Page 20 of Through the Fire
Twisted trees grew in unlikely directions, forming around the scattered boulders. There was less snow, but the path was just as treacherous, since the rocky trail was as slick as the icy ground had been. Her footsteps echoed eerily off the rock faces, making it sound as if they were being pursued. Although she told herself that it was just an auditory trick, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she and Justice were being hunted rather than being the hunters. She switched between watching her footing and craning her neck to search for a potential ambush.
Justice led her through a narrow space between two huge rocks and into an unexpected clearing. Bright sunlight, so different from the dimness of the claustrophobic, tree-lined path, blinded her for a moment, making her feel vulnerable. She blinked quickly, trying to adjust, before coming to a skidding halt.
Five people stood in a rough half circle, and they were all pointing shotguns at her chest.
She hauled back on the lead and towed Justice toward her. Her hand moved toward the small of her back, where her pistol sat in its holster beneath her coat, but one of the men racked his gun. Kit held her hands up at shoulder level instead, her right fingers still fisted around the leash. The radio in her pocket seemed impossibly far away. Even if she could reach it before being shot, it would be a long time before any backup arrived.
“Justice, heel.” Somehow, her voice came out evenly, although her breath was ragged from exertion and fear. The hound sat at her side, close enough that he was leaning against her leg. “I’m a police officer.”
In answer, another person racked her gun, and Kit fought the urge to take a step back. Her brain flipped through options, but none of them were good. She’d run far enough out of the trees that she couldn’t sprint back to cover quickly enough. They’d have plenty of time to shoot her in the back. They were a good fifteen feet away, so she couldn’t try to disarm one of them. If the person she ran toward didn’t shoot her, the other four would.
Her eyes scanned the encircling crowd. They ranged in age from early twenties—the guy she’d been chasing—to a woman in her late sixties. There were three men and two women, and all of them appeared to be fully willing to shoot, judging by their determinedly unfriendly expressions. Hugh’s warning about suspicious local gun owners popped into her head.
“I’m not here to harass anyone,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, even as she spoke loudly enough for all of them to hear.
“Why you chasing Bart, then?” one of the men demanded, his tone hostile enough to make Kit’s heart rate kick up another notch. His light eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he spat tobacco juice to the side without taking the gun or his gaze off her. “With a dog, too.”
“We were following a trail of blood through the woods. I was concerned that someone was hurt.” Or that someone had been hurting others. Another quick glance around the half circle showed that no one was obviously bleeding. The guy who’d run from her, Bart, still had dark streaks of blood on his coveralls and hands, but he didn’t appear to be injured.
The man—the group’s spokesperson, apparently—barked a rusty laugh that didn’t sound amused. His few remaining teeth were an unhealthy shade of brown. “Rabbit blood, one Bart trapped. Gonna arrest him for bunny murder?”
“No one’s getting arrested.” The thought that there were traps set in the woods she and Justice had just plowed through made her stomach lurch. Even though the more vicious varieties, like the leg-hold trap, were illegal, she had a feeling that the people currently aiming guns at a cop probably weren’t the most law-abiding folk. “Now that I know everything’s okay, I can be on my way. I’ll just take my dog back to my truck and let dispatch know it was a false alarm.” How she wished she’d called this in to dispatch. The guns didn’t waver at her bluff. “I’m glad no one’s hurt.”
Bart snorted a humorless laugh. “Not yet.”
Her stomach cramped as panic tried to hammer its way into her brain. Kit firmly blocked it out. If she lost the ability to think, she was going to do something instinctual and stupid—like pull her gun—that would get her and Justice killed. The dog whined, obviously sensing her distress, and leaned more heavily against her. Kit braced against his weight, barely keeping herself from stumbling to the side while her brain raced in circles, trying to figure out a plan.
“Let’s keep it that way,” she said, proud that none of her raging anxiety colored her voice. “Right now, we just have a misunderstanding. I thought someone was hurt and needed help, but you let me know that everyone here is fine. As it sits, there’s no problem. I’ll go back to my truck, tell dispatch all is well, and you’ll return to your lives. If something happens to me, on the other hand, that will be a really bad thing for all of us. I’m a cop. That means that if I’m hurt, you’ll have every law enforcement officer in the area descending on you, making your lives miserable.”
Except no one knows where I am.
She paused, looking around at the group. None of their expressions showed any sign that she was getting through to them. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, quickly turning cold. “All you have to do is lower your guns, and I’ll walk away. It’s an easy solution for all of us.”
The first man laughed again. It sounded slightly more authentic this time. “Don’t matter. We shoot you or don’t shoot you. Either way, the cops’ll be on us. Typical. The government’ll take any excuse to stick their nose in.”
“You have my word that no one will bother you if you let me go unharmed.” Kit’s voice shook slightly, and she dug her fingernails into her palm. The quick bite of pain steadied her. “You won’t even be in my report. I won’t mention you to anyone.”
There was a pause that went on long enough to give Kit a spark of hope before he spoke again. “Liar.”
He tilted his head, aiming the gun square at her chest. Her hand twitched, ready to go for her pistol, but there was no way she could draw and shoot five people before at least one of them managed to kill her. Justice whined, reminding her that she wasn’t going to be the only one dying today. The idea of her dog getting hurt firmed her resolve, and she tensed, ready to grab her gun.
Time seemed to slow, and everything became very crisp and clear. She could see every detail of the man’s shotgun and the way his knuckles whitened as he tucked the stock more firmly against his shoulder. His finger twitched on the trigger, and her hand whipped toward her gun, even as the echo of every lecture she’d gotten on tactical theory played through her head, telling her that action beat reaction every time. He was going to shoot her, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“What the hell are you doing, Rufus?”
The unexpected voice made her jerk, and she twisted her head around to look over her shoulder. A large, bearded man strode out of the trees toward her, and Kit recognized him as the person who’d helped her park her trailer that morning. She blinked, wondering for a fraction of a second if she was imagining him before slipping her hand under her coat to grab her gun. Real or not, he’d given her the time she needed to defend herself and her dog.
When he placed himself between her and her firing squad, however, she allowed herself to hope that he was really there and that there was a chance she could escape this situation without getting shot. She could smell him—woodsmoke and pine needles—and she was pretty certain that even the most welcome of hallucinations didn’t carry such a sweet scent.
That and the sight of his broad back snapped her out of her shock, and she stepped to the side, pulling her gun but keeping it hidden behind her back. There was no way she was using a Good Samaritan as a human shield. Justice followed her, wrapping his gangly body around her and leaning against the back of her legs. Her dog didn’t have any qualms about using her for protection, obviously.
“What’s going on?” her rescuer asked, and the five people who’d been all too ready to shoot to kill exchanged looks.
“She’s a cop, Wes,” Rufus said, spitting on the ground next to him, although the tension in his hands had eased slightly. “Sent her dog after Bart for no reason.”
Wes looked at Justice before returning his skeptical gaze to Rufus. “Bart was scared of that dog? He doesn’t look too intimidating.” As if in agreement, Justice thumped his tail against Kit’s legs and ducked his head with a low whine.
“I wasn’t scared,” Bart protested.
