Page 164 of Dead Man's List

Kit’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Shit, shit, shit.” She crawled around the front of their car to where Connor lay flat on the ground staring up at the sky, one hand pressed to his upper thigh. The other hand still clutched his service weapon.

She looked around and saw no one. The shooter—presumably Neckbeard—was somewhere behind the tree line. She pulled Connor between the back of the trailer and the front of their car, then leaned over him. “How bad?”

“First shot…here.” He let go of his leg to touch his chest, leaving bloody fingerprints on his white shirt. “Vest stopped the bullet. But it hurts to breathe.”

Not good. The vest kept the bullet from piercing the skin, but it didn’t stop the bullet from breaking ribs or even puncturing a lung.

“How bad is the leg?” She pulled a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket and tugged them on. Her pocketknife was next. She closed Connor’s fingers around the Maglite. “Hold the light. I need to see.” She looked up and around, expecting to see the killer standing over them with his rifle pointed at their heads. But they were alone in the three-by-six-foot space.

As gently as she could, she cut the fabric away from Connor’s thigh. The fabric was already heavily wet with blood.

“It’s bad,” Connor gritted out. “Bleeding a lot.”

“I think he hit an artery. I need to get you out of here.” She pulled her belt from her pants and slid it under his leg, fastening and tightening it. The makeshift tourniquet was the best she could do. “Can you walk?”

Connor tried to push himself up, his face contorting in pain. “Can’t even stand.”

“Then I’ll drag you.” She hooked her arms under his and dragged him to the edge of their safe zone. She stopped at the last minute, turning her head to search for the shooter.

Another bullet whizzed past her ear, and she dropped to cover Connor’s body with her own. “Motherfucker,” she snarled.

If she hadn’t stopped to look, that bullet would have killed her.

“Just go,” Connor said, clenching his teeth. “He’s over by thecabin. Crouch behind the car and run into the woods. It’s less than a mile to the main road.”

“Not leaving you.”

Think, Kit.She needed to get Neckbeard away from the cabin, needed a clear sight line. Then she could take him down.

“You need to run, Neckbeard!” she yelled. “Did you think we came without backup? You have about two minutes before the road is blocked in both directions.”

How he’d get away was unclear, unless he had the motorcycle—or the Ferrari or the Suburban—stashed around the back of his cabin.

“Liar!” a voice called back, gravelly and deep. Like Simon Daly said the deliveryman who’d inquired about his wife had sounded.

“I heard you say you needed backup,” he added. “Don’t lie to me.”

Shit.

Kit leaned down to whisper in Connor’s ear. “I’m going around the trailer, try to draw him out. If he stays in that cabin, we’re sitting ducks.” And no one was coming to help them. “Stay here.”

“Help me sit up,” he whispered back. “I want to be able to see him if he comes through the cabin door. I can cover you from here.”

Kit helped him sit, wincing at the faces he made. But he didn’t cry out or moan. He was quiet in his pain.

Kit got down on the ground, propelling herself around the trailer with her elbows. It helped that the ground was wet. The slick mud eased her way.

When she got to the front of the trailer, she took a minute to breathe.In and out.That she could hear the words in Sam’s voice gave her a little comfort.

“You might as well run while you can,” she shouted. “Weactually do have backup on the way. I called my lieutenant, told him exactly where we were going. Lots of people saw us coming this way, so there will be a shit ton of cops here soon. Considering you’ve killed a shit ton of people, I’d run if I were you.”

“Throw your gun away,” Neckbeard yelled back. “Both of you. Then we’ll talk.”

Kit inched her way to the front edge of the trailer. She could see the cabin from here. The front door was open, but all she could see was blackness. “Not gonna happen, Mr.Neckbeard. Come on out and I won’t kill you.”

Neckbeard laughed. “You won’t be killing me,” he said, his voice no longer deep and gravelly. It was melodious, almost like a song. “You’ll be too dead.”

Kit wondered if there really were two men. Multiple hands.