would relax for just a moment, giving him enough time to make his move, but Jones was too good of a soldier to slip up. The barrel of his gun followed Greene wherever he went.
“That’s far enough,” Jones ordered. He was afraid that Greene would sneak to the far side of the truck, and if he did, he would no longer have a clean shot at him. “Climb into the bed from the back bumper. If you flinch, you die!”
“Bennie,” Payne called, “how’s your shot at the driver?”
“Clear.”
“Stay on him, Bennie. Never let him leave your sight.”
Greene stepped onto the back bumper as directed, then pulled himself up with a quick tug of his arm. After stepping over the hatch, he moved toward Ariane, keeping his eyes on Jones while looking for a chance to get free.
“D.J.,” Payne shouted, “you still got him?”
“No problem. In fact, I’m tempted to take him now, just for the hell of it.”
Despite the boast, Payne felt uneasy about the situation. There was something about the cocky look in Greene’s eyes that made him nervous. Payne wasn’t sure what was going on, but his gut told him that something bad was about to happen. As a precaution, he moved forward, keeping the hostage directly between himself and Greene.
“Do this nice and slow,” Payne ordered. “No mistakes.”
Greene nodded as he pulled Ariane into a sitting position. Next, he placed his right hand on the hood that was tied around her neck while crouching down behind her.
“D.J.?” Payne screamed.
“Don’t worry. On your command, I can put a hole in his brain.”
Payne felt temporarily better, but his anxiety returned when Greene started working on the rope around her throat. “Careful!”
“You gotta chill,” he growled. “If I hurt her, you’ll hurt Theo. And trust me, I don’t want you to do that. Why? Because I want to do it myself!”
Using Ariane as a shield, Greene pulled a gun from the back of his belt and fired two shots toward Payne. As he did, Holmes punched the gas pedal hard, sending Ariane and Greene tumbling backward in a tangle of body parts, an act that kept Jones from shooting. Sure, he could’ve fired, but the risk of hitting Ariane was simply too high for his taste. Instead, he figured he’d rely on his backup.
“Bennie,” Jones screamed, “get the driver!”
But Blount reacted too late. He fired a number of shots at the front windshield, yet the only thing that hit Holmes was shards of broken glass.
Jones cursed as the truck continued forward. He did his best to stop it by shooting at the back right tire, but the angle of the flatbed protected it like armor. He shifted his aim to the rear window, hoping to nail the driver in the back of the head, but Holmes made a sudden turn toward the side of the house.
“Son of a bitch!” Jones yelled. He couldn’t believe that so many unexpected things had happened. Greene’s hidden gun, his lack of compassion for Webster, the detonator, and Ariane’s unintentional interference. Jones abandoned his position and ran toward the front steps, where he came across Blount in the hallway. The two of them sprinted down the stairs together, hoping to hit the truck with a long-distance shot, but when they burst out the front door, they noticed something that changed their priorities.
Two bodies were sprawled on the columned porch.
One was Webster; the other was Payne.
Both were covered in blood, and neither was moving.
CHAPTER 52
WHILE Blount ran for a first-aid kit, Jones tended to Payne, carefully probing his unconscious friend. Unfortunately, Payne’s black clothes made it tough to find his injuries.
“Bennie! Get out here! I need your help!”
Blount returned a moment later, medical supplies in hand.
“Help me get his shirt off. I need to figure out where he was hit.”
Expecting the worst, they carefully cut off the bloodied garment, exposing Payne’s chiseled but scarred torso. Thankfully, his chest and stomach were free of new wounds.
“The blood must’ve been Webster’s,” Blount said, relieved.
“Not all of it.” Jones pointed to a gaping hole in Payne’s arm. One of Greene’s bullets had torn through Webster’s body and embedded itself in Payne’s left biceps. “It’s not life threatening, but I have to patch him up before he bleeds too much.”
“What do you need me to do? Get you some towels? Boil some water?”
Jones frowned. “He’s not having a baby. He’s been shot.”
Blount nodded. “Does that mean I can’t do anything?”
“Actually, you can. I won’t leave Jon until I treat him,