Part 13

McGee! He couldn't leave him here on the table; he'd be too hard to guard, and too easy of a target for Michaels. Tony stood. "Where's Mansfield?"

"Here."

The close voice startled him but Tony recovered quickly. "We have to move Tim out of here; we can't protect him in this open area."

"It's too early - we can't move him."

"We have to." Tony slid his arm beneath Tim's shoulders and carefully sat him up. Tim's head lolled back, arching his neck. Tony pulled in a deep breath when a sudden and fierce instinct to protect his partner nearly overwhelmed him. "Vernon, get your gun. Travis, come help me with Tim." He scooped his other arm beneath Tim's knees and pulled him off the table toward him. McGee's head fell to the side, resting on Tony's shoulder.

Mansfield was ready; as soon as Tim's body cleared the table, he wrapped an arm around Tim's back and beneath his knees, mirroring Tony's stance, creating a chair with their arms. Carefully, they hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room. They couldn't leave him there; he was too near the front door. Tony hesitated.

"Quick, in here!" Vernon gestured for them to follow and led them through a short but wide hall, into a small back bedroom. They laid Tim on the twin bed. Tony checked to make sure the only window in the room was secure, then he and the doctors moved back into the hallway.

Tony reached for the shotgun and Vernon handed it over. "You got any more weapons?"

He nodded. "I've got a pistol in my room upstairs. I'll go get it."

"Dr. Mansfield, go with him. You two lock the door and stay there. Don't open it for anyone but me. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't come back down here - understand?"

Mansfield nodded and turned for the stairs, but Vernon shuffled past Tony back into the living room before Tony could stop him. He returned within a few seconds and handed Tony a small box. "More ammunition."

"Thanks." He waited until the two men disappeared up the stairs, then began assessing the situation. The obvious point of attack was the front door, and one he could do nothing about. There was nothing between McGee and the front door except him, so he simply wouldn't let them past him. The kitchen door, which he couldn't see from his current position, was another entrance, but he'd be able to see them when they left the kitchen, and that room connected directly to the living room, so he was covered there. But had he locked that door?

Hunching low, he checked to make sure the front door was locked, then moved toward the kitchen. Backtracking, he grabbed Vernon's flashlight as an afterthought.

The kitchen doorknob rattled. Tony dove for cover behind the table. The door opened. Tony sprang from his hiding place, snapping on the flashlight and aiming it and his gun at the door simultaneously. The white beam caught and held a man, his rifle pointing at Tony.

"Federal Agent! - Drop your weapon!"

Instead the man lifted his weapon. Tony didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, emptying both barrels into the man's chest. The force of the bullets threw the man back out the door. Dropping his flashlight to the table and ripping open the ammo box, Tony grabbed two more shells and reloaded the gun. He snatched the flashlight off the table and hurried toward the open door. The rifle lay there, just out of reach. He'd have to expose himself to grab it, and instinct told him not to do it. Shoulder pressed to the frame, he snapped the light on and aimed it outside. Gunfire blasted immediately, shattering the wood so close to Tony's face that splinters stung his cheek. He dove and rolled away back into the kitchen. Scurrying half on his hands and knees, he headed for the living room. Heart in his throat, he froze when he saw the front door stood open.

Gun propped against his hip, he walked quietly through the hallway. Wet footprints traced a path across the wooden floor into the back bedroom.

"I'm in here with your partner, Mr. Navy Policeman."

His breath left him in a rush. Tony squeezed his eyes shut. For an instant, panic choked him. He pushed it down and pulled strength closer, instead. Keeping his gun aimed at the floor, he walked steadily to the door. He stopped just outside the room and lifted the flashlight to reveal Stuart Michaels standing by the bed, his fingers fisted in the back of McGee's hair. McGee sat partway up, leaning on one hip. Sweat glistened where the light touched his skin. The fingers of one hand were wrapped around Michaels' wrist; his head was bent back at an uncomfortable looking angle. He braced his other arm against his side. Heavy breathing lifted his ribcage.

"Lower that light if you don't want me to put a bullet through him." Michaels' thumb pulled the hammer back; the end of his rifle barrel rested in the hollow of McGee's throat.