McEnroe vanished into the trees.
What the fuck did you just do?
He had to go after McEnroe. It was his job. His duty. He could not continue to stand there like a statue. But he could not seem to…unstick his limbs. He felt paralyzed. His right shoulder was throbbing painfully as though he’d reinjured it. The reality was he was unhurt, and Rebecca’s murderer was getting away.
Metal rings scraped on a metal rod. The curtains next to him suddenly fluttered open, and Kennedy leaned out the window. “Where is he? Where did he go?”
Jason’s lips parted as he stared at Kennedy’s tense, hard features.
He could lie. He could say he didn’t know. That McEnroe had escaped before Jason made it to the back of the house.
The fact he even considered this lie for however brief a moment shocked him. Like it wasn’t already bad enough?
He said through stiff lips, “He ran for the woods. He pulled a gun on me.”
Kennedy shouted, “Then what the hell are you standing there for?”
That broke the spell. Jason launched himself after McEnroe as Kennedy—with a lightness surprising in a man his size—jumped down from the window ledge.
As Jason’s feet pounded the soft, uneven ground, he scanned the treeline for motion or color. He saw nothing.
It was a relief to run. Dodging bullets was preferable to facing Kennedy. Or his own thoughts.
What the fuck? What the fuck?
How could you have done that?
He could hear Kennedy shouting to Gervase, but he didn’t hear the words. He didn’t need to. No time to think about any of it now. Somehow he had to make this right. All his focus needed to be on locating and apprehending McEnroe.
In thirty seconds Jason was across the firebreak. He plunged into the shadowy cool of the woods.
It was like passing through the door into a different world. The tall army of trees seemed to absorb all sound. The temperature dropped an instant few degrees, and visibility grew uncertain. He slowed, listening. From a few yards ahead he could hear crashing sounds as McEnroe piled through bushes and brush in his headlong flight. He was making no effort to be quiet, no effort to conceal his passage. He was desperate.
So was Jason. He charged after him.
High overhead a startled flock of birds took flight.
Twigs snapped to his right. Jason brought his weapon up. Several yards down Kennedy was moving on a parallel line with him.
Wouldn’t that be brilliant? Shoot Senior Special Agent Sam Kennedy by mistake?
You should not be here. You are a danger to yourself and everyone on your team.
The unbidden thought frightened him, made him angry. It wasn’t true. He had made a mistake, but he would fix it.
He paused.
Behind him came the crackle of a radio, instantly muffled. That would be Gervase coming up from the rear. And ahead of him…more sounds of cracking wood. Quieter now, more surreptitious. McEnroe had stopped panicking and was using his brain.
Where are you?
Jason listened, tuning out Gervase’s muted voice speaking softly into his shoulder mic, Kennedy’s careful progress through prehistoric-sized ferns…
There. The brush and splinter of something large moving swiftly through dense overgrowth.
Jason charged after, abandoning stealth and relying on sheer speed.
His oncoming rush must have startled McEnroe who suddenly popped up about a yard ahead, red and yellow shirt a sudden flash of color in the blue-green gloom. McEnroe’s pale face turned briefly toward him, eyes wide in alarm.