Riggs dropped the useless pistol and backed up as Jackson advanced. He finally stopped retreating when his foot felt nothing but air. He looked behind him: a sheer drop. Down below, the fast-moving water. He looked back at Jackson, who smiled and then fired.
The bullet hit right in front of Riggs’s feet and he stepped back a half inch, teetering on the edge.
“Let’s see how well you swim with no arms.” The next shot hit Riggs’s good arm. He grunted in pain and doubled over, clutching it, trying to maintain his balance. Then he looked up at the sneering face of Jackson.
“Take the bullet or the jump, it’s your choice. But do it quick, I don’t have much time.”
Riggs had only an instant. As he crouched over, the arm that had just been hit slid up the length of his sling—a very natural movement under the circumstances. Jackson had underestimated his resourcefulness. Jackson wasn’t the only one who had lived by his wits, who had gotten himself out of tight spots by acting nimbly. What Riggs was about to do had saved his life while working undercover during a drug deal that had gone sour. It would not save his life this time. But it would save several others, including one that he cared more about than his own: LuAnn’s.
He locked eyes with Jackson. His anger was so intense that it blocked out the pain in both arms. His hand closed around the butt of the compact gun taped inside his sling, the one he had originally had in his ankle holster. Its muzzle was pointed right at Jackson. Wounded arm and all, his aim was as sharp as ever. And Jackson was only a few feet away. But Riggs had to make the first shot count.
“Riggs!” Charlie screamed.
Jackson didn’t take his eyes off Riggs. “You’re next, Uncle Charlie.”
Matt Riggs would never forget the look on Jackson’s face as the first shot Riggs fired erupted through the sling and hit the man flush in the face, tearing first through the powder, putty, and spirit gum, and then slamming a microsecond later into real flesh and bone. The gun fell from an astonished Jackson’s hand.
Riggs kept pulling the trigger, sending bullet after bullet slamming into Jackson. Head, torso, leg, arm—there wasn’t a piece of him Riggs missed until the firing pin banged empty twelve shots later. And all the time Jackson’s countenance held a look of supreme disbelief as blood mixed with fake hair and skin; creams and powders mutated into a dull crimson. The total effect was eerie, as though the man were dissolving. Then Jackson dropped to his knees, blood pouring from a dozen wounds, and then he fell face forward to the ground and did not move again. His last performance.
That’s when Riggs went fully over the edge. The multiple kicks from the pistol were enough to completely unsettle his balance, and his feet were unable to counter the slippery red clay. But as he went over, a look of grim satisfaction came over his face even as he stared down at the abyss he was plummeting toward. Two useless arms, both bleeding him to death, deep, fast, icy water, nothing to grab. It was over.
He heard Charlie scream his name one more time, and then he heard nothing else. He felt no pain now, only peace. He hit the water awkwardly and went under.
Charlie scrambled over and was just about to plunge in when a body hurtled by him and went over the edge.
LuAnn broke the surface of the water cleanly and almost instantly reappeared. She scanned the surface of the rapidly moving water that was already pulling her downstream.
From the bank, Charlie stumbled along through the thick trees and heavy underbrush, trying to keep up. The shouts of the FBI agents and police officers were getting louder, but it didn’t look as though their help would arrive in time.
“Matthew!” LuAnn screamed. Nothing. She dove under, methodically pushing off from bank to bank searching for him. Twenty seconds later she resurfaced, sucking in air.
“LuAnn!” Charlie yelled at her.
She ignored his cries. As the cold rain pelted her, she sucked in another lungful of air and went under again. Charlie stopped, his eyes darting everywhere, trying to pinpoint where she would come up. He wasn’t about to lose both of them.