Page 129 of Our Daughter's Bones

“I’m not alone,” Nick warned and took a step forward, away from the door. “The station knows where I am. They know I’m at your cabin.”

“I’ll get away. You have no idea who protects me.”

“How long will you run for?” He inched forward again. She knew what he was doing. He was going to launch himself at David when the distance was close enough. “If you come with me now, you can cut a deal.”

“I don’t want any deal. I’m not going to prison!”

“Come on, David. You’re a smart guy. Don’t make things worse. If you come with me, I can put in a good word for you.”

“Back off!”

“If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already.”

This was her cue.

Everything happened in a blur.

Nick charged at him. Mackenzie threw open the door just as a shot went off. She stilled for a microsecond. Was someone hit?

Nick and David were on the floor, fighting. Nick was on top. His heavy knee pushed into David’s abdomen. He pressed his arm into David’s throat in an attempt to cut off his oxygen supply. His right arm was stretched out to reach David’s left, which held the gun.

David still had the gun. Even though he was lying on the floor with Nick on top of him, he held the weapon pointing toward the front door, which had a bullet hole. His hand trembled as he tried to move it to point it at Nick.

Nick tried to extend his arm more without shifting his weight off David. But David was strong too. They both grunted and trembled.

Mackenzie tiptoed toward them. She didn’t want to make her presence known yet. Not when David held the gun. One of them could get hurt. But when she got closer, David saw her.

His eyes widened, and a snarl ripped from his throat. He pushed Nick off him into Mackenzie. Her gun fell as Nick crashed into her. But he was quick to recover. Before David could stand up, he leaped forward and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went flying across the room.

David growled. He grabbed Nick by the collar and threw him over the coffee table. The glass shattered under Nick’s weight. David looked at Mackenzie, his neck red and hands curled into fists.

He was a football player. His first instinct would be to tackle her. She was ready when he lunged at her. She dodged and kneed him in the hip. But the angle was slightly off—he wobbled but didn’t fall.

He swung a punch, but she blocked it. He kept swinging as he charged toward her. She was being backed into a corner. The air around them billowed and whooshed. The adrenaline rush muted most of her pain.

David was strong. But he lacked technique. His punches were the result of rage. They were blindly thrown and poorly executed.

When another blow came toward her face, she ducked and punched him hard, angling up right under his sternum. He held his stomach and wheezed. He raised his leg to kick her but she caught it and smashed the soft top of his kneecap with her elbow. He winced in pain and wobbled. She struck another sharp blow behind his ear, again with her elbow.

It was a devastating blow. If used right, it was crippling.

David wailed in pain and collapsed to his knees.

Her gun. It was lying right next to him at her feet. Before she could kick it away, David picked it up and pointed at her.

The safety was off.

There was another gunshot. Mackenzie gasped. David froze.

The gun in his hand went limp and dropped to the floor. Blood gushed out his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed just before he slumped at her feet. She saw the bullet wound in his back.

She looked up to find Nick standing with his gun in his hand. His head was split open. Blood poured down his cheek.

“Nick! Are you okay?” She rushed to him. “Here. Keep the pressure on.”

“I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.” He pressed his hand against his head. “Get Abby. I’m calling it in. I have service.”

Seventy-Two