SUPER long chapter for you guys. Enjoy!
"He's in the hospital?" Mac yelled into the phone. Grissom winced and pulled the phone away from his ear before replacing it again.
"Yeah, it doesn't look good," he answered, kneeling by the fallen security guard. "He shot a guard in the head. There are traces of black ink here, so he might be in disguise."
"We'll be there in five." Mac hung up without saying goodbye. Grissom sighed and shut his phone.
"Sir?" one of the cops questioned. He had three men on him ever since he'd gotten Nick's call about Adam. The entire NCIS team was with him as well, along with Warrick, Catherine, Sara, and Hawkes from the CSI New York team.
Nearly everyone was here, at the hospital. So where was Montgomery?
Grissom had a feeling he was still in the hospital with them. Adam's room had been empty by the time they'd gotten there. Whether it was willingly or not, they didn't know, but Grissom could imagine. Adam's neatly folded hospital gown was lying on his bed, but other than that, there was almost no indication that he had ever been there.
Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. "He's still in the hospital," he muttered.
"What makes you say that?" Grissom asked, raising a brow.
"My gut."
Ziva and McGee traded glances behind him, Grissom noted. Apparently Gibbs' gut was famous.
He hoped it was right.
~.~.~.~.
This was weird.
Ever since Montgomery forced him to get dressed they'd been on the move, shifting through hallways and such. Adam wasn't bound, but Montgomery kept him in line with a gruff hand to the back of his neck and the gun that accompanied it. He'd warned him not to speak; Adam wasn't about to disobey.
But what were they still doing in the hospital? For nearly fifteen minutes they'd been scurrying around the nearly empty building, dodging security cameras and security guards. Not once did he see anyone he recognized, like Mac or Danny, anyone else for that matter. Didn't they know he was here? Didn't they know he was in trouble?
His heart sank and Montgomery pushed his head down again, watching warily as yet another guard ran past. Terror was the only thing keeping him from locking up. Sheer terror; he was this close to a major serial killer, closer than he'd ever been before to death. Irish gangsters—bring them on, if it meant getting away from Montgomery.
Adam shuddered. This man had been a CSI, the same job as him. He knew how to cover his tracks; if he wanted to, he could take Adam and Shawn and Tony and Greg away and they would never be seen again. In fact, that's what almost happened, if he hadn't gotten so sloppy with Greg.
"Freeze!"
Montgomery jerked first, taking Adam with him as he pulled the younger man in front of him. Suddenly the gun was right by his face, the safety off, and the cold barrel pressing into his temple.
Adam froze. Montgomery, however, did not.
"Grissom," he said. His voice implied that he said it as a snarl, but Adam could almost see the gleeful smile he'd been wearing the last – two? Three days? God, he didn't even know anymore.
But the thought was lost as he stared in both relief and sheer terror at the multiple guns now pointed in his direction.
Grissom was there. Adam knew who Grissom was; they'd met once, and only once. Four others stood next to Grissom: One strawberry blonde woman, two cops, and Hawkes. The African American looked horrified at the predicament his friend was in; Adam was just glad to see him.
"Montgomery," Grissom said. Venom leaked into his voice, betraying the fury he had masked by calm in his bright green eyes. "Let him go."
"That sounds familiar." Montgomery used the gun to stroke his chin for a nanosecond. "Oh, right—that's what Greg said right before I killed him."
Every muscle in Adam's body locked up. He saw Grissom and the blonde tense as well, but not as obvious as his was. Shame flittered through the rest of the jumbled emotions he felt enough to make him swear to hide his feelings a little better next time.
"You didn't kill him," Grissom said confidently.
"Oh, no?" Montgomery pulled Adam back a step. Was he going to run? Adam didn't know, but he wanted to stay here. Help was so close… fifteen feet. Fifteen feet away and he couldn't even talk...
"No," Grissom was saying. "You would've wanted me to suffer. You would've kept him and killed him, in front of me. Literally, though—no more of the camera stuff. That was your mistake. Actually, no—your mistake was taking Greg when you weren't nearly close to being ready for that emotional commitment."
Almost unconsciously Montgomery's arm tightened around Adam's neck, nearly crushing him. Adam gagged but the killer didn't seem to notice. "Don't you go telling me what mistakes I made," he seethed. "Your mistake was letting your youngest CSI tackle one of my scenes, alone! That was on you, Grissom. It's all your fault that Greg will die, and he will die in less than thirty minutes!"
Grissom didn't even blink. "Is that what you think?" he said. If Adam hadn't been so preoccupied with the serial killer holding him hostage he would've laughed at the subtle smirk hidden in the older man's face.
Montgomery pulled Adam back another step, but this one was more angled, curved. Barely turning his head, Adam risked a look back. It was no good; all he could see was the white wall of the hospital wing.
"That's what I know," Montgomery said smugly. "I can make it back to him and deactivate the bomb—" Adam noticed the almost imperceptible flinch in Grissom's face, and the more evident one in Hawkes', "—but you have to let me go first."
"That's not going to happen," Grissom said confidently, and with an ominous click he released the safety on the gun. Three more clicks followed, save for Hawkes, who was empty-handed.
"You're amusing," Montgomery told Grissom, smirking. "But, you see, you can't shoot me. Not when shooting me can both kill your partner CSI, here, and seals Greg's fate."
"Gerald," the blonde spoke up, leveling her gun at his head, "please, just let Adam go. He's innocent in all of this. Let them all go; we know you have Tony, too."
Adam shuddered; he hadn't forgotten about Tony and Shawn, as well as Greg, but he sure would've liked to. He gagged again as Montgomery backed up another step.
Montgomery scowled over Adam's shock of curly hair. "You're not allowed to call me that, Catherine," he said, his voice dangerously low.
Catherine's eyes were sad. "Alright, Montgomery. If you don't want me to I won't. But let Adam go. Take us to Greg and Tony and Shawn."
"You know I'm not going to do that, Catherine." He took another step backwards. Adam was still frozen in terror; he was dragging a dead weight. With that idea that was. Adam shuddered again.
"Why not?" This time it was Hawkes who asked the question. He took a step forward, still keeping behind the two cops because he was unarmed. "Why can't you let them go? Do you just have that much hate in you, to take it out on helpless, innocent people? No offense, Adam."
Adam managed to choke out a dry, "None taken," before Montgomery had shoved the gun further into his head.
"Your friend has a big mouth on him," he told Adam, completely ignoring Hawkes. "One day that'll get him into trouble."
Hawkes' eyes filled with fire and he took another step forward, prompting Montgomery to take another step backwards.
"Uh-uh, CSI," he taunted. "Stay right where you are, or the last thing you see of Adam is his dead eyes, staring a hole into your head."
Hawkes flinched, and so did Adam. For some reason that was all too easy to imagine.
"Will you kill him?" Grissom had taken over the questioning, tilting his head in a way that Adam didn't quite understand.
Montgomery seemed surprised by the question, too. "Of course I will," he snarled. "Is that so hard to imagine, Grissom? Do you not remember Jessie? I killed her too. Right in front of you. It was almost better than watching you writhe and squirm while Greg was tortured in front of your very eyes."
"I remember," Grissom said quietly. "Every single person you killed. That EMT, the firefighter, the cop, that girl in the Think Tank group, and Jessie. Am I missing anyone? Oh, yes—all of those people you killed for money as a mercenary."
An angry laugh choked out through Montgomery. "That's right, old man. I killed them all, every last one of them, just like I'm going to do to your CSIs. What are you trying to pull?"
Adam thought he knew. As Grissom talked, Hawkes caught his eye and then gestured with his hand, up and then down. Up and then down again. Adam stared, confused, before he realized that he wanted him to get down.
How the hell was he supposed to do that? He was locked in a death grip with a gun to his head and it was highly unlikely that Montgomery would ever willingly—
Adam's eyes widened. Willingly. Which meant he'd have to throw him off balance. Inwardly he groaned; there were only a few ways to do that and both of them ended up with a possibly bullet to the temple. One: he could push himself backwards into Montgomery's chest, catching him off balance. This was least likely to work; Montgomery was older, bigger, and stronger, and he had a gun. It was highly unlikely he could push him off enough to get away. Not to mention, Hawkes said down, and if Adam had any sense of intuition, he had a feeling that meant they would shoot if they had a shot.
The other option didn't seem as likely to work as the former. In fact, it was the oldest trick in the book, right next to, "Look out behind you!"
But it couldn't hurt to try. It was definitely better than getting a bullet in his head. Hawkes was still staring intently at him. Adam gave the slightest of nods, to let him know he had a plan, to which Hawkes redirected to Grissom. He got the message clear enough—Wait.
Grissom, for his part, looked genuinely sad, but his eyes were hard as sharpened steel as he said, "Gerald Montgomery, you are under arrest for the murder of Jessica Stewart, Cameron Banes, Jack Landry, Christina Johnson, Kyle Barnett, and so much more."
Montgomery tightened his grip on Adam. "Oh, yeah?" he snarled. "What are you going to do about it?"
Wait a second… Adam frowned. Grissom, Catherine, Hawkes, and some policemen were here. He assumed that, because his CSI team was here, judging from the presence of Hawkes, and Greg's CSI team was here… or at least, that's what he learned from the blonde… that meant Tony's team, and Shawn's team… they must've been here too, right?
When that man attempted to bust them both out two days ago, it was almost as if it were personal. He was too old to be a cop… maybe a consultant? But that wouldn't work—the way he looked at Shawn, with extreme agony like it was killing him to let him go… his father?
Oh, jeez.
Part of Adam's team and part of Greg's team were here, in the hospital. So, where were the rest…?
Apparently Montgomery thought of this, too, because suddenly he yanked back Adam so hard he nearly crushed his jugular, pulling him back, farther and farther, all at one time. Vaguely he was aware of the shouts from Hawkes, Catherine, and Grissom, and the way they followed him—Montgomery, he reminded himself—with their guns. Terror, pain and confusion engulfed him in waves of sheer panic. What the hell was happening?
He knew he couldn't breathe. He knew—
Montgomery suddenly came to a stop, so fast Adam slammed into his chest and leaned against it for a minute, panting from the exertion before realizing it was a serial killer supporting him.
He was up against a wall. Adam had no idea exactly which wall it was, nor did he care, because, adding onto the four guns that had been trained on him before hand, now there were an additional seven people, standing at awkward angles, all with guns seemingly pointed at him.
"Worst human shield situation ever," he muttered.
"Drop it, now!" a man yelled. He had silver hair and sharp blue eyes, and a Marine's haircut. Next to him was a man, short brown hair, blue eyes, and a woman, with sleek, black curly hair, copper skin, and dark eyes.
"Who are your friends, Grissom?" Montgomery's eyes darted from one person to the next, clutching Adam closer to him. "Gibbs, and his team, Detective Lassiter, the rest of yours… huh. That's odd." Now he leaned his mouth close to Adam's ear and whispered, "Where your boss, Ross?"
Adam shuddered. He didn't know. Where was Mac? He would be here with the rest of the 'leaders' of the hostage's teams. For that matter, where was Danny? Mac and Danny told him when they came to visit that the girls had been left at home, but… where were they?
Maybe they planning another one of those sneak attacks. If Montgomery hadn't previously been in law enforcement, they probably would've gotten him just now. He was just too good. Montgomery had been a CSI. He knew pretty much every trick in the book when it came to cops, and by him calling Gibbs' name, who Adam remembered was Tony's boss from the way he talked about him, made him sound like he'd been an agent at some point or another.
We need Shawn, Adam thought mournfully. Shawn was nearly impossible to predict. He was a psychic—as much as Adam didn't want to admit that he just now believed in psychics, there was no evidence to suggest otherwise, at least when it came to Shawn. But from what he remembered, and his memory still wasn't back to full health, Shawn was spontaneous and creative. He'd know exactly what to do to catch Montgomery off guard.
Montgomery had changed from his usual charming self into a man consumed by fury. His eyes darted back and forth between the guns and then further back, where he must've spotted someone of interest. Adam tried to follow his line of eyesight but could only make out two melded shadows. What was he looking at?
"Henry," Montgomery said. The fury was still there, but it had been masked by the charm of a serial killer. His voice was slick and dripping with pleasant slime. "You're Shawn's father. How does it feel, knowing your son must be dead by now?"
Henry Spencer. Shawn's father. Adam thought he got it now, why he was doing this. Montgomery was literally up against a wall here. He was going on the offensive; a cornered animal was the most dangerous kind. And Henry, from what Shawn had told him, might've been a cop. But he was retired now.
But what would he accomplish from taunting him? Henry didn't have a gun, Adam noted as the older man stepped forward out of the shadow. Odd; he didn't think the LEOs would allow an unarmed man to a hostage situation with one of the East Coast's most dangerous serial killers.
Two men. Adam frowned, eyeing the second man who came out with Henry Spencer. He was African-American, with a bald head and dark eyes that looked like they could melt Montgomery on the spot if they had the chance. If looks could kill…
He was unarmed, as well, but he stood a little further back behind Henry Spencer, as the older man bent into a protective stance in front of him.
Henry Spencer didn't answer. Instead his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he glared at Montgomery silently.
Montgomery chuckled. It sounded like it was on the verge of hysteria, bordering giddy and ready to snap. He didn't say anything after that. His laughing escalated until it was a full blown guffaw, booming and echoing throughout the hospital like an eerie criminal from a Hollywood horror movie.
Adam closed his eyes and the safety on the gun was pulled back. Montgomery's arm tightened around his throat, enough so he was strangling him. His arm pinched against the skin of his neck, but that was nothing against the panic that was starting to make his body shake as the barrel of the gun pressed, almost gently, into his temple.
Clicks resounded through the hospital as the guns trained on Montgomery, but Adam, shaking from the terror, shivering from his fever, sweating from the pressure, didn't see him. Something had stuck in his head that echoed and echoed until he finally realized why.
A cornered animal was the most dangerous kind.
Montgomery was cornered. There was no way he was getting out of this alive. And he knew that.
~.~.~.~.
All Shawn wanted to do was sleep.
"No!" Greg yelled in his ear, and Shawn jerked up, smacking his head against the seat of the Denali.
The CSI pressed his face up close to Shawn's. Nick was driving, and DiNozzo was in shotgun, while Shawn and Greg were trapped in the back seat. This close up Shawn could see, even through the sleek blackness of the night sky and the black Denali, Greg's insistent green eyes.
"Don't go to sleep," he repeated. "I'm sorry, but if you do, you might not wake up."
Shawn was annoyed with him. That was all. He was so exhausted his thought process was consisted of scattered fragments and feelings. The adrenaline was running down, and now that he wasn't in any more immediate danger, his body's basic needs were starting to present themselves.
"I'm hungry," he mumbled. But he was more than that; he was so hungry he thought he could die if he didn't get anything. Earlier in the day he'd had water, but now he realized that Montgomery had only given it to him to keep him alive. You could go weeks without food, but only three days without water.
What day was this? Day three? Well, the night of day three. Shawn shuddered. Montgomery had taken three days of his life—he'd almost taken his life as a whole. Memories of the hand cuffs made his wrists hurt, and he rubbed them absentmindedly.
"I know you are," Greg was saying. "I know you're tired, you're thirsty, you're hungry, alright? And we'll get you all of that stuff, just let us drop you off at the station."
That woke Shawn up, and he turned and glared at Greg. "Adam's my friend too," he said sternly. "I know he's in trouble, and there's no time to drop me off. Just go straight to the hospital, and I'll try to keep up."
Greg and Nick exchanged glances in the mirror. "Shawn, you're on the verge of complete burn out," Nick said simply. "From what I can see, if you go any more—"
"I'll jump that hurdle when I get to it," Shawn said dismissively. He flashed a crooked smile at the three of them. "Let's do this thing."
They'd been in the car for a grand total of eight minutes. A lot could happen in eight minutes. Shawn wondered how those bomb squad people were doing with the bomb. Eight minutes, and that thing could go off and kill everyone.
Way to be optimistic, Shawn, he thought to himself sarcastically.
"Shawn?"
"What?" he muttered, startling awake. Greg peered at him anxiously.
"We're here," he said, pointing. "Now, stay here, and—"
"Wait, wait, what?" Shawn looked from Nick to Tony to Greg, who were all turned in their seats to look at him. "You can't just leave me here. I want to help!"
"You're in no condition to help," Tony said firmly. "Montgomery is in there, armed and dangerous. You're finally safe, okay? Let's keep it that way!"
Shawn opened his mouth to argue, but then he sighed. He was exhausted, anyways. What was one night to stand down, just this once? He looked up at them miserably, and then looked away, out towards the hospital through the tinted windows.
"Go bring him back," he muttered.
The three exchanged triumphant grins. "Promise," Tony said, and he opened the door, taking the gun Nick offered him. Greg reached through the glove compartment and pulled out another one, checking the ammunition.
"We'll be right back," he said to Shawn, who already looked like he was drifting off. "And don't fall asleep!"
"This is a bad idea," Nick muttered, running a hand through his short hair as the door shut on the psychic. "I don't like leaving him here by himself."
"You need all men on deck," Tony reminded him. "Something like this could strain Shawn beyond what his body could handle. With any luck, Montgomery won't be looking for a way to escape and find him instead."
"He better not," Greg said sharply. "I am not risking that chance. Let's get him."
They walked through the hospital doors, guns at the ready. Nurses had been gathered in the lobby, cowering with some of the patients that had been well enough to stand and walk and hide. They looked up, along with the hospital's security guards, who trained their guns on the three before Nick stepped up, shining his ID.
"CSI Stokes," he said curtly. "Where's Montgomery?"
"They have him cornered in the Birch Wing," one of the guards said, pointing. "He's got the NYPD CSI as a shield. Captain ordered us to stay in here and protect the patients."
Nick nodded. "You do that," he said, and nodded at Tony and Greg. "Birch Wing's this way."
The tiles almost seemed to slow them down. Greg was starting to get frustrated when they turned endless corners into endless hallways. They didn't meet another LEO on the way there, but this didn't bother Greg. No doubt the entire station was where Montgomery was, right now.
His gut clenched. Adam was being used a human shield. He couldn't honestly say he knew how that felt but he could imagine, and it wasn't pretty.
Out of all the hostages, Adam was, next to him, the most danger-shielded. The only bad thing that'd ever happened to him was being held hostage at his own crime scene by Irish mobsters—and that was bad as it was. Greg had been blown up, beaten up, and shot at. Shawn had been blown up, trapped in burning buildings, kidnapped, shot, shot at, used as a human shield… Tony had all of that, and had gotten pneumonic plague.
They were all a merry band of danger-magnets, except Adam. Adam was as strong as the next captive, but also the least experienced. The thought that he was Montgomery's last resort scared the hell out of Greg. More likely than not, Adam wasn't coming out of this alive. At least, not himself.
Greg didn't think any of them would.
They knew they were getting close when more and more security guards and local cops started showing up. Nick spotted Brass and hurried ahead, leaving Tony and Greg to lag behind.
"Brass," he said, "what's going on?"
The portly cop looked weary, but he had enough energy to do a double take when he saw Greg and Tony. "We tried to surprise him," he said, instead of asking, nodding through a pair of double doors. "Didn't work., and now we have no idea what to do next. He's cornered, Nick. If we push him any more he's going to kill Adam."
Greg didn't want to hear that, and it showed on his face and he gripped the gun tighter. "Where is he?"
Brass immediately shook his head. "Bad idea, Greg," he said. "If he sees you, he'll freak—it might not even matter if he loses Adam in the process. You're a trigger, and that's never good in hostage situations."
"Like hell," Greg growled. "I can't just sit back and do nothing, Brass!"
"You're going to have to," Brass said sharply. At the statement Greg's face fell, and Brass sighed at the expression. "Look—Grissom and the rest of them have him and it's only a matter of time, alright? Just sit back, go back to the lobby and get yourselves looked at. There's nothing you can do."
At that moment Mac and Danny came in, pushing their way through the small crowd of cops. "Greg! Tony!" Danny yelped, and he ran ahead of Mac to give Nick a fist-bump. "How did you guys get here? Where's Shawn?"
"Shawn's back in the car," Greg explained. "He's… exhausted. When did you guys get here?"
"About ten minutes ago," Mac said, finally catching up to the group. "It looks bad. Montgomery's asking everyone to clear out—they're listening to him."
~.~.~.~.
"Back up, now!" Montgomery yelled again.
Grissom glared at him, and only Gibbs matched the look in his eyes, if not surpassed it. They stood their ground, guns up and steady and aimed for Montgomery's head as he ducked behind Adam. And then, slowly, Gibbs lowered his gun.
"That's right," Montgomery snarled. "Down. And the rest of your team. But not you, Grissom." He took the gun briefly from Adam's head to point at Grissom, who froze, confused. "I want you here for this. Actually, Gibbs, Lassiter, you stay too. Everyone else—clear out."
Each member looked to their leaders for confirmation, and slowly, each nodded. Within seconds the space was filled with the five men.
"Such a shame," Montgomery murmured. "No Mac, huh? Poor Adam."
Adam was stuck between being furious at him and being jelly-legged terrified. Before he could find the courage to whisper, "He'll come," he did come. Mac ran into the room, gun out, and the fury in his eyes went unrivaled as he skidded to a stop.
"Let him go," he said shortly and calmly.
Montgomery chuckled, low and deep in his throat, but for once he didn't affect Adam. His eyes were on Mac, relief shining and his body trembling and his heart pounding and he never wanted anything more than to just grip his hand or—
He shuddered as the gun was replaced to the temple of his head. Montgomery leaned his face close to Adam's ear again. "Now that we're all here," he said cheerfully, loud in Adam's ear but apparently normal to everyone else, "we can finish this."
"You're not getting out of this," Gibbs stated. His voice was calm, almost casual, but he still had his gun out.
"Of course not," Montgomery scoffed. "Don't you think I know that?" He reached with the gun to ruffle Adam's mess of curls and chuckled when the younger man shivered again. "No, but one way or another, we're all gonna die. Adam here will die, Greg, Tony, and Shawn will be dead in, oh, fifteen minutes, and I'll die because you all will shoot me." His eyes found Grissom again and he smiled contently. "And you'll live with the knowledge that it was all your fault those men are dead. The best revenge I could ever take."
Mac contemplated speaking up about Greg, Tony, and Shawn but decided it wasn't something he needed to know. Right now they were playing the stalling game—anything else could prompt Montgomery to shoot Adam before any of them could get in a shot to take him out.
Grissom was wondering why Montgomery hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Was he waiting to see Grissom's face change in the slightest way, desperate to see something that'll satisfy his need for revenge before he died? Grissom's face was slack and serene, as it always had been, but inside his gut churned and the agony was almost too much to bear, thinking that if Montgomery did go ahead and to whatever it was he was about to do, which was, more than likely, shoot Adam, then everything he just would happen. Grissom would carry the guilt on his shoulders for the rest of his life, just like he said. And the least he could do was save Adam.
And then something caught his eye. The supply closet fifteen feet to Montgomery's left was inching open. It took every ounce of Grissom's will power not to widen his eyes and he forced himself to look at Montgomery again, who was staring at him with desperation in his eyes.
"All I wanted was to be noticed, Grissom," he said. There was desperation in his voice, too. "All I wanted was for you to notice me. You were my idol, did you know that? And then Sanders had to waltz in and screw that entire thing up for me." Finally his eyes turned down to regard the young man he was still holding hostage. "Well, the least I can do is kill Ross here," he snarled. "I've dreamed about this for a long time."
"Wait!" Mac yelled as Adam closed his eyes. "I have one more question!"
Montgomery paused, raising an eyebrow at him, and he continued, hesitant. "What is it about the face that has you so messed up? I mean, except for Greg, you punished one of your men when you discovered the face had been injured or something… why? What's so special about it?"
"Ah." Montgomery sighed and rocked back behind Adam again. The younger man slumped in relief, still forced to stand as Montgomery hid behind him. "If you must know, it's my trademark."
"I'm sorry?"
"My trademark," he repeated. "I was an assassin, you know. Every assassin has a trademark. I never touched the face. I hated to… mess up something so beautiful."
At this Adam shuddered again, and it had nothing to do with how Montgomery held him physically.
"Alright then," Montgomery said, and the gun came up again to press against Adam's head. "Time to die." He looked over at the four men in the room, quirking an eyebrow. "I wouldn't try to shoot me before I shoot him. It would suck if you killed the very hostage you trying to save, no wouldn't it? Trust me, from this angle… you'll all miss."
"I won't."
Montgomery's head whirled to the side, along with the rest of the men in the room. "Spencer?" Lassiter called incredulously.
Grissom's heart nearly burst at the sight of the young man. He was dirty, he was frazzled, and he looked like he had soda all over his face, but he was alive. Grissom had only seen him on tape but it was obvious this definitely was Shawn Spencer. Rocking on his feet, he looked like he could fall over at any second, but a gun—where the hell did he get that?—sat still and steady in his hands as he aimed it at Montgomery.
Adam's eyes widened, but his reaction was nothing compared to Montgomery. The killer spat out curse words, frozen in place, afraid to turn to Shawn because he'd expose his back to the rest of the team leaders, but afraid to stay still.
Instead the gun came around to point at Shawn, and as he pulled the trigger Shawn had already pulled his.
And he shot him through the head.