Free Dead Men's Harvest by Matt Hilton Page B

of boot heels, enough to cover his own movements as he moved to the door. Elbows braced to his ribs, he held both semi-automatic weapons ready. Then he rocked back, lifting his heel.
    The door opened.
    There was a split second while Cain stared into the eyes of the older marshal. The man had slipped into a jacket. He was holding a small knapsack in his left hand. Getting ready for the off.
    ‘Shit!’ the man whispered. He dropped the bag, at the same time slapping his other hand towards the Desert Eagle on his hip.
    Cain fired, both his guns pumping rounds through the marshal’s chest. This close they met little resistance. The man barely moved even though significant portions of his lungs and heart were projected across the room.
    Cain’s heel was still partly raised. Economy of motion dictated he follow the movement through. He kicked the dead man to the ground, stepping over him and into the room.
    Already the second marshal was on the move. He was still two steps from the table when Cain shot him through the neck. The man spun, beads of scarlet making a dervish whirl in the space he vacated. The marshal caromed off the far wall. He turned towards Cain, his mouth opening to shout. Cain shot him again, punching a hole through the balding spot on the man’s forehead.
    Two men dead in as many heartbeats.
    The woman was still a dangerous adversary. So might John Telfer be. It was highly unlikely that he’d been armed by his protectors, but Cain remembered that Telfer was one sly son of a bitch.
    Concluding that the woman – an armed and trained protector – was by far the greater threat, Cain quickly moved towards the bathroom door. He unloaded the entire H&K clip through the door and walls. A bullet punched through the door in an attempt at return fire, but Cain heard the unmistakable grunt of someone mortally wounded.
    Shoving the H&K back into his shoulder holster, he drew the Tanto with his left hand.
    From inside the bathroom came a crash of breaking glass. The bitch was trying to escape!
    He kicked open the door, expecting to see the woman wriggling out the window. Instead he almost lost his face as she fired. Only his super-charged instincts saved him. Wood splinters from the door frame jabbed at his right cheek, but otherwise he went unharmed.
    ‘Run, Jeff!’ the woman yelled.
    Cain studied her in the time it took to swing the Beretta towards her. She was wounded low in her gut – her childbearing days history, if she managed to survive. She had a second bullet wound on the mound of her right forearm. Blood slicked her wrist and made her grip on her weapon tenuous.
    Stepping directly into her space, he jammed the Beretta to her forehead. Her lips writhed in a grimace. But that was more to do with the seven inches of steel he’d rammed below her ribcage.
    The woman blinked slowly and Cain watched as her pupils dilated. He moved his face very close to hers, his lips trembling a hair’s breadth from hers as he inhaled her final breath. It smelled of peppermint mouthwash and the coppery tang of blood.
    As she sagged, Cain supported her on the length of his knife. Lord, but she was pretty, he thought. If only he had more time.
    Allowing her to slip off the steel, he backed away. A quick glance to his right told him Telfer hadn’t come out the bedroom. The woman’s final words had gone unheeded, which was good.
    Cain tapped on the door with the barrel of his gun.
    ‘Knock, knock. It’s the big bad wolf. Are you there, little piggy?’
    From behind the door he heard the frantic gasps of a terrified man.
    ‘It’s been a long time, John,’ Cain said. ‘Hope you didn’t forget me while I was gone?’
    Inside the room, furniture was being scraped across the floor.
    Cain booted the door and went inside.
    A bed had been upended, the mattress concealing the cowering figure behind it.
    ‘Aw, come on, John. Don’t go all shy on me. Come out and say hello to your old friend, Cain.’
    The mattress quivered, the