“This is Special Supervisory Agent Javier Merlo,” a smooth, controlled voice said from outside, amplified so they all heard him without any need to shout. “You are surrounded. Come out now with your hands in the air.”
Bass laughed. “And I got backup on the way.”
The guy at the door glanced back at Boone and shrugged. “I just wanted to get laid, man,” he said and dodged out the door. When he didn’t catch a bullet in the back, others followed until it was just Shepherd, Boone, and the dead.
“You’re done, Shepherd,” Bass yelled. “Go out with dignity.”
Shepherd spat on the floor and glanced over at Boone. His mouth twitched into a grim smile as they made eye contact. “We’re Corpse Brothers,” he said. “We go out feet first.”
Boone nodded grimly and hefted his semiautomatic. “Feet first. Together. Like always.”
He roared and charged the door, finger tight on the trigger. Bullets hammered into his body and made him judder in place. He dropped over the dead man in the doorway, and the gun fell out of his hand.
Alone.
Tag registered that at about the same time he felt a hand on the back of his collar. He was wrenched to his feet, and the hot muzzle of a gun was pressed to his forehead. Shepherd dragged him out of the scant shelter of the stall.
“You move,” Shepherd told him with a rough shake, “I blow your brains out your other ear.”
“Let him go,” Bass said. He stepped out from behind the tractor and held up his hands to show he’d dropped the gun. “This isn’t going to make it better.”
Shepherd laughed, his breath hot and sour against Tag’s ear. “Yeah, see, that look on your face? Scared to fuck, just like your dad when I told him to sell you out? That makes it worthwhile.”
“He’s not part of this.”
“Will it hurt you if I kill him?” Shepherd asked.
Bass glanced at Tag and then away. “No.”
An inappropriate laugh caught in Tag’s throat. Of all the times for Bass to suddenly turn out to be a bad liar. Shepherd laughed at him.
“He’s part of this.”
A tall man in a crisp shirt and a bulletproof vest stepped over the dead bodies that blocked the door. He aimed his gun at Shepherd.
“David Shepherd,” he said. “I’m Special Agent Javi Merlo. Put the gun down.”
“I don’t think so.” Shepherd stepped in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Tag could see the briefcase shoved under Shepherd’s arm. “I think what I’ll do is walk out of here, and you’ll let me. Or else you’ll have the good doctor’s death on your conscience and his brains on your shoes. Your choice.”
Merlo glanced at Bass and then lowered his gun. He held up his hand, palm out, while he slid the gun back into his holster.
“Don’t do anything rash, David,” he said. “This won’t end well if you hurt anyone else.”
Shepherd shifted the gun to the back of Tag’s head and walked him forward.
“I don’t have any plans that end me today,” Shepherd said. “Get out of the way.”
Bass walked sideways to block Shepherd. “Take me. Let him go. You want a hostage? I’m the one you want.”
“Don’t,” Merlo said.
“Thing is,” Shepherd said. “No one cares if you live or die.”
“I’m an undercover cop,” Bass said. He dropped his gun and kicked it away. “Detective Nico Sebastiani, NYPD. They care.”
Merlo grimaced. “Goddamn it, Sebastiani.”
Under other circumstances, Tag knew he’d care about that. He wasn’t sure if he’d be angry, relieved, or just confused, but he’d care. But at the moment, his brain refused to spare it any attention.
