One

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a strangled choke. He felt something tug roughly at his side, then a muttered curse in what sounded like Spanish. There was an angry yank at his belt, then another. Damn. His gun. Worse, his badge. This was not good.

His fears were confirmed as the cursing grew louder and more emphatic. Even through the chill sweat that filmed his skin he could feel the coldness of the metal push more deliberately at his skull. "Policía," the voice hissed. "Adiós, culo."

Steve tried to focus past the pulse pounding in his ears. This would definitely be the time for a dramatic move. If only he could think of one. If only he could move, period. He cradled his arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood long enough to help him think clearly. Instead, the world wavered, swung into a sickening spin. He could only think of one thing to do. He pressed his eyes tightly closed and waited.

"I wouldn't." Cheryl's voice was almost as welcome as the familiar sound of the trigger of a police special ratcheting into place.

*

"I wouldn't." Cheryl hoped no one else could hear her heart pounding over the words. "Put the gun down and step away from the officer." Yeah, okay. That sounded pretty tough. Without taking her eyes completely off of the man casually brandishing the sub-machine gun, she tried to get a better glimpse of Steve. In the faint beam of the downed flashlight, the ground glimmered wetly around him. Blood. Lots of blood. Don't get distracted, Cheryl, or you'll get both of you killed!

The shadow of the figure silhouetted against the night didn't shift the barrel of his weapon even slightly, but she caught the shine of a glimpse of white teeth against the darkness.

"'Ey, Guapa!" he saluted cheerfully. "I would love to oblige, but, uh -" he shrugged eloquently. "Then you would arrest me, no? So I think maybe I won't."

"I said, put your weapon down!" Maybe he hadn't noticed that little quaver trying to sneak into her voice. "And step away from the officer."

The shadow shifted, his head tilted at a considering angle. "You know," he continued thoughtfully, "I still don' think I should? I mean, you shoot me, but I shoot him too, yes? And maybe you don't even get to shoot before I signal my friend." He jerked his head toward his left shoulder and Cheryl heard a low, rumbling growl, almost below the level of hearing.

She glanced quickly in that direction, noticed the huddled dark mass, crouched ominously. In the stingy portion of moonlight she saw the jaw unhinge, revealing a darker maw, a faint, moist shine ringing it. More blood, she realized, with a warning lift of her stomach. Steve's. She turned her eyes back to the crumpled figure of her partner and the looming shadow with the chunky firearm pointed downward, directly at him. For a moment she was at a loss.

The flash of white teeth came again. "So you see," he offered conversationally, "We have what you might call a -" the strip of white broadened, "Mexican standoff." He chuckled. "A good joke, no?"

Cheryl kept her gun steady, not sure how to answer, a little frightened at how true that was.

"Of course," He continued with repellent pleasantness, "We can just wait to see who tires first, yes? I have lots of time. Maybe you do too."

He toed with sudden viciousness at the figure at his feet, and Steve's guttural gasp of pain was almost her undoing. "This one, though - I think maybe he doesn't have so much time. I think maybe he is running out of time fast. What do you think?"

Cheryl swallowed determinedly, her gun grip slick in her sweaty palms. She dragged her eyes away from trying to measure the width of the pool dampening the grass and fixed them on her opponent instead. "I already called for backup." She tried to keep her voice firm. "This place will be crawling with cops in no time." Please God, let it be no time. There should be somebody near here, shouldn't there?

Even in the uneven light she could see the shadowy shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "Many more people to watch him die."

TBC