Page 93 of Trusted Instinct
Kendal was defiant. “Shane came at me. I wasn’t gonna punch him, just wave my gun around.”
“I don’t care about him or you,” Auralia said. “But I put myself in too much danger for too long today not to be invested in Brandy’s survival. Chop. Chop. Let’s go.”
“Woowee, that girl’s got some balls,” Gator said. “Well, looky there, Kendal’s rounding toward the boat. Let’s circle around in front of his truck.
Creed turned his phone off. Gator followed suit. They couldn’t afford to receive an ill-timed text that would give away their position.
In a practiced crouch, Creed and Gator hustled silently along the tree line.
The night was moonless. The clouds were thick. The soot and smoke, mixed with humidity, gave the air a strange, oily feel on their exposed skin. The nostalgic smell of pine and bonfire held the tang of electrical wiring and burned fuel.
While Kendal was working on releasing the boat trailer, Gator reached into the open window on the front pickup and pulled the keys from the ignition.
Creed thrust a boot onto the tire and rounded into the bed of the truck. He reached up and opened the sliding door, then moved to the front left corner, crouching low.
Gator went around to the passenger’s side and slid silently to the ground, tucking his chin so his skin couldn’t be seen.
“That’s off,” Kendal said. “I have to put Shane in the river.”
“Leave him there,” Auralia called. “Every second wasted is a second that could make the difference to Brandy’s survival. Buddy, you know all about the golden hour. We are hours and hours into this hellscape, and it’s at least an hour to the nearest hospital. Just move that truck and let’s go!”
The command and the urgency in her voice pushed him along.
Kendal jogged forward.
When he pulled open the driver’s side door and the interior light flashed on, Gator opened the passenger side with a “Hey there”.
Creed leaped over the side and was at the window, grabbing Kendal’s right hand as he reached for the gun he’d shoved into his kidney holster, trapping his hand.
But Kendal wasn’t going down without a fight.
And he had his own surprises.
With his left hand, he snatched a knife from his belt and flicked it open, twisting and stabbing at Gator. “Aw, come on, man. It’s not like that. I don’t have no quarrel with you,” Gator said as he jumped back out of range.
Creed was having trouble getting control of the gun. The holster had a mechanism that he wasn’t familiar with. And Kendal had a death hold around the grip.
“Who the hell are you?” Kendal flipped the knife in his hand so the blade lay along his inner forearm, and he brought his elbow up, trying to stab Creed behind him.
Creed wrapped his free hand around Kendal’s fist as Gator reached back in and slammed Kendal’s head into the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times.
A car was racing up the road toward the parking lot.
“Striker for Creed and Gator.”
Gator pressed the man’s head down with one hand as he tapped his sternal mic. “Gator here.”
“Striker. The car advancing on your position is the police. The FBI is right behind them. Over.”
“Gator. Copy. Kendal will just be hanging out with us until then. Out.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Kendal asked, his cheek smooshed into the steering wheel.
“Never you mind,” Gator said. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The single cop who exited the patrol car looked wrung out.
“I’m Creed. This is Gator, sir.”
