Page 46 of Stilettos & Whiskey
“I’d rather have a pain pill.” Mom drank half the bottle and gave it to me. “You need to keep hydrated too.”
“I haven’t been shot.”
In her mean mother voice, Mom countered, “No, you were just pushed down the side of a ravine. Drink it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I gulped the water down and placed the empty bottle in the pack.
Two gunshots rang out and were quickly followed by a burst of gunfire.
A man’s cry of agony echoed off the rocks.
“Oh, God, Brent.” Mom struggled to her feet. “He needs help.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I held her tight. “He does, but Mom, you aren’t in any shape to help him.”
“He’s my friend, I’m not letting him die,” Mom snapped.
I took a deep breath. “And if he’s already dead?”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
“As soon as you’re safe, I’ll look for him. I promise.”
Mom touched my face gently. “You’re not in fighting shape either.”
“Maybe not, but I wasn’t shot.”
Every inch a bad ass sniper, Mom surveyed the area. “I’m getting a bad feeling the Evans family is behind this.”
“Me too. Let’s get to high ground.” It seemed like it took an eternity to reach the overhang of rocks. I glanced at my watch. Dang. It had only been eight minutes. We collapsed in the shade with a sigh of relief.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
KABOOM!A huge fireball rose high into the air.
“That bastard blew up my helicopter,” Mom snarled.
I crawled to the edge of the overhang. The helicopter was a blazing inferno, and the mesquite trees were on fire too. “He’s an idiot. The fire is blocking the only path down the mountain.”
“You can’t cure stupid,” Mom snapped.
The Apache warrior pulled off his black wig and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. His melted war paint made him look demonic. I studied his sunburned beer belly for a moment. He definitely belonged to the Evans clan.
A shadow passed overhead.
I looked up. Five parachutes appeared in the turquoise sky. “The cavalry has arrived.”
The Apache warrior spotted them too and raised his rifle.
“Oh, hell, no.” Grabbing Mom’s sniper rifle, I placed the rifle butt against my left shoulder, sighted in and fired.
The rifle fell from the warrior’s hand, and he shrieked in pain.
“That ass is going to jail,” Mom snarled.
Blood dripping from his wounded hand, the warrior reached for the rifle with his left hand.
I fired again, striking his left hand. That bastard wasn’t going to be able to shoot a gun for a very long time.
