“No!” Lucy screamed and lifted her pistol toward Culbeau, but by the time she fired, the men had gone for cover in the tall grass surrounding the cabin.

… chapter thirty-seven

Rhyme felt the instinctive urge to drop to the ground but, of course, remained upright in the Storm Arrow wheelchair. More bullets slammed into the van where Sachs and Lucy, now face down on the grass, had been standing a moment before. Thom was on his knees, trying to work the heavy wheelchair out of the depression of soft earth where it was lodged.

“Lincoln!” Sachs cried.

“I’m okay. Move! Get to the other side of the van. Under cover.”

Lucy said, “But Garrett can target us from there.”

Sachs snapped back, “But he’s not the one who’s goddamn shooting!”

Another shotgun blast missed them by a foot and the pellets rattled along the porch. Thom put the wheelchair in neutral and muscled it toward the cabin side of the van. “Stay low,” Rhyme said to the aide, who ignored a shot that zipped past them and shattered a side window of the vehicle.

Lucy and Sachs followed the two men to the shadowy area between the cabin and the van.

“Why the hell’re they doing this?” Lucy cried. She fired several shots, sending O’Sarian and Tomel scrabbling for cover. Rhyme couldn’t see Culbeau but knew that the big man was directly in front of them somewhere. The rifle that he’d been carrying was high powered and fitted with a large telescopic sight.

“Take the cuffs off and give me the gun,” Sachs shouted.

“Give it to her,” Rhyme said. “She’s a better shot than you.”

“No goddamn way!” The deputy shook her head, her expression one of astonishment at this suggestion. More bullets slapped the metal of the van, dug out chunks of wood from the porch.

“They’ve got fucking rifles!” Sachs raged. “You’re no match for them. Give me the gun!”

Lucy rested her head against the side of the van and stared in shock at the slain deputies lying in the grass. “What’s going on?” she muttered, crying. “What’s happening?”

Their cover—the van—wasn’t going to last much longer. It protected them from Culbeau and his rifle but the other two were flanking them. In a few minutes they’d set up a cross fire.

Lucy fired twice more—into the grass where a shotgun blast had erupted a moment before.

“Don’t waste your ammunition,” Sachs ordered. “Wait till you have a clear shot. Otherwise—”

“Shut the hell up,” Lucy raged. She patted her pockets. “Lost the goddamn phone.”

“Lincoln,” Thom said, “I’m taking you out of the chair. You’re too much of a target.”