“I’m Preston Smith. I work for Endicott Industries. Jackson, are you okay?”
Jackson didn’t answer.
Scott put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m Scott Linden. I work for SkyCrest Resort. What are you doing here?”
Preston studied him. Scott stood at attention, a soldier under inspection. Whatever this Preston Smith was up to now, Scott would bet he had a military background. He had the bearing of an officer.
Preston unzipped his parka and reached inside. Jackson whimpered. “Is he going to shoot us?”
Scott reached for the pistol at his back, but the other man was faster. Preston wrenched the gun away from him, jammed an elbow at the side of Scott’s head, then kicked out, knocking Scott’s feet out from under him. Scott clawed at the other man’s face and grabbed at his arm, and Preston drove another elbow into his ribs. Scott was flat on his back, sure he was about to be shot—at close range this time—when a woman’s scream cut through the air.
The sound froze all action. Preston stood over Scott with one hand raised. Scott lay on the ground, his head turned toward the sound. Jackson was crouched, arms wrapped around his knees, small sounds of distress emanating from him. The dogs still flanked the boy, on their feet once more, but silent as they studied the tableau before them.
“What are you doing!” Lily emerged from a car that had parked in the middle of the road. A man in black followed her. She looked from Jackson to Scott to Preston.
“Special Agent Preston Shipman, with the FBI,” Preston said, and pulled a gun from his jacket.
Lily started to scream again, but the sound was choked off by an arm tightened around her throat. Mike held a gun to her head. “Drop that weapon, Agent Shipman, or Lily is a dead woman.”
LILY’S HEART BEATso hard she thought it would burst. Her vision blurred, and she forced herself to breathe deeply, though doing so made her even more aware of Mike’s arm crushing her windpipe. When she squirmed, trying to ease the pressure, he tightened his grip even more and pressed the barrel of the pistol—hard and ice cold—against her temple.
“Mike, what are you doing?” Jackson asked.
“Shut up, kid, or I’ll shoot you instead,” Mike growled.
This didn’t even sound like the Mike she knew—the good-natured, easygoing friend. “Where is Denny?” she asked. “Does he know what you’re doing?”
“I told you. Denny is in a meeting. With some associates of mine. As long as he cooperates, they won’t hurt him. Much.”
Terror shuddered through her. She looked for Scott, but he was out of her field of vision. So she focused on the man across from her, the one who said he was an FBI agent. She recognized Preston Smith, the new employee who had questioned her that night at Denny’s house. “Are you really with the FBI?” she asked.
“Shut up!” Mike ordered. “Throw your gun into the woods,” he directed Preston.
Preston—Agent Shipman—hurled the gun away from him. It sailed out of sight into the trees. “You can’t kill all of them before I kill you,” he said.
“I’m betting I can get the woman and the boy before you get off a shot at me,” Mike said. “Do you really want to take that chance?”
Then they all stood there, staring at one another. Lily closed her eyes, but the images were imprinted on the inside of her eyelids, like a still from a bad movie. Whoever flinched first would be the loser—but in the end, no one would win.
Mike’s grip on her throat had loosened a fraction, though the barrel of the gun still dug into her temple. He outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, and any attempt to lash out at him had a chance of making him pull the trigger—either willingly or involuntarily.
“So what are you going to do now?” Preston asked. Lily marveled at how calm he sounded. Maybe because his head wasn’t the one with a gun to it.
“I’m going to take Jackson and Lily with me and leave,” Mike said. “I just have to get you out of the way first.”
He moved the gun away from her and pointed it at the FBI agent. Lily yelped and squirmed against him. And then she and Mike were both on the ground, Shelby on top of them, her teeth clamped down on Mike’s hand as he screamed and kicked.
The three of them struggled briefly, then Preston said, “Call off your dog. I’ve got him now.” Preston stood over them, gun in one hand, cuffs in the other.
“Shelby! No! Sit!” Lily struggled to a sitting position herself. She had to give the commands again before the dog released her hold on Mike. Preston pulled Mike to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back.
“I’m bleeding!” Mike complained. “That dog tried to kill me.”
Preston only shook his head.
“I should have known you’d have another gun,” Mike said.
“The gun isn’t his, it’s mine.” Scott moved in to help Lily up. Scott held her tightly for a long moment, neither of them speaking.
