside. Rachel could see blood staining his face, a stark contrast to the pale complexion beneath. The flames arose around the car, coming from the front. Soon, the fire would reach the driver, and then there would be no interrogation.
Without hesitation, Rachel rushed toward the car. She could feel the heat of the flames on her skin as she reached the driver’s side door. The metal was twisted and warped, making it impossible to open. She banged on the window, but it wouldn’t budge. Smoke filled her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. She could hear Ethan shouting, but his words were muffled by the roar of the flames. She had to act fast. There was no time to waste.
Taking a step back, Rachel raised her gun and aimed at the window, away from Boyd’s face. Three shots rang out, shattering the glass. She reached in and unlocked the door, pulling it open with all her might. Flames licked at her sleeve where they wafted over the windshield. Inside the car was still safe—but not for much longer. She was focused on getting Allen Boyd out of the car.
Suddenly, she tensed.
Hunters were trained to note even the smallest of motions.
And she caught it, just then. A flutter of eyelashes. A faint inhale.
She began to pull back, shouting a warning.
But in a sudden burst of movement, Allen Boyd’s hand shot toward the glove compartment. Rachel’s heart hammered in her chest as she barked out a warning: “Don’t do it, Boyd!”
Ethan reacted instantly, lunging through theoppositewindow where he’d circled around. His hand smashed through the glass, and he grabbed Boyd’s wrist just as it made contact with the cold steel of a hidden gun. The two men grappled for control, their bodies twisting and limbs flailing in the cramped space.
“Drop it!” Ethan gasped, sweat beading his brow as he strained against the suspect’s surprising strength.
Rachel didn’t hesitate, her boots scuffing on the gravel as she aimed a sharp punch at Boyd’s shoulder. The impact sent pain shooting up her arm, but it did the trick—the man crumpled, releasing his grip on the weapon as he cried out in pain.
Rachel quickly grabbed the gun, making sure to keep it pointed away from both Ethan and Boyd. She could feel the heat of the flames getting closer and knew they needed to get out of there.
“Let’s go!” she shouted, grabbing Boyd by the back of his shirt and pulling him out of the car. Ethan followed close behind, his hand on the small of Rachel’s back as they hurried away from the burning wreckage.
They made it just in time as the flames hit the fuel and the car detonated, sending a wave of heat and debris flying toward them. Rachel shielded her face with her arm, feeling the force of the explosion rock her to her core. There must’ve been something extra, she realized. Nitro? Some sort of street racing additive?
As the flames began to die down, she turned to Boyd who was gasping at the ground, shaking his head in frustration and muttering a series of insults.
“Amy!” he yelled.
She realized he was grieving his car.
Ethan moved around behind the kneeling man, cuffs in hand. “Don’t move!” Ethan snapped.
The wail of sirens continued to approach, drawing nearer.
