ONE SMALL VICTORY (28 page)

“Show me.”

She unzipped one section and pulled a few
bills partway out so the denomination was clearly visible. “They’re
all the same,” she said. “Now I see the goods.”

When she’d practiced that line a
hundred-and-one times with Burroughs coaching, it had felt
strained. Today it felt okay, and she hated to think that it did
because she was getting used to this. She’d sworn she’d never get
used to this business of drugs.

The Cuban nodded to the guard on his left.
The man stepped back to the sideboard, picked up an old-fashioned
wooden roll-top breadbox, and carried it over. After placing it on
the table, careful not to scratch the gleaming wood, he opened the
box and pulled out a plastic bag filled with white powder.

Tapping the box, the Cuban flashed a smile.
“The bread of life. Clever, no?”

A chorus of chuckles followed, and Jenny
wondered what was supposed to be funny.

“What? You don’t have a sense of humor?”

The words had been mild, but the hard glint
in obsidian eyes sent a chill skittering down her spine. The
tension was so thick in the room she could’ve spread it on toast
and eaten it. She remembered what Burroughs had said about deals
going sour over the silliest details.

She forced the flicker of a smile. “I thought
the fun started after the business was done.”

For a moment, the Cuban didn’t react and
Jenny tensed. If weapons were drawn, would she even have a chance?
Then he surprised her by laughing. “I like this woman,” he said.
“She’s no pussy.”

He glanced at the other men who obliged with
more hollow chuckles. Then he pulled out an ornate silver pocket
knife, made a small slit in the bag and pushed it closer to Jenny.
“Premium stuff.”

She stepped to the table and dipped into it
with the tip of a finger the way Burroughs had taught her. During
the training she’d balked about this part, but he’d assured her
that one little dab would not an addict make.

After touching the powder to her tongue,
Jenny nodded at the Cuban. He motioned to the man on his left who
pulled three more bags out of the breadbox. “You slide the money to
me,” the Cuban said, “and he gives you the rest of the goods.”

Managing to still the tremble of her fingers,
Jenny took the money out of the leather pouch and stacked it on the
table. She hoped like hell the guys in the white hats were in place
and were listening to this. They hadn’t rehearsed what she should
do if they didn’t come busting in when the exchange was being
made.

~*~

Steve hunkered with Linda and the two DEA
guys in a high stand of grass about twenty yards from the edge of
the driveway. As soon as they got the signal from the deputies on
the west side of the house, they were to take out the men on the
porch.

Well, the feds would take them out, Steve
decided. He could interrogate the hell out of a suspect and brawl
with the best of them, but he could barely shoot well enough to
keep his badge. That’s why he carried a Magnum. Hard to miss with a
piece like that, but it also announced to the entire world that a
shot had been fired. Linda beat him at the range all the time, but
even so, they’d agreed to leave the outside shooting to the snipers
and their special weapons. They’d get their chance inside the
house.

“Now.” A hushed voice spoke over the radio.
The feds stood in unison and popped off shots, probably before
their presence even registered to the men by the front door.
Silencers muted the sound to a dull thump, and Steve and Linda were
up running the moment the guards slumped in dark heaps on the
porch.

The feds ran with them and the men launched
their bodies at the double door, the lock giving under the impact.
When the doors slammed into the walls Linda dashed in and took the
first cover position as the men rushed forward.

~*~

As the sound of the crash reverberated
through the great room, the men froze for the briefest of moments,
then the Cuban rose, pushing his chair back so hard it toppled.
“You bitch.”

The man next to him reached inside his coat,
and Jenny dropped to the floor, rolling between two chairs and
under the table. Steve had told her to look for the safest spot,
and this seemed to be it. Then again, maybe not. She could see
Frank and Leon running toward the table, expressions of grim
determination hardening on their faces. She felt a spasm in her
bladder. Oh shit. I’m dead. And I’m going to wet myself.

Would she even have a chance if she pulled
her weapon? She reached behind the money belt and touched the
smooth butt of the gun, then hesitated when a voice called out,
“Grab the merchandise.”

She heard a rustle of movement, then saw feet
and legs scurry around the far end of the table and disappear.
Where are the rest of them?

“What about the broad?”

“Denny’ll take care of her.”

As she heard more movement behind her,
another spasm tore through her bladder.
God. Please don’t let me
wet myself.

She shook off the crazy thought and looked
over her shoulder. Nobody there. Must have gone through that
doorway.

Okay. That’s good.

Unless Denny is one of those other
guards.

Where did they go?

Scraping her cheek on the rough pile of the
carpeting, she twisted again to face forward and saw the men move
quickly toward the doorway, drawing weapons as they ran. Despite
the fact that they were heading away from her, Jenny still felt the
chill of vulnerability. One of them could cover the door and the
other simply turn and shoot her.

Should she stay put or try to find better
cover? But where?

Trying to still the incessant drumbeat of her
heart, she looked around. Could she make it to that corner bar? If
she could get behind that half-wall...

A sudden burst of gunfire thundered through
the room and answered that question. Unadulterated fear flattened
her to the floor. Did that mean the good guys had made it in?

She inched forward to get a better view.

Not a white hat in sight.

“Give it up,” a voice called. “The place is
surrounded.”

Was it Steve? It sounded like Steve. The two
men pumped more bullets down the hall, and Jenny realized they had
the officers pinned. For a moment, she wanted to give in to the
little girl deep inside that was trembling and calling for her
mother to come rescue her. Then she realized that nobody was going
to rescue her. If she wanted out of this mess, she damn well better
do something.

Inching forward, she eased the gun out of her
waistband and checked the positions of the men. Which one?

It doesn’t matter. As soon as you fire,
you’ve got about three seconds to get off another shot.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out
slowly the way the gunsmith had told her, Jenny cradled the weapon
and sighted down the barrel. Then her resolve faltered and the gun
wavered. If she did this, she would never be the same again.

If you don’t do this, you’ll be dead.

She steadied her arm and pointed the gun at
the back of the man on the left. She wanted to close her eyes,
desperately needed to close her eyes so she wouldn’t watch herself
kill a man, but shooting blind was not a wise option.

The report almost deafened her and in that
near soundless void, she saw the man slump to the floor. Bile rose
in her throat and she swallowed as the other man turned, gun coming
around in an arc.

He fired on the swing and Jenny felt the
vibration of the bullet hitting the table edge above her head. She
quickly returned fire, but panic obliterated what she’d learned and
her shot went wide.

For a fraction of a second, all she saw was
the barrel of his gun pointed directly at her, then she caught a
flash of movement in the doorway. A man...Steve? She couldn’t be
sure. The figure was a blur as he rolled several times before
landing on his stomach, a very large gun jerking in his hand.

Now the other gun was no longer pointed at
her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The dead man slid down the wall, leaving a
wet trail of red on the pristine white paint like a macabre work of
Impressionistic art. Steve scanned the rest of the room. Another
man lay unmoving on the other side of the doorway. Had they gotten
that one in that earlier exchange? And what about Jenny? Where was
she? Had they taken her hostage?

Then he saw her. Under the table. Not
moving.

Oh, my God.

He quickly checked the rest of the room to
make sure all the perps were down or gone, then went to the prone
figure. When he saw her eyes, wide with some kind of emotion that
seemed deeper than fear, he touched her cheek, “Jenny?”

She blinked, but didn’t answer, her hands
clutched so tightly around the butt of a gun the tendons stood out.
What the—?

He followed the angle the barrel was pointing
and dread kicked him in the stomach. She’d shot the other guard?
Where the hell had she gotten the gun?
Of all the
stupid
—

The recrimination died as he realized she was
still frozen in place. He placed his large hand over hers. It was
like touching ice. “Give me the gun, Jenny.”

Still she didn’t move.

“Are you hurt?”

“Inside.”

Alarm gripped him. Where? There wasn’t any
blood—

Her fingers relaxed under his, not all at
once, but slowly, like ice melting on a hot summer day. After a
moment, he took the gun from her.

“I killed him.” Pain replaced the look of
abject terror in her eyes. “I killed him.”

Momentarily Steve flashed back to his first
use of deadly force. The memory was never easy to revisit and
damned hard to forget. Linda was sure that difficulty contributed
to his poor performance at the range. He was sure she was full of
shit.

He touched Jenny’s arm. “You have to come out
of there.”

“I know.”

Jenny scooted forward and allowed Steve to
help her to stand. A great trembling seized her and she faltered on
weak legs. Steve supported her with one arm around her waist. “Do
you want to sit down?”

“I need to get out of here.”

“Sure.”

Still holding her steady, Steve started
toward the doorway. Jenny took a deep breath to hold back a wave of
nausea as they stepped closer to the hall, her eyes riveted on the
dead man and the smear of blood on the wall.

“You okay in there?” The voice was familiar.
Burroughs?

“Yeah.” Steve called out. “Just us good guys
left.”

Jenny didn’t know if he’d injected that note
of levity for her benefit or his. But it didn’t work. She wasn’t
sure if anything would lift the weight of guilt and release the
fists of iron that gripped her mind and her body.

Rounding the corner she saw Burroughs and two
other officers in flack jackets. She recognized Linda, who quickly
stepped over, a look of concern creasing her forehead. “You
hurt?”

“No.” Jenny was surprised she could even get
that one word out past the constriction in her throat. She had the
horrible feeling that if she relaxed, the bile would come pouring
out and she’d never stop retching.

“I think she’s just shaken up,” Steve said.
“This being her first fire-fight and all.”

Again there was a note of levity in his
voice, and a small part of Jenny wanted to respond to it. She was
sure he was trying to ease the trauma and she should be grateful.
What she wanted, however, was numbness. No feelings.

Linda walked with them as they went outside
where the night sky blazed with the red, yellow, and blue lights of
county sheriff’s cars, city patrol cars, and emergency vehicles.
Linda spoke words that fell on deaf ears as Jenny focused on the
flurry of activity in the vast yard. Paramedics tended to the
wounded and loaded gurneys into ambulances, which then screamed
their way out onto the highway that led to the nearest hospital.
Police officers led handcuffed men to patrol cars and pushed them
into back seats the way Jenny had seen so many times on television.
But in real life the process was much rougher.

Good. They deserve it.
She didn’t even
chastise herself for the hateful thought. They deserved much
worse.

Steve stepped back and let Linda steer Jenny
around the back of one of the patrol cars. There they came face to
face with the Cuban. His look of pure hatred tore through her like
a laser and Jenny stopped, unable to move. Unable to look away.

Linda motioned to Steve to take Jenny’s arm,
then broke off to help the sheriff’s deputy put the Cuban in the
back of the car. Steve put his other hand at the small of Jenny’s
back and pushed her toward his car.

Gonzales stepped forward and intercepted
them. He glanced at Steve, then held Jenny’s gaze for a long
moment. “Good job.”

She stumbled for a response. What does one
say at a time like this? Finally, she ducked her head in a
semblance of a nod and let the pressure of Steve’s hand move her
down to the end of the long driveway.

Away from the lights and activity, the night
took on a pastoral quality as moonlight filtered through a bank of
clouds and the wind soughed through a small stand of pines. If she
just focused on that, perhaps she could convince herself that none
of those horrible things had happened in that house. But it didn’t
work. Her heart sat like a stone in her chest as she slid into
Steve’s car and fastened the seatbelt.

He pulled out onto the gray ribbon of highway
and Jenny concentrated on the hum of the tires, wishing for an
emotional void. Don’t think. Don’t remember. But she couldn’t stop
her mind from playing that moment over and over again like an
endless loop of film.

And what was she supposed to say to Scott
when she got home? “Hi. It’s Mom. I just shot somebody.”

Steve gave her a quick glance. “You going to
be okay?”