Page 122 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Nothing—

She motioned Walter forward. Rows of rusting machinery disappeared into shadow. Gutting tables. Conveyor belts. Hanging plastic strip curtains swayed gently in the draft, turning every beam of light into shifting silhouettes. Her boots splashed through standing water. Walter peeled right while Sarah took the left. Her weapon light skimmed across machinery black with age. Too many places for one man to pin two people down.

A shadow shifted among the machinery. Human height. Gone again.

“Sheriff’s Department!” she called. “Show me your hands!”

A rifle cracked from her two o’clock, muzzle flaring blue-white in the gloom. The round exploded splinters from a post inches from her head.

Walter caught the back of her vest and yanked hard. She hit the floor behind a rusted conveyor, her shoulder hitting wood with a bright burst of pain. She rolled and returned two controlled rounds toward the muzzle flash. Plastic burst apart, and metal rang. She held her fire and steadied her breathing.

Boots pounded.

“He’s moving!” Walter snapped.

Sarah was already on her feet. “Left!”

Walter shifted with her, covering the lanes between the machinery while she drove forward, low and fast, keeping the rusted conveyor between herself and the shooter’s last position.

The double swing doors at the far end slammed shut. He wasn’t standing his ground. He was falling back. Or drawing them forward.

Sarah reached the doors and paused. She turned to Walter and met his eyes. Ready?

He gave the smallest nod.

She shouldered through. The doors opened into the packing room. A broad space divided by pallets and collapsed fish crates.

Straight ahead, on the far side, the door to cold storage swung an inch. She exhaled a slow breath, ignoring the ache that came with it, and followed the gunman through the door. On the other side, the short passage opened into the cannery’s cold storage.

Movement.

“Contact!”

The man broke from behind an industrial refrigerator, bolting toward the doorway that led to the covered loading bay.

Sarah fired.

The round punched into the wall as he ducked and vanished through the door. Damn it.

Behind her, Walter barked, “Sarah!”

She turned. Too late.

A second man exploded out from behind the storage racks and drove Walter sideways before he could bring his rifle around.

They slammed into the storage racks, dislodging a rain of cardboard and rust flakes. The man’s rifle came around between them. Walter trapped the barrel against his chest and drove an elbow into his throat. Once. Twice. The second strike broke his balance.

Sarah swung her rifle toward them and stopped. No clean shot. Walter hooked a leg behind the gunman’s knee and took him down hard.

Sarah covered while Walter stripped away the rifle, checked him for a sidearm, and secured zip ties around his wrists.

“One secure.” Walter wiped blood from his mouth, catching his breath.

“Good.” Sarah looked toward the doorway where the first gunman had vanished. “He bought him time.”

Walter gave a nod. “Which means we’re going the right way.”

Sarah eased into the covered loading bay, Walter’s shoulder bumping hers.