Jack released the vine and crawled around to Barlowe’s side of the tree. The merc’s face was blue-tinged, his eyes closed as his body sagged to its knees.

On the far side he could hear Kenny’s noisy progress, yelling and firing short bursts as he approached.

“Gotcha now, fucker! Say your prayers, ‘cause you got about a minute to live. Hope you’re shittin’ your pants, fucker. Hey, yo, Barlowe! Where are you, man? You’re gonna miss the fun!”

“Barlowe’s right here,” Jack whispered. “Waiting for you.”

Jack grabbed Barlowe’s Tec-9 but its strap was wrapped and twisted around his arm. He yanked first, then tried to untangle it, and all the while he could hear Kenny crashing closer.

“Dammit!” he hissed as he fumbled for the strap release.

And then pain blazed through the front of Jack’s left thigh. For an instant he thought he’d been shot, then he looked down and saw Barlowe’s knife dropping out of a bloody slit in his jeans, and Barlowe staring up at him with the reddest whites Jack had ever seen.

And Kenny just on the other side of the tree.

Ignoring the pain in his leg as best he could, Jack hauled Barlowe to his feet—had to hand it to the guy, he was one tough, determined son of a bitch—and faced him toward Kenny’s sounds. As he held him up he wriggled his hand under the merc’s right arm, searching for the Tec-9’s grip.

Kenny arrived with his own Tec blazing, and Jack felt the jolting impact of the slugs tearing into Barlowe.

“Oh, Christ!” Kenny wailed as the shooting stopped. “Barlowe, what—?”

Jack couldn’t see Kenny, but he could imagine his expression. Jack’s questing finger found the trigger of Barlowe’s Tec then, and he pulled it. He had no idea where he was aiming, he simply started firing blind and wild, and hoped the clip wouldn’t run out.

He chanced a peek over Barlowe’s shoulder and saw Kenny stumbling backward, arms and eyes wide, his chest a bloody ruin.

Jack released Barlowe and his Tec, letting him fall forward. Both mercs hit the ground about the same time.

And then Jack sagged against the big tree, clutching his bloody thigh. It hurt like hell every time he moved his leg.

Just what I need, he thought.

But at least he was no longer the only unarmed man on the hill.

9.

9.

The gunfire had stopped.

“Well,” Baker said, “that’s it for your boyfriend.”

He leaned against the desk, his pistol still in his hand.

“You don’t know that,” Alicia said.

She could not imagine Jack dead. He seemed too resourceful to be dead. But then, she’d only seen him playing his tricks. She’d never seen him in a gunfight. And no matter how good he was, how could he overcome two men armed with automatic weapons?