Bryce crooked an eyebrow and gave a small, sly smile while he took a deep breath. “Sheriff, listen. We’ve been tracking these men for nearly a year. They work for a businessman named ‘Little’ John Hailey, who’s involved with sex trafficking, drug dealing and just about anything else that destroys people’s lives. If you messed this up, you’d be looking at imprisonment for obstruction of justice, and then some.”
Sheriff Moody could feel his heart racing. He couldn’t imagine the shame he’d bring upon himself if he were to be incarcerated. He looked at Deputy Reynolds, who was waiting for one command or another. What else could he do? “Well then, I guess I’d better not mess it up. You do what you want, but we’re staying put.”
Agent Bryce shook his head and stormed off toward the arriving cars without looking back. There was something strong in the way he carried himself, something authoritative.
But it wasn’t enough to make the sheriff back down.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie lay on his back, the strong scent of hay overpowering his senses. It was hot in the barn, yet his body shook with cold as his energy left him.
“The bullet is still inside,” said Brenda, kneeling in the hay. She looked beautiful under the soft glow of the nearby oil lamp. Her hair was long and shiny, her skin smooth and dark. Her eyes had a kindness that told him everything would be okay. But most importantly, they weren’t judgmental—they were forgiving eyes.
“It hurts,” Charlie managed to say, although he was embarrassed to do so. He imagined meeting this woman under other circumstances and wondered whether something special might have brewed. He quickly dismissed that dream, knowing damn well that Brenda was way out of his league.
“Hold still,” she said.
“I don’t mind…”
“What?”
“I don’t mind… if I die.”
“You’d better not. Besides, you heard what your brother said. If you die, I die.” She smiled at him, but he suspected it was artificial.
“He was just… just bluffing.” Charlie looked up at the rafters of the barn. He bet the night sky beyond it looked great and could picture himself gazing at the stars. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
“Listen, disinfecting was the best I could do, but you need professional help. I can’t get the bullet out.” She turned to look behind her, where Charlie’s two brothers stood talking quietly. They were probably formulating a plan.
“What if I just go to jail?” Charlie whimpered.
That seemed to catch her attention, her head spinning around to look down at him.
“If I turn myself in, they have to help me, right?”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Clive appeared beside them, inviting himself into the decision-making process. “Go to jail? You kidding me?”
“It’s an option,” Brenda tried telling him.
“Shut up. No brother of mine is going to jail, ya hear?”
“You want to just let him die?”
“Shut the hell up!” Clive yelled. He raised his hand as if to hit her, but then seemed to think better of it. “I told you, if he dies, you’ll be next.”
“Then you’ll believe me when I say he needs help. Real help.” Brenda stood and gawked at him. She was obviously outside of her comfort zone.
Charlie caught himself grinning with admiration. But would Jack feel the same way? After all, he was the boss.
As if to answer his question, Jack lumbered forward and made his decision. “I say we do it. He’ll only slow us down, and he might not even make it in the end.”
“Shut up,” Clive snapped.
“You shut up. Think about it. You heard the helicopter out there. They could use that to get him to a hospital within minutes. Would you rather have a brother in jail or a brother in the grave? That boy pisses me off sometimes, but I sure know which I’d rather have.”
Charlie tried raising his hand to interrupt and realized he no longer had the energy to do it. His vision was blurring like a fog, and the voices in the room became little more than an echo. If his brothers were going to make a decision, he wished they’d make it soon.
Chapter Thirteen
It wasn’t long after the FBI arrived that the reporters made their appearance. The sheriff had ordered a cordoned-off zone, and so far it was being handled well.
“Sheriff, can I have a moment?” A pretty woman in a pantsuit held out a recorder, looking at him with pleading eyes. Although there were many more around her asking for the same thing, she seemed to be the only one who looked approachable.
“You can have many moments, miss.” Moody removed his hat and smiled.
The reporter didn’t smile back, however, and dove straight into the questions. “Is it true that these men are responsible for holding up the casino this morning?”
“That is, in fact, true.”
“And they have a hostage?”
“Yes, ma’am, but we won’t be revealing her name at this time.”
“Surely her family would like to know that she’s in danger?”
Sheriff Moody took a breath, put his hat back on and began to walk away. “No further comment.” The crowd kicked up a fuss at the lack of information while Moody trudged back to his vehicle.
“You’re not gonna answer their questions?” Deputy Reynolds asked, squeezing a bottle of water down his nape.
“No point, is there?”
“Of course there is.” Reynolds set down his bottle on the hood of the car. “This is why people think you’re lazy, Sheriff. Now, I ain’t saying that you don’t do nothing around here, but it’s all about appearances. Maybe you should just answer a couple more questions, let them know what we’re doing to get the woman to safety.”
The sheriff stared down at the floor. He makes a solid point, he thought, and glanced over at the news-hungry press swarming around the police tape. He sighed and made his way back over, keeping one eye on the FBI agents at their own vehicles.
“A woman named Brenda Foster has been taken hostage.”
Everybody inched closer with their notepads and cameras, making more noise.
“No demands have been made,” Moody went on, “and no words have been exchanged. We suspect that this was about nothing more than money, and we doubt that they wish to harm Miss Foster. That said, we’re taking every precaution to ensure her safety.”
“Are you planning to breach the barn?” one reporter asked from the back of the crowd.
“We have no plans to do so at this time.” Sheriff Moody was feeling the pressure of the announcement. Why did it feel so much like an interview? He was beginning to sweat.
“What’s with the tactical team, Sheriff?” the woman up front asked.
“What tactical team?”
The journalist pointed behind him. Confused, Sheriff Moody turned to follow her line of sight. The instant he saw it, his heart danced a nasty rhythm and his blood boiled.
The SWAT team stood in a group being prepped for breach.
“Sheriff!” Deputy Reynolds called out for help.
But Moody stood in shock, praying they would come to their senses and stay away from the barn. Otherwise, they would simply be inviting Brenda Foster’s murder.
Chapter Fourteen
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sheriff Moody stormed toward FBI Agent Bryce with his hands curled into fists. “You’re not sending your men in there.”
“They’re professionals, Sheriff. They don’t need your guidance.”
“Well, excuse me for not trusting them. If I didn’t—”
Just then, the barn door creaked halfway open, and a pair of hands inched their way out.
Everybody drew their weapons and aimed them at whoever was slowly emerging.
The door opened a little more, until a man’s face revealed itself. He was in his early thirties, tall with dark hair. The scar above his eye was just visible in the headlights of the police vehicles.
Sheriff Moody marched to
his car, picked up the radio microphone and set it to the megaphone on top of the car. He knew that if he was the first to make contact, there was nothing the FBI could do about it. “Son, this is Sheriff Moody. Stay right where you are.” The speakers were loud, even above the media fuss.
“No problem, Sheriff!” The man looked nervously around him. “Let me first say that I’m unarmed, but my brother is inside with a gun pressed against a lady’s head. If anybody makes a move on me, she takes a bullet.”
The sheriff believed him, too. Which only made him more nervous that the tactical team seemed anxious to get the action going. “I understand. So, what can I do for you?”
“Well, you or your deputy put a hole in my brother. We don’t know how much longer he’s gonna last.”
“And you want him safe, am I right?”
“That’s right, Sheriff.”
“And what do you want in return?” Moody had a feeling he would regret asking.
“That’s it. No demands, no silly games. I just want to get him some medical attention.”
Sheriff Moody put the microphone down and looked to his deputy. “What do you think?”
“Seems too easy,” Reynolds whispered. His forehead was dripping with sweat.
“We shouldn’t trust him?”
“Maybe not. But look around you. Do you really want it in the papers that they asked for medical help and you refused them?”
As much as he hated to admit it, Moody knew that his deputy was right. He put the microphone back to his mouth. “Okay, son. We’ll get him out of here.” He could feel Agent Bryce’s eyes on him but tried not to look his way.
“We’ll send him out in a moment.” The man slowly backed into the barn with his hands up, used his foot to open the door, then disappeared inside.
As Sheriff Moody sat the microphone back in its cradle, he heard footsteps fast approaching from behind. He spun on his heel and found himself face to face with Agent Bryce. “Don’t give me any crap, all right?”
“Look, I just wanted to say that this is in your hands now.” Agent Bryce rubbed his sweaty brow. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in charge. You’re just the communication channel. Is that clear?”
“All right…” Moody wasn’t used to being spoken down to and didn’t like the feeling. “Don’t go making a move on them, okay? I promised the brother would be safe.”
“Oh, the brother will be fine.” Bryce gave a shit-eating grin that said he’d won. “As soon as he’s out of there, the team is going in.”
He turned and left before Moody had a chance to dispute it.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack watched Clive’s expression as he took in the information. The sheriff had guaranteed treatment and no games, but could he be trusted? Jack thought so, but Clive seemed to think differently.
“What happens when there are only two of us?” Clive asked, chewing on a toothpick.
“There is only two of us. Charlie is bleeding out, and it’s time you realized that.”
“Don’t you talk to me about—”
“Boys.” Brenda stood up and made her way between the two. “I want to argue as much as you do, but your brother needs help.”
Jack pushed past her, holding back the temptation to give her a slap. He knelt at Charlie’s side, studying his little brother, who lay helplessly in the hay. “I’m here, buddy. How you holding up?”
“How does it look like I’m—” Charlie winced “—holding up?”
Jack was pleased to see that he had maintained a sense of humor. “We’re going to get you out of here, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want to die, Jack.”
“I know.”
For the first time in years, Jack and Clive were utterly silent. They lifted their brother up and slipped his arms over their shoulders. He almost fell, and Brenda caught him, helping him up.
“You take him,” said Clive, handing him over to Brenda and refusing to let go of the gun. “I’ll stay behind with my eye on you.”
Brenda took Charlie’s arm and hoisted it over her shoulder, not showing an ounce of fear.
“You ready, big guy?” Jack asked, looking down at his brother.
But Charlie’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t say anything. If actions spoke louder than words, this was a clear-cut indication that they needed to get him out of there as soon as possible.
“Help me!” Jack screamed at Brenda. “We need to move him. Now!”
Chapter Sixteen
All weapons were drawn and aimed at the barn door, which opened gradually. Although it was difficult for Sheriff Moody to see in the dark of the night, he could just about make out the two people carrying an injured man over their shoulders.
“We’re setting him down here,” one of the men called out before gently lowering the other man—most likely the wounded brother—to the ground.
Moody picked up the microphone from the dashboard of his car and shot Agent Bryce a glance. It said: I’m in charge here, not you. The speakers groaned as they turned on. “Nice and easy. A deal is a deal.”
“Don’t be trying anything, you hear?”
The sheriff could see now that the other man wasn’t a man at all—it was a woman. It must have been Brenda Foster. “Don’t worry, son. I’m a man of my word.”
It was just as he said it that he saw the SWAT team swooping around the barn with their automatic weapons clutched tightly to their chests. Moody’s expression must have been readable in the headlights of the other cars, as the casino robber followed his gaze and raised his own gun.
“You son of a bitch!” he screamed, grabbing the now-crying Brenda by the hair.
Moody dropped the microphone and ran around the car with his hands up. “Wait, wait!”
Even the armed officers stopped in their tracks, as if by command.
“Leave the woman,” Moody demanded, cautiously stepping forward, “and let me go with you instead. I won’t cry or try to run, and having a sheriff at gunpoint will gain you even more of an advantage, right?” Slowly, he drew the gun from his hip holster.
The man’s grip on Brenda tightened.
“Easy.” Sheriff Moody held the gun with his thumb and forefinger, moving it slowly, and tossed it by the man’s feet. “I’ll come quietly—you have my word.”
The man—who must have been the leader—seemed to consider this. He looked over his shoulder at the SWAT team, who were standing on alert, before finally turning back to Moody. “Come inside.”
“Right.” Moody kept his hands up and walked forward. “It’s all right,” he said to Brenda as he reached her. She had kind, hazel eyes, which only made it harder to witness the tears streaming from them.
“Now go,” said Jack, pushing Brenda forward and grabbing the sheriff by the collar of his shirt. He stooped to pick the revolver off the ground and dragged Moody inside.
This is it, Sheriff Moody thought as he was shoved inside the barn. This is the end of the road. It may not have been the way he’d wanted to leave this world, but at least the woman was safe. The way he saw it, he had already won.
Chapter Seventeen
The inside of the barn was not as expected. Everything seemed perfectly in order, save for the scarlet patch in the hay where the younger brother must have bled out. The sheriff didn’t quite know why, but he had expected to see some sort of fort inside. Some barricades on the back door, maybe a stash of weapons. But there was nothing at all.
“Come and stand right over here, Sheriff.” The gunman waved him over, the pistol trained on Moody as he cautiously stepped back.
Sheriff Moody did as he was told. He sure wanted to protest, but he wasn’t prepared to let his stubbornness get him killed. He took small, nervous steps to where he was told, then looked at the man under the light of the nearby lamp. “What’s your name, son?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Well, I’ve come peacefully, and I intend for us to get along. Is an exchange of courtesies so
much to ask?” It wasn’t entirely a lie, either. If it took a whole day in this man’s company to get out alive, then he was prepared to do just that.
The gunman studied him hard, as if he were diseased and asking to shake hands. “Jack. My name’s Jack. And my brother better be getting medical help right now.”
“I’m a man of my word, Jack.” Sheriff Moody paused as he was struck by the feeling that something was missing. Was it that he’d heard the word “brother”? He knew there had been at least three gunmen. And if one of them had been taken out of here… “Where’s your brother?”
“What?”
“Your brother. Where is he?”
“He’s outside. You know that.” Jack was visibly fighting the need to smile.
“Your other brother. I know there was three of ya.” As soon as he had finished spitting his last word, he heard it. The creaking timber groaned on the gantry above him, letting out a whine under the weight of a man. Moody craned his neck to look up and saw the big, burly man standing on the beam. He had a shotgun in his hand, and it was aimed directly at the sheriff’s head.
“There. So don’t try anything,” Jack told him, still smiling.
Tackling Jack was now entirely out of the question. He would have to reason his way out of this… or at least try. “Why are you doing this, son? You’re throwing your life away for a few bucks. It don’t make much sense to me.”
“Trust me,” said Jack, “if you met Little John, you’d understand.”
The sheriff stared vacantly at the wall over Jack’s shoulder. Little John. Wasn’t that the name Agent Bryce had mentioned? “You ever heard of police protection, Jack? No matter how important this John fella is, we can keep you safe. Heck, if you were threatened into doing this, we might even be able to cut you a deal. How does that sound?”
Cutthroat County Page 3
