KnockOut

eyes flicked to the deputy. “I wondered what this little twerp was doing here in the woods. You knew we were close and you called the cops, didn’t you?”
    Pain flashed hot in his leg and he almost moaned with it. He’d never been shot in the leg before. It was like a searing knife was stuck in his flesh, deep and twisting now, that blessed numbing cold long gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.
    Savich said, “You got me, Lissy. Are you ready to see what Victor thinks of me as your hostage? You know, that other agent isn’t really worth much at all, you could even let him go, no loss. He’s with Victor, right?”
    “Oh, sure, he’s with Victor. Me, I decided to do some reconnaissance. I was looking real hard at the back door of that dumpy house, praying for one of you to come strolling out, but no one did.”
    She was angry again and frowned at him, her gun steady on his chest. “You think you’re going to get out of this, big boy? Maybe you didn’t fire the shot that killed my mama, but you threw the gun to that damned security guard, and he shot her. He shot her in the neck! I saw it, saw all her blood spurt out. I saw her die!” Her hand was shaking again, and Savich waited, ready. “I’m going to kill him too. I wonder if my pretty boy Bernie has anyone who’ll care when he dies?”
    “Yes, he does, a wife and two small kids.”
    “Well, boo-hoo, the kids aren’t going to get a bedtime story from Daddy tonight. He’s one of you, out to bring me down. He’s the enemy. His wife won’t be sad for long. Mama told me after Daddy was out of the picture she had herself lots of fun.”
    She rubbed her palm across her chest. “You know, I can’t dance right now because of you. I don’t have stitches, they put in those staples. I don’t know how to get them out. Victor doesn’t like to look at them.” She studied him, then shrugged. “All right, Mr. Big Shot, you’ve earned yourself ten minutes. We’ll see what Victor has to say about you being our hostage. Get your hands off that deputy’s shoulder and stand up.”
    Savich slowly lifted his hand from the deputy’s chest. He’d had enough time and the bleeding had stopped.
    He had a chance.

67
    SAVICH LOOKED AT HIS SIG from the corner of his eye, then looked at her closely, weighed his chances of diving for his gun, raising it, and shooting her. He figured his odds and realized it was a no-go. He couldn’t trust his leg.
    He said, “Let me get some pressure on my leg, okay? You don’t want me to bleed to death, do you? How could I walk you and Victor to safety?”
    She chewed on her lower lip. “All right, use your belt, that’ll do it.”
    Savich pulled off his belt and pulled it tight around his leg. He knew he’d been lucky, the bullet was in and out, torn flesh and muscle, not all that deep. He’d be in big trouble if the bullet had lodged in him. He tried to put weight on the leg and it held up. The pain was bad, throbbing hard. It didn’t matter, he had to move his leg, work it.
    “Now let’s get back to Victor. We gotta talk about you. Then I’ll say good-bye to poor Bernie with the two little kids. Then we gotta get our money. I’m thinking Victor and I should head out west, maybe Montana. What do you think?”
    “You and Victor don’t have the money with you?”
    “Mama hid most of the money in our house in Fort Pessel. When Victor and I went there, cops were all over the house so we couldn’t get to it.” He saw her hand shake from the memory. “Doesn’t matter. After I take care of you, we’ll go back and get it. It won’t be a problem—all those yahoos will be swarming down here looking for us. Then we’ll be set. Do you know how long it takes to drive to Montana?”
    “Three, four days.”
    She nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I don’t want to go fast, just sort of see all the tourist sights. Now, step back.”
    He did, and his leg held. He put his weight on it, moved it, tensed the muscles.
    “Back up six feet.”
    He backed up. The movement was good.
    He watched Lissy pick up his SIG, shove it into her wide belt with its big turquoise buckle. She waved her gun at him. He walked slowly, carefully, Lissy six feet behind him, not taking any chance he could reach her.
    He prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone else die.
    He knew Sherlock had to be planning something. He’d been gone too long.
    “You’re walking too slow. Move!” He limped faster