CHAPTER 6
Harvey Rudd studied what little he could see of Gray through the magnified scope attached to his compressed-air dart gun. She remained mostly concealed, seated behind the guardrail; a red-and-blue bank sign across the parking lot cast just enough light for him to tell that she was working on something. Probably reloading the pistol she’d very unexpectedly handled like a seasoned operative. Dave Bender lay dead on the street, having paid a dear price for that misjudgment. Rudd had no intention of making the same mistake. The handheld radio attached to his belt crackled.
“We need to move this along,” said Logan Walsh, the other team leader.
Rudd expected her to go limp at any moment. His last shot had definitely connected, and he strongly suspected that at least one of the darts fired by Walsh had struck home. A single tranquilizer dart should be enough to immobilize her within a few minutes. Two would knock her flat in half that time. He removed the radio and responded.
“Looks like she’s reloading. I think we should give this another minute. Possibly two. Just to make sure she’s out,” said Rudd, checking his watch. “Sounded like she just worked you guys over pretty hard. The last thing we need is another body to deal with.”
“We didn’t take any fire,” said Walsh.
“She just emptied an entire magazine,” said Rudd. “Fifteen rounds. I counted them.”
“Not at us,” said Walsh.
“Then who the hell was she—” started Rudd, a grim thought interrupting. “Can you see the driver’s side of Gray’s sedan?”
“Not without getting shot,” said Walsh.
Rudd had the same problem. To view the car, he would have to cross the back of the van, exposing himself to Gray’s proven shooting skills. Unfortunately, he needed to know, sooner than later, whether his suspicion was correct. If he was right, they had no choice but to speed things up, as Walsh had suggested. Rudd leaned the dart rifle against the side of the van and handed his radio to the man crouched next to him.
“Be right back.”
He rushed to the opposite side of the rear bumper and took a quick look around the corner of the van, confirming his suspicions. At least a dozen holes peppered the side of Gray’s car—all concentrated on the trunk area.
“So much for an easy night,” he muttered.
Gunfire erupted before he turned to leave. Rudd dropped flat against the cold asphalt and drew a small semiautomatic pistol from a concealed ankle holster. He turned on his side and took a two-handed grip on the pistol, keeping it pointed at Gray’s position. He’d heard two quick shots, neither aimed at him from what he could tell. No yelling from any of his people, so she’d either missed her target or instantly flipped someone’s lights off with a headshot.
He kept his pistol aimed in Gray’s direction, praying that she’d pass out. CONTROL had been explicit about taking her alive; however, Rudd had no intention of letting her shoot him to meet that mission requirement. He’d fire first and hope she survived. If she didn’t, he’d undoubtedly take her place in the interrogation room, struggling to answer some difficult questions. He’d be lucky to leave that room alive, but at least he’d have a chance. The possibility of him staring down the barrel of Gray’s pistol at this range and surviving was nearly nonexistent.
Gray slowly rose off the ground, relying heavily on the guardrail to keep her steady. Just a few more seconds, and she’d topple over. He was sure of it. Incredibly, she managed to stand completely upright, her pistol still pointed straight down at the ground next to her. Rudd removed all the slack on his pistol trigger and shifted his aim slightly off-center to the left, hoping to wing her if she tried to shoot him. The small movement drew her attention.
They locked eyes for a moment, a grin spreading across her face, before her pistol hand moved. Despite his readiness, they fired at roughly the same time. Gray instantly crumpled in place. He must have jerked the trigger and unintentionally put his bullet straight through her head. Rudd had no idea what happened to her bullet. He hadn’t heard it strike or ricochet off anything near him.
Logan Walsh dashed around the front of the pickup truck, headed toward him. He stopped next to Gray’s sedan, his attention focused on the evenly spaced pattern of bullet holes.
“Check on Wilson!” said Rudd. “Then get Dave loaded up in the van. We’ll take care of Gray.”
“Got it,” said Walsh before signaling his team.
Leo Ward stepped into the open, next to the van, holding a flashlight. “Can’t believe she just blew her brains out.”