St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

is second. Too far for pistols. Bad light getting worse. Pass that rifle up here!”
    Zach kept going, increasing his stride. In the dusk-to-darkness, a rifle wasn’t going to do much good. Jill was doing the smart thing and running for cover.
    So was the killer behind her.
    From beyond the cabin, the sound of man-made thunder rolled through the twilight. Someone was shooting.
    It wasn’t a Colt Woodsman.
    The op behind Zach began shouting orders to the others.
    He ran hard, away from the back of the cabin, careful to stay just off the path of the target in case the op with the rifle got lucky. In his mind he replayed the few seconds he’d had the shooter in range.
    I hit him, but he didn’t go down.
    Son of a bitch is wearing body armor.
    A head shot would be the only fast way of killing him. And a head shot was a tough target when the man was running.
    No problem. I’ll just get close enough to shove the barrel up his ass.
    But that would take time.
    Time Jill didn’t have.

90
    BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:42 P.M.
    J ill was running hard through raking, dry, shoulder-high brush when she hit the edge of the ravine. She shifted her balance in midair, twisted, and landed with a jolting roll that made her hurt arm scream. The soft, sandy bottom of the dry creek absorbed some of the shock of her landing. The rest knocked out a lot of her breath and set her head spinning.
    Like a cornered animal, she staggered to her feet, her breath almost as rapid as her heartbeat. She could hear the crackle of brush as Ski Mask ran closer. The ragged walls of the wash were more than five feet tall. Too high for a fast escape.
    And a fast way out was the only thing that would keep her alive.
    To her left a long, pale ribbon of rocks and sand slanted up to a dry waterfall. A glance told her that the dark rocks of the fall were too far off. Every step of the way she would show up against that light sand like the target she was.
    She’d be shot to death before she reached the uncertain cover of the dry fall.
    To her right the wash took a hard turn around a rocky outcrop. She was running for it before she consciously made a decision. Shedidn’t know if she would find cover at the bend in the wash, or another long stretch of pale sand. But the crooked stretch of wash was the only hope she had.
    She sprinted toward the bend, her breath harsh, burning.
    A rock poked out of the darkness, tripping her, sending her flying. She landed facedown and felt black light spin down out of the sky over her. She tried to get up, knowing that the shooter could still see her.
    Her body didn’t respond.
    Fighting to breathe, Jill waited to be shot.

91
    BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:42 P.M.
    W ith each step, Zach gained on Ski Mask. Whatever the shooter did for a living, wind sprints weren’t on his daily to-do list. As Zach closed in, he could hear the man’s breath groaning in and out. Zach couldn’t see Jill any longer. Either she’d gone to ground or she’d outrun Ski Mask.
    Zach’s earphones whispered. “The client vanished. The shooter is—shit, he just dropped into some kind of hole. Watch it, Zach!”
    He kept running for a long five count, then skidded to a stop near the edge of the hidden ravine. Against the pale sand of the river bottom he saw a bulky shadow turn toward him.
    He dropped to the ground as two shots exploded out of the ravine. The shooter was no more than fifteen feet away.
    Zach didn’t aim toward the muzzle flash. Instead, he aimed for the thighs.
    Bring him down and then finish him off.
    His gun kicked.
    The shadow cursed and went to his knees.
    More shots exploded out of the ravine. Even as Zach registered the fact that one of the shots came from a Colt Woodsman, the muscular shadow in the ravine jerked, driven backward, closer to Zach.
    “You’re dead, bitch!” the man screamed, raising his pistol to send a hail of bullets toward Jill.
    Zach didn’t know he was yelling until the shadow turned toward him. He saw the twilight gleam of eyes behind the mask and shot twice, the double tap of death.
    The shooter slammed against the far wall of the narrow ravine and bumped down to sprawl in the sand.
    Prone, Zach kept his pistol pointed at the space where the man’s head should have been.
    “Jill, it’s Zach,” he called. “Stay down until I tell you to move.”
    Nothing answered him but the echo of shots careening back from the mountains.
    “Jill!”
    Zach didn’t remember jumping into the ravine,