Standing up in the Jeep, she braced herself against the dash, the stock of the gun jammed hard into her shoulder, her stomach flipping as she tried to hold steady, to keep her hands from shaking.
When Wilma ran down the dark road, looking for the nearest patrol car, the two cats didn�t follow her, but had leaped away, in the opposite direction. She prayed for their safety; she could never have made them come with her, she�d only have wasted precious time. Running, searching for the first dark vehicle, she thought she�d spent half her life saying prayers for those three cats. Ahead, she saw a dark shape that had to be a patrol car; she stopped when a dark-clad figure stepped out, and she caught the glint of a handgun, stood with her hands out away from her sides, waiting. �It�s Wilma Getz,� she said softly. �Don�t shine a light, they�ll see you. Max is coming on horseback. And Charlie�� She caught a flash of the officer�s badge, the line of his dark uniform, the tilt of a familiar jaw. �Is that Jimmie? Jimmie McFarland?�
�Yes, ma�m.� Young Jimmie�s soft, bright voice sounded truly glad to hear her. She paused when a second officer emerged, stepping around from the far side of the unit, and she saw the broad curve of Brennan�s belly.
�Fill us in,� Brennan said quietly, staring up into the unbroken dark of the old estate. �How many men? And where? Where�s Max? He called us from the trail. Where does it come out?�
�To the left, above the Jeep,� Wilma said, taking Brennan�s hand and pointing with it to where the Jeep stood.
�Get in the unit and stay there,� Brennan said, and he and McFarland moved away. She wanted to go back into the ruins, but knew she would only hinder them. She slipped into the hot squad car and had hardly pulled the door to, making no sound, when far up among the rubble a pair of lights flashed. Headlights. Someone was in the Jeep.
The diffused gleam of the Jeep�s lights washing out across the ruins cast into stark silhouette the broken walls and gnarled oaks-and the small shapes of the feral cats, one poised atop a ragged tower, a pale cat padding across the sharp slant of a collapsed roof, and a stark white cat treading the top of a wall high under the stars. All watched the scene below. Curiosity, anger, and fear filled them. Then along the wall, two more cats appeared, dark creatures, rearing up, a pair of yellow eyes and a pair of green catching the light. Kit and Dulcie, fearful and intent, watched as Charlie stood up in the Jeep, her shotgun leveled behind the light-and as Cage Jones lunged to grab her.
Standing in the Jeep, her back to the dark where Max was approaching, the stock of the shotgun jammed against her shoulder, Charlie swallowed.�Stop, Cage. Stop now!�
Cage laughed.�Gun ain�t loaded, missy. And it�d be double-aught bird-if the gun was loaded. It ain�t.�
�Want to find out?�
Cage laughed again and lunged for her. She fired. He staggered and fell back, and grabbed the fender, bent double, rocking the Jeep. She felt Eddie�s weight rock it in the other direction and she spun around. He ducked, and disappeared beyond the light, then she heard him running in the blackness. She didn�t dare fire where she couldn�t see. Eddie was gone, pounding away as Cage clung to the Jeep, his face a mass of blood that turned her stomach. Slowly he slid down the fender, clutching it with bloody hands.
She waited for him to fall, but suddenly he twisted up again, righted himself and came up over the fender straight at her. She fired again, point-blank. He went down. This time, he stayed down.
How strange, the way that shot had echoed. Too loud and with an unnatural thunder, not like the first round.
But now the night was so still, only the echo of the shots ringing, the blackness unbroken except for the acid path of the headlights, beneath which Cage Jones lay crumpled.
Holding the gun at ready, knowing he couldn�t be a threat now but alert in case he was, she swung out of the Jeep.
He lay writhing in a way that sickened her. Where was Eddie? Her shots had stopped Cage from slipping up on Max in the dark, but where was Eddie Sears?
She heard no sound of running. And, now, she did not hear the horses.�Eddie�s out there,� she shouted. �Cage is down. Eddie ran.�
But the shots had warned Max. Somewhere in the dark, he was ready.
She didn�t think Eddie Sears would go after Max, not alone. Eddie was a coward, and this wasn�t Eddie�s battle. He�d be crazy to shoot at a cop. But still she stood scanning the night, watching for a dark figure slipping back toward the riders. She was thinking maybe she was stupid to think Max would be caught off guard, when Max said, behind her, �Thanks, Charlie.�
His hand brushed hers as he shone a light on Cage; he knelt with his gun on Cage, checking his breathing and searching him for a weapon. Then, standing again, he switched on his radio.�Need a medic for Jones. Eddie Sears ran.� He looked at Charlie. �Is he armed?�
�He didn�t fire at me, but�I don�t know.�
He relayed that information, and then he held her close, warm, so warm. He smelled of male sweat and horse and gunpowder. She lay her head against him and only now knew how weak she felt, how scared.
�It�s all right,� he said, stroking her hair and shining his torch into the night, searching-and watching Cage.
And then McFarland and Brennan were there; they took charge of Cage. Other lights moved through the night, throwing looming shadows as officers searched for Eddie Sears. She heard the horses behind her and then Bucky loomed over her, and beside him her own Redwing-and then out of the darkness Rock leaped at her, the silver hound all over her, wagging and whining, jerking the long lead rope that Ryan held.
Ryan sat Redwing, looking down at Charlie, holding Rock�s rope, and holding Bucky�s reins. In the glancing reflection of the headlights, Ryan had that long-suffering look on her face as Rock made a fool of himself.
�He tracked you,� Ryan said.
Charlie looked at her.�You�ve never trained him.�
Ryan shrugged.�He tracked you.�
Max said,�Where�s Wilma?�
�She�s all right, she went�� She nodded toward where the patrol cars were parked. Lights were flashing now, men running, dark shadows dodging among the ruins as if someone had spotted Eddie Sears.
Max was on the radio.�Wilma down there?�
�I�m here,� Wilma said.
Max handed Charlie the radio. She nearly dropped it.�You all right? Where are you?�
�In a nice comfortable squad car drinking someone�s leftover coffee and starving to death. Areyou all right? What was the firing?�
�I�I shot Cage Jones. He�Could we talk about it later? I�m beginning to feel�� Charlie swallowed. �I think I need to��
�Later,� Wilma said, and the radio went silent. Charlie listened to the sounds of running feet and rocks being dislodged and the faint, harsh mumble of the radios as officers searched for Sears; she prayed that no one else would be hurt. Max looked down at her and, with the back of his hand, wiped the tears from her face. She wondered why she was crying. Max put his arms around her, and it was all right, everything was all right.
28
F rom atop a crumbling wall, the five cats watched dark-clad cops scour the ruins, shining their lights into caves and crevices, talking to one another in those low, machine voices. They saw, farther up the hill, Max Harper kiss Charlie, and then Charlie mounted the big buckskin-the horses were nervous from the shooting, sidestepping, and fussing. Charlie rode away into the woods with the other woman to calm the frightened mounts, the cats thought. Willow and Cotton and Coyote understood that; they needed comforting, too. The three sat close together, gently grooming one another.