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“I understand you’re worried about paying him back. Where’s your family?” Malcolm’s smooth bass purred with calm reassurance.
“They’re dead. Militants invaded our village and killed my father and brother in front of me.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I want to understand what you want. What are your plans tonight?” Malcolm kept his voice even, at a steady volume and tone.
“I can’t go to prison. I’m trapped. What should I do?” Bending his elbow, Dmitry pulled his weapon back.
“We all want peace—no one hurt or injured. I think you want peace, too, Dmitry. I’m sorry you suffered hard things.”
“No more talking.” The gunman’s voice wavered.
Declan nudged her and pointed to the crowd of police gathering below. Two officers from the back row fanned out to opposite sides, away from the center group. Several uniformed men tightened their grips on their weapons. A tingling lightness buzzed in her head, coaxing her to concentrate.
“I understand. I want to listen to what you need to say and have a conversation. I’m here to help you. Can we agree no one gets hurt tonight? Please,” Malcolm continued.
“No.” Devoid of expression, Dmitry’s demeanor revealed no emotion.
Mark flinched under Dmitry’s grip.
Her heart skipped a beat. She held her breath and watched as more police officers fanned out.
The assault team shifted into a new formation, guns cocked and ready.
Dmitry hyperventilated, gasping for air in the throes of a full-on panic attack.
Unable to tear her gaze away, Tess spotted Mark focusing on an armed officer several inches shorter than the others, standing in the front row.
The officer made a subtle hand movement in Mark’s direction.
Despite having both arms immobilized, Mark gestured at the ground with one hand while bending his head forward a few degrees and mouthing something. Keeping his gaze locked on the officer, he dropped his chin, pointed one finger toward the ground, and then glanced back up with raised eyebrows and lifted shoulders.
The officer nodded once.
“I want to listen to what you want to say so I can understand. I’m here to help you.” Malcolm’s smooth, velvety voice continued in a soothing tone.
“Stop. No more,” Dmitry shouted, aiming his handgun at the police officers.
Mark dove to the ground in a split second, covering his head with his hands when he hit the dirt, then rolled away.
Meanwhile, gunfire crackled. Two gunshots sounded a millisecond apart, and chaos and shouting ensued while sirens wailed. Dmitry was down.
Halfway down the hill, Tess tracked Mark’s movements amidst confusion and a mash of officers blocking sections of the path.
Up ahead, Mark crawled on his chest, using his feet to propel his body toward a thicket of trees at the trail’s edge, which could provide cover.
She sped toward Mark as fast as her legs and crutches would allow.
Yards ahead of her, two police officers reached Mark first and lifted him from the ground. “Dr. Nygaard, are you hurt?”
“I’m not injured. I’m okay,” Mark murmured in a shaky voice.
“Lots of shrapnel flying. Are you sure you weren’t hit?” one of the officers asked.
The other officer scanned Mark for any bleeding.
“No, I’m fine, but if you have casualties, I’m a surgeon and can help.” Mark swayed on his feet and nearly fell.
“No wounded. The suspect is deceased. One officer took a bullet in his body armor, but he’ll go home with nothing but a nasty bruise and a whopper of a story. You’re safe, and we’re getting you out of here.”
