“Look, gentlemen,” Sheriff Gonzalez said. “This is a critical operation. We think a murder could be occurring at any moment.”

Madigan looked back into his office again.

The redhead offered to Gonzalez, “You understand a warrant has been issued for his arrest? I’m sorry. We don’t have any choice.”

They took his Colt and ID and badge.

Madigan repeated, “At least let me check in with some of my people.” He was growing more agitated.

They debated a moment but settled for, “You’ll be out in an hour.”

“Two, tops.”

And they also decided yes on the cuffs.

Chapter 36

DANCE HUDDLED BEHIND the fallen pine tree.

There’d been no more shots; was the assailant still there? Waiting for her to show? It would make more sense for him to leave. He’d have to assume that Dance had called in reinforcements and would have fled. He couldn’t risk staying any longer.

Or could he?

Clutching the fire extinguisher, she debated. If I don’t do something now, Sheri’ll die. She’ll burn to death.

Dance looked up cautiously, then ducked down again. No gunshots.

She thought of her children, how she couldn’t stand the idea of their being orphans. Thought too that she’d specifically gone into kinesic analysis and investigations to avoid tactical situations that might put her life in danger.

And here, I’m not even on duty, she thought.

Another cry from the car, but muted. Sheri Towne was losing the battle.

Now. It has to be now.

She leapt to her feet and began to sprint to the Mercedes, just as the flames were reaching into the passenger compartment.

Waiting for the bullets.

None came her way but still she dove into the ditch, out of the line of fire of the shooter in the woods, and crawled fast to the car. Inside, Sheri was pounding on the windshield with bloody hands. She was retching and coughing as the smoke roiled into the interior. Dance’s skin prickled in the heat from a grass fire surrounding the car.

The woman inside turned desperate eyes to her and mouthed something.

Dance gestured for her to move back and she slammed the extinguisher base into the passenger-side window. It shattered easily. Dance tossed the extinguisher away—it wasn’t going to do any good on a fire like this—and reached inside to yank the woman out. Sheri was convulsing in spasms and coughing hard, spittle flying from her mouth. Tears streamed down her sooty face.

The agent dragged her thirty feet from the car, crouching, in case the attacker was still there with his gun. They sprawled on the ground in a depression by the roadside.

The woman dropped to her knees and vomited hard and tried to stand.

“No, stay down,” Dance said, starting for her SUV and her phone to see if Madigan had gotten her message and, if not, to call 911.

Which was when she heard a loud bang behind her and felt something slam into her lower back. She pitched forward onto the hard, sunbaked earth.