Mount Mercy

Colt walked towards me. He didn’t swagger, didn’t try to prove he was a big man. There was no wasted movement at all: everything about this man was pared down to the bone. He didn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun was an inch from my cheek. “How about you take me right to him,’ he countered, “and then maybe I’ll put my gun down.”

I smelled gun oil and burnt powder. I’ve had guns pointed at me a few times, by gang members in LA and militia in Africa. But those guys—little more than kids, usually—were always fired up on adrenaline. Most of the time they were as scared as you were. Colt was different. There was no fear at all in his eyes: twenty years in jail had burned it all away and now he had nothing more to lose. His anger was still there, but time had hardened and sharpened it into a vicious weapon. No fear, plenty of anger. This guy actually would shoot. We have to get him out of here.

And then, to my horror, Taylor gave a choking sob of disbelief. An intake of breath as she prepared to speak— No, Taylor! Don’t!

“How can you be a part of this?” she asked Seth.

Colt swung smoothly around to point the gun right at her face. Behind me, Beckett caught her breath in fear and grabbed my shoulders. Taylor went stock-still.

“You got some advice on how my son should live his life?” Colt asked Taylor.

I thought about trying to grab the gun but Colt could easily pull the trigger before I got it off him. Seth was standing in the perfect position, behind his dad. But he wasn’t going to rebel against him: too scared or too loyal, or both. “Sir!” he said desperately.

Colt ignored him. He pushed the muzzle of the gun against Taylor’s lips. “You think you’re going to tempt him away from me?”

Taylor didn’t move. Tears were filling her eyes. Seth’s breathing changed, becoming quick and labored. He had his gun pointed at me, but the barrel started to tremble as his anger built. Taylor. The one thing that could override his fear of his father. But if it turned into a gunfight between them, we could all die.

Colt pried Taylor’s lips apart with the muzzle. She had her teeth firmly locked together, but he didn’t try to open them. He just slid the muzzle along them and the hallway was so silent, we could all hear it, chink chink chink. Beckett’s fingers dug into my shoulders and I heard one of the hostages offer up a prayer.

“Dad!” snapped Seth.

Colt twisted his head around, surprised. He frowned, then looked at his son with a strange mixture of pride and disgust. His gun was still pressed against Taylor’s mouth and his finger caressed the trigger once, twice….

He jerked the gun out from between her lips and pointed it at me. “Take me to him,” he ordered.

We moved as a group, Colt’s gun against the back of my head. This was getting worse and worse: we were entering the main part of the ER, now, crammed with staff and patients. I’ve treated shooting victims enough times to know that the worst place in the world for a gun to be fired is somewhere like this: a place with no solid walls, just curtains and partitions. The bullets would just keep going, taking lives until they finally hit something that stopped them.

Luckily, it was evening. The lights in the rear part of the ER were turned down low and most of the patients were dozing, so we crept through pretty much unnoticed. The patients who woke stared at the guns in fear, but I put a finger to my lips. I knew there were still cops hanging around the hospital and I didn’t want anyone to raise the alarm and fetch one or this would turn into a firefight.

We had three of Colt’s men in the ER, all of them handcuffed to gurneys. But Colt pushed me straight past the two with bullet wounds and only stopped when we reached the man in the tan jacket I’d seen Seth protecting. He had bandages wrapped around the upper part of his head. “What’s the matter with him?” demanded Colt.

The man snapped to attention and tried to blindly find the source of the voice. “Colt?”

“He was right next to the car when it exploded,” I said. “A few burns to the face, some burns to the corneas.”

“You saying he’s blind?” The muzzle of Colt’s gun rubbed impatiently at the base of my scalp.

“No. The burns are only light. The bandages can come off in another day.”

“Get him out of those handcuffs. I’m taking him with me.”

I nodded. I just wanted Colt out of the ER.

But at that second, a yell broke the quiet. “Freeze!” All of us whipped around. Shit! It was Lloyd. He was standing there, gun drawn. Tired and strung out and worried about Earl and staring straight at the guy who shot him.