Page 63 of High Density

“Haven’t actually seen anyone.”

As I move to the clinic’s front window to peer inside, I can hear Ginger’s high-pitched whines from the truck behind me. She must sense something is going on.

The clinic is dark, none of the faint light in the barn is filtering through inside, which would mean the connecting door is closed. That may be a good thing. If we can sneak in through the clinic, we may be able to catch whoever is in there by surprise.

I try the front door, but it’s locked. However, I walked right in the back door when I came by for the trailer earlier. Hopefully it’s still unlocked, otherwise, I may have to put some of my ill-gotten lock-picking skills to use. A leftover of quietly rebellious teenage years.

“Do you have Stephanie Kramer’s number?” I ask Jackson.

He shakes his head sharply, so I hand him my phone.

“I need you to stay here, keep an eye on the front, and call her. She’s in my contacts. If you can’t get through to her, call Ewing.”

“And what are you gonna do?”

I cock my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna get us inside.”

Just a few minutes have passed since I drove up, but every minute Janey is in there with the gunman—possibly getting hurt or worse—is one too many. So, without wasting any more time, I duck around the corner of the building and hoof it to the back.

Only to trip over a leg.

I manage to keep my balance, but immediately crouch down to check on the body attached. It’s Agent Wilcox and he’s bleeding from his head. I’m not sure whether it’s from a bullet wound or blunt force trauma. I press my fingertips to the side of his neck where I find a pulse, but his breathing is very shallow.

“Hang in there, buddy,” I whisper, tapping his shoulder in case he’s aware of me. “Help is on the way.”

I feel bad leaving him, but there isn’t anything I can do for him. Neutralizing the threat has to be my priority, otherwise medical help won’t even be able to get to him. Besides, I have to get to Janey before it’s too late.

Of course, the rain picks this moment to start coming down hard again and I’m dripping when I get to the back door. When I find it unlocked, I let out a big breath of relief. I very slowly open it, listening for any squeaks. As soon as I fit through the opening,I slip inside. I take off my boots to minimize noise, and use one of them to keep the door propped open.

I wait for a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior before I start moving toward the front of the clinic. As I tiptoe past the connecting door, my ears are pricked for any sounds coming from inside the barn, but I have a hard time hearing anything over the heavy rain hitting the roof.

Jackson is already waiting when I carefully turn the lock on the front door and step outside.

“Found the agent around the side. He’s injured and unconscious,” I fill him in.

“Shit. Kramer is on her way,” Jackson shares. “But she was gonna put a call in to the sheriff because she’s about twenty-five minutes out.”

Hopefully he has someone closer. Plus, whenever the sheriff’s office gets called out to a situation that involves gunfire, EMTs are generally on their heels. But, we’re about ten minutes from town, and I’m not about to wait around.

I have to get Janey out of there.

Janey

Mackey is losingwhatever was left of his marbles.

He’s been mumbling to himself, pacing back and forth in the empty stall ever since he pulled me in here.

I had no choice, I had to warn JD when I heard him walking up to the barn door, or he would’ve walked straight into the barrel of Mackey’s gun. I did not expect Mackey to shoot right through the damn door, but I jumped on the momentary distraction to try and wrestle the gun away from him.

Unfortunately, I ended up getting pistol-whipped again, this time hard enough to knock me out. Not for long, probably no more than a minute or two, but it was enough to rattle my brain. It took me a moment to realize he was dragging me into the stall next to Red’s.

I decided I was probably better off feigning to still be out. As long as I’m unconscious—or at least he thinks I am—I can’t tell him where the drugs are. I’ve been pretending, staying very quiet while he’s mostly talking to himself, occasionally kicking me in the stomach or the legs in frustration.

I’m determined to be tough and grind my teeth to keep from crying out, hoping I’m buying time. Enough time for help to show up, provided that bullet didn’t hit JD, preventing him from calling for backup.

“…I’m a fucking dead man. I’m a dead man. This was supposed to be my retirement,”he rambles on under his breath.“Except he’s not gonna pay me, he’s gonna fucking kill me piece by piece. If the FBI doesn’t shoot me first. I wasn’t thinking, but when that bitch started yelling, I reacted. Now I’m in big fucking trouble—dumbass—shooting at the feds. I’m a dead man. And if not for this fucking cunt poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, I’d be home free. If only he had her under control the way he was supposed to.”

I bite my tongue to keep from yelling out, as his boot connects with my kidney, but a grunt escapes me anyway. Immediately the barrel of his gun is shoved in my ear.

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