Inside Outt

distance, caught the guy’s right sleeve, and yanked him past in the kind of arm drag he’d once favored as a high school wrestler. He hoisted him from behind, rotated him over an upraised knee, and slammed him facedown into the sidewalk.
    The white guy was on his knees, his face a bloody mask. He snaked a jerky arm inside his jacket. Ben took a long step over and kicked him in the face. The force of the kick lifted the guy’s supporting arm clean off the sidewalk and he dropped the gun he’d been fumbling for. Ben swept it up—a Glock 23, just like his. He checked the load. Good to go.
    He tracked back to the black guy, aiming the Glock with a two-handed grip. No movement. Track back to the white guy. Same.
    He stepped over to the black guy and bent to take his gun and check for ID.
    A voice came from behind him, feminine, sweetly southern-accented but with steel underneath. “Put the weapon down, sir. Now. Or you’re dead right there.”
    He looked up. Son of a bitch, the black woman. She’d taken cover behind a parked car and was pointing a pistol at his face.
    “I’ll be damned,” he said, slowly lowering the Glock. “You’re with these guys. I didn’t spot that.”
    “Drop. The weapon. Now.”
    Ben didn’t know who they were. They felt like law enforcement. From the way they were armed and what the black guy had said, they could have been FBI. And Hort had said the Bureau was investigating.
    But he’d be damned if anyone was going to take him into custody again. Not today. Not ever.
    He eased the Glock into his waistband. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”
    “Sir, I will shoot you.”
    He looked at her. “Then shoot me.”
    The black guy groaned and started to get up. Ben kicked him in the face and he went down again.
    “Stop that!” the woman yelled.
    “You want to ask me your questions, ask,” Ben said. “Otherwise, I’ve got places to go.”
    There was a long pause. The woman continued to watch him through her gun sights, and for a tense moment Ben wondered whether he’d miscalculated, whether she might actually shoot him.
    She watched him for a moment longer, and he could see the tension in her face. Incongruously, he found himself noticing her skin. Smooth, light brown, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. There was a hint of Asian in the shape of her eyes.
    She lowered the pistol and muttered, “Goddamn it.”
    She came out from behind the car and approached him, the gun in a two-handed grip but pointed at the ground. Ben noted that she was watching his torso, not his face. She was well-trained.
    She walked over to the fallen white guy and knelt next to him. “Bob,” she said, “are you okay? Bob.”
    Bob groaned. He got a hand on the street and started pushing himself up. The woman helped him. While she did, Ben reached inside the black guy’s jacket.
    “Hey!” the woman called.
    Ben extracted a Glock from a shoulder holster. “Too late,” he said. “Doesn’t look like you’re going to shoot me, but I don’t know about this guy.”
    The woman walked over. “Drew,” she said. “Goddamn it, Drew, talk to me.” She looked at Ben. “If you killed him, I swear to God you’re going down.”
    Drew wheezed, then broke into a coughing fit. He rolled to his side, his hands on his throat.
    “Well, he’s breathing,” Ben said. “What were you saying there, chief? Something about, what, doing this the easy way? Well, you were right, it was easy.”
    “Shut up,” the woman said. “Drew. Look at me. Can you drive?”
    Drew sat up and massaged his throat. Ben didn’t think the guy looked good to drive. He looked good to puke.
    But Drew managed a nod.
    “Then go.”
    Drew wheezed. “That’s not—”
    “Just go. I’ll interview this guy and fill you in later.”
    She stood up and holstered her gun. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”
    “Go? Where are we going?”
    “Wherever you like. A coffee shop. A park. Somewhere we can talk.”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Just shut up and drive your car, okay? Before I get sorry I didn’t shoot you.”

CHAPTER 8
No One Ever Sees Me Coming
    T hey found a Starbucks in the direction of Orlando. At the counter, Ben told the girl at the register, “Just a black coffee. Tall.” Then he walked off and found a table that put his back to the wall.
    A minute later the black woman set a couple of coffees on the table and joined him. She looked miffed, whether at having to buy and bring him his