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| [Persistence] |
9. Sum of Years
Adjusting to the sight of Alex half-hidden in the shadows, Olivia was paralyzed by the anguish she’d denied for so long. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Olivia,” Alex said again.
Dust billowed, settling on the hood, glowing in the headlights. Gravel sparkled like constellations at their feet. Breathless, Olivia fought the oppressive the tide of emotions.
“Lilly,” she said finally, her voice not sounding quite right. Olivia stepped between the women. “Put it down, Lilly,” she gestured with a gentle hand.
“I have to take her in, you know that.”
“Bigger picture,” she flipped the snap on her holster open. She held her gun against her thigh and pointed at the cars racing toward them with her other hand. “We’ve got a problem.”
A quick glance over her shoulder and Lilly was letting up, relaxing her stance and lowering her weapon. “Fine, but we’re taking her in once this is settled.”
“If we live through this, you can take me wherever you want.”
The smirk Alex wore was reminiscent of her arrogant lady lawyer days. A lifetime separated her from the past—But some things never change, do they? Upon closer examination, Olivia saw the same vulnerability and worry she wore before every verdict and every deal. Once, mastered—hidden so easily, tonight they shone beneath the starlight.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Infinitesimal were the ten feet that separated them, now. Fear mingled with exhilaration. In as little as a minute they could be dead. How appropriate that it might all end here, she thought.
If she closed her eyes she could feel Elliot standing beside her, choking up, her heart wrenching itself as Alex slid from the government vehicle like the Phoenix, sovereign to her exile. She relived it all there—standing on another deserted stretch, gravel grinding beneath her feet, tears in her eyes, the same words still stuck in her throat.
Two sets of blue eyes burned into her—one fearless, the other…
Screeching tires and exhaust fumes heralded their arrival. Alex sprinted into the tunnel, Olivia took cover behind the front wheel well, and Lilly crouched at the rear of sedan. The sounds of inevitability besieged them: the click of doors opening, groaning shocks as weight was unburdened, gravel scraping as feet shuffled, settling onto the aged and uneven asphalt.
A breathless whisper: “How many?”
Olivia pressed her back against the warm metal and concentrated on their sounds. Two steps forward, something in Spanish—“Finish it,” she translated.
Rustling from the tunnel, the front of the BMW shook and then she heard it: the unmistakable sound of shotgun shells being chambered. Had they been surrounded?
“Alex,” she hissed.
Lilly peered around the bumper, headlights blinding as she squinted out their numbers. The cold, clean snap of metal and two shots echoed into the night. The first whirred past the bumper, the other ripped through the back tire.
Lilly cried out, crumpling to the ground. “Five,” she grunted, holding her thigh.
Two quick breaths—like a swimmer preparing to dive into the depths—and Olivia popped up, firing three quick shots before ducking out of sight again. A grunt and messy fall confirmed her kill.
Four.
She spared a glance at Lilly who, on her stomach, emptied her gun at their ankles. Howling, followed more shouting before the order: “Kill them!”
Lilly fumbled for another clip, fingers trembling as they searched her duty belt. Blood welled up from her thigh; she pressed a palm against it and cried out again. Footsteps advanced upon them. Olivia’s next round of shots were in vain—all missing their targets as her gun clicked impotently.
“Alex!” She shouted this time, the urgency of their situation finally setting in.
Bullets rained onto the asphalt as the box collapsed in her panicked grip. She tried to load the magazine, but the spastic shaking of her hands made it more difficult than she could have predicted.
“Keep pressure on it,” she said, the direction was obvious but words were the only thing that still fueled the illusion of control.
A glimmer in the darkness of the tunnel and shots zipped past. Cheek instinctively pressed against the ground, Olivia counted feet. Three men still standing, a fourth was down, bloody but not dead, the fifth—definitely deceased.
Another round—different caliber—howled overhead.
“Jesus Christ,” Lilly growled, teeth gritted.
The men were crouching now, waiting for the sniper to exit the tunnel. Lilly tossed her gun. It rattled like a toy sliding between the women, across uneven terrain, sounding insubstantial in their time of need. She nodded at the Lilly, snatching up the proffered gun.
Before she rose again, Olivia spared an instant for prayer—that Saint Michael would keep her safe. Fucking Elliot. There wasn’t time for superstition. If she avoided getting shot in the back, she didn’t owe a patron saint a beer… Just Elliot. Just as a prisoner finds God as they are strapped to the Chair, Olivia found faith in her partner’s beliefs as she stared down a more uncertain fate.
She put another man down even as footsteps advanced on her from behind. She winced, even as she fired ahead, waiting for a muzzle to press against her skull.
When she dropped to her knees again Alex was next to her panting and an arsenal lay between them. It was hard not to focus on the impetuosity that set Alex’s skin aglow, the smug expression that asked her if she liked the gift of guns, or the intoxicating proximity.
Olivia swallowed hard. “Help her.” She nodded at the other detective.
Lilly shifted, eyeing Alex, and then the pile of artillery. “I’m fine.”
“You need to tie that leg off.”
She stood again and the shotgun exploded with a boom and another man went down. She dropped back and reloaded.
“Tourniquet, Alex.”
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Alex inched toward the other woman, each wary of the other’s intentions. Her arms stretched between them, settling cautiously on Lilly’s belt.
“I’m just going to—“ Dipping her head, Alex unbuckled the other woman’s belt. If it weren’t for the searing pain she felt, Lilly might have smiled at her shyness. She tugged and Lilly lulled forward before thumping back against the car. Alex flinched. “Sorry.”
Alex worked the belt free from her waist, discarding the accoutrements of the Job in a neat pile as it slipped free. The familiarity she handled each item with was not surprising considering…
Olivia swore and discarded an empty handgun. Windows exploded as three more shots zipped through the sedan.
Alex paused, awkwardly assessing the wound. Lilly’s palms pressed into the bloody mess on her leg, her pale fingers stained, the stench of copper hanging hot and angry in the air between them.
She slipped the belt under Lilly’s thigh, quickly reaching between her legs to retrieve the buckle before she fastened and tightened it. They grimaced in unison as the belt cinched off the blood flow.
“How’s that?” she said finally.
Lilly studied her, from the angle of her jaw to the secrets hiding in the shadows of her eyes. And it was there that she saw the same uncompromising loyalty Olivia had shown for her. It was more subtle than Benson’s balls-out passion, but it was there: quiet and proud.
The fingers flexed around her wrists, the question still lingering on Alex’s face. Four more shots pinged into the hood, and ricocheted off the bumper.
“Fine,” her resignation was barely heard over the booming fire fight.
Nodding, Alex released her. The women studied one another, neither bothering to disguise their motivations from the other.
From mistrust to envy, Lilly’s face was a portrait of disappointment. She could see it now, Alex was no killer, Olivia was no longer lonely and that, she thought with a great regret, made her the third wheel.
Olivia dropped next to them. “I’ve got four shots left,” she panted. “Anything left in your trunk?” she nodded at the BMW.
“That’s everything.”
“How many?” Lilly rasped.
“Two—they’re barricaded—I can’t get a clean shot.”
The would-be partners exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Any cop unfortunate enough to have drawn their weapon has felt the emotion that bubbled between them. Transience and regret for not having done more to prevent death. Had this shot hit its mark or that shot put him down they might not be giving consideration to how they wanted to die.
Inhaling, Olivia stood again, firing two quick shots through the passenger window. The ricochet told Lilly she had missed and instinctively she held her breath. Alex closed her eyes—praying for the impossible—and waited for the inevitable.
A howl that started in the distance blew closer. Tires squealed on approach. Olivia popped up to survey the scene. “Shit.”
An engine roared, metal crunched like an empty can underfoot and glass exploded onto the ground. Olivia emptied the gun at the men, whose attention had been drawn away momentarily. A hit, albeit nonfatal, was her last act as savior. She flopped beside Alex again, staring at the barren gun in her grip.
Car doors clicked open and the shooting started anew. Lilly listened to each exchange, noting the pauses for reloading, the tactical method, and the groupings—the tell-tale signature of law enforcement.
“Officer down!” a voice shouted, presumably into his cell phone.
Another round, another body crumpled. Lungs filled with blood—rasping, choking, aspirating sounded like a chorus of mortality. And finally silence. Another set of footfalls crushed the earth, crunching closer still. The whoosh of traffic on the new turnpike washed over the gruesome scene. Alex pressed her back against the sedan—rigid as she awaited her one man firing squad. Wearied, Lilly sagged against the rear quarter-panel as Olivia, wide-eyed and frantic, searched the space between the cars for a solution. Her hands combed the dirt for a bullet, clumsy and fumbling were the fingers that seized the prize. Trembling, she loaded the lone dusty bullet into her gun.
The feet advanced methodically. Olivia crouched near the bumper and prayed the adrenaline would be enough to take him down. When his polished shoes came into view her arms shot out, snaking around his ankles, jerking backwards and lifting him off his feet.
With a sickening crack, their assailer landed flat on his back. He was still shaking it off when Olivia scrambled on top of him, knee pressing into his chest, the lone bullet quivering in the chamber of her weapon as the muzzle dug into his forehead.
“Benson!” Agent Hammond’s voice boomed. “What the hell are you doing?”
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Part Ten
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