King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

“We’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you always told me when you were with the Secret Service.”

“Sean,” hissed Michelle. “They’re almost here.”

“Just do it, Dana. Do it now.”

Dana smiled, rose, and said, “See you next time. Take care.” She turned and walked away and toward the police substation that was just around the corner.

Sean rose, and Michelle did, too. But they turned the other way, to face the three men heading toward them. Sean and Michelle split up, one heading right and the other left, which meant their opponents had to watch two targets instead of one.

Sean knew that if they were the authorities, creds would have come out by now. They hadn’t. He searched each of the men’s faces. His conclusion: military. But if so, where were the creds?

They could be former military.

They were within five feet of each other. In his periphery Sean saw Michelle’s hand drift to her waist. His own hand rose nearer the gun in his shoulder holster. He would prefer to do this outside; although the food court was sparsely inhabited right now, there was still the potential for a lot of collateral damage.

The man directly in front of Sean stopped and said, “We need you to come with us. And the woman who was just with you too. Get on your phone and call her back here.”

“And who might be asking?”

“All will be explained once you accompany us outside.”

“Don’t think so. My mother always told me to never go anywhere with strangers.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Michelle called out, “There are always choices.”

Sean was about to say something when a voice yelled, “Freeze!”

The three men in front of Sean could see who was calling out. When their hands reached for their guns Sean knew it was the mall police behind him.

Michelle had already darted forward and kicked the gun out of the man’s hand directly in front of her. Then she laid him out with a blow to his throat. He dropped to the floor, gasping for air.

The man in the middle pulled his weapon and opened fire at the approaching police. One of the cops dropped dead to the floor. The other threw himself over a fast-food counter. Sean leapt forward, grabbed the gun hand of the man who had spoken to him, and wrestled with him over the weapon.

The surviving policeman shouted, “Drop your weapons.”

All that got him was more shots fired at him. He ducked back down as all the civilians in the vicinity ran away screaming.

“Call in backup,” Sean yelled at the cop.

Michelle had dipped low, used one arm as a pivot point, swung her long legs around, and clipped the feet out from under the middle shooter. He went down hard but kept his gun. He pointed it upward at her, but she was no longer there. She slid on her back, feet-first at him, ramming one of her heels into the side of his face. He yelled and grabbed her ankle. She rolled up and came down on top of his head with her right elbow. The back of his head smacked the hard floor, knocking him out. She rose in time to see Sean whirling at her after being thrown off by the man he had been fighting.

The man grabbed a second gun from a backup holster, aimed, but did not fire.

This was because Sean had turned and shot him in the chest with the gun he had ripped from the man’s grip. The man fell to the floor.

Sean and Michelle turned in time to see the man she had first fought with lining up his sights on the second policeman as he tried to climb back over the fast-food counter.

Michelle pulled her gun and shot him in the side of his head right as he fired. He dropped back to the floor, dead. But his round had clipped the cop in the arm and he fell to the floor bleeding.

Michelle slid over to the dead shooter and searched his pockets.

“Nothing,” she called out. “No wallet. No ID.”

Sean ran over to the downed cop, ripped open his shirtsleeve, and examined the wound.