There’s no sign of Smucker. I take a step back, trying to figure out how best to handle this when I hear a minute sound behind me. I spin to see Smucker coming down the aisle. His eyes meet mine and go wide. His mouth opens. For an instant, time stands still.

His gaze flicks to the pistol at my side. “What the fuck?”

I bring up the .22, aim center mass. “I’m a cop,” I hiss. “Get your fucking hands up. Face the wall. Now.” I say all of it quietly enough so the other two men can’t hear.

I don’t see a weapon, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed. It sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. I don’t like the close quarters of the hall. I’m ever aware that two more men are scant feet away on the other side of the door.

“Cop?” But he raises his hands. “Shit. Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Put your hands against the wall. Your face, too. Do it now.”

Watching me, moving slowly, he obeys. “What the hell is this?”

“Shut up.” Keeping as much distance between us as possible, the .22 trained on his back, I sidle past him.

I walk backward toward the open area. Smucker watches me, his cheek pressed against the wall. I wonder if Betancourt got to Suggs, if the state police are en route. I sense movement behind me. I swing around, catch a glimpse of Suggs an instant before his fist slams into my face. Pain explodes in my nose. The force of the blow buckles my knees, sends me reeling backward. As I go down, I see intent in his eyes. The blue steel of a revolver in his hand and I think: You fucked up, Burkholder.

An instant before I hit the floor, something slams into my head from behind. Stars fly in my peripheral vision. I look up, see Smucker bending toward me, teeth clenched, arms reaching. I bring up the .22 and fire blind.

Smucker screams and staggers backward. Red blooms on his coat sleeve. He looks down at the tear, goose down sticking out, blood soaked. He grasps his arm with is uninjured hand. “You shot me, you bitch!”

“Get that fucking gun!” Suggs kicks my wrist, but I don’t drop the .22.

The door bangs against the wall. I glance up to see Yoder rush out, a rifle in his hands. Eyes locked on me. Mouth twisted into a snarl. “What’s going on?” he shouts.