Free The Lawless Kind by Matt Hilton Page B

nearby cliffs. A second later, Rink returned fire across the hood, and his bullets banged loudly as they struck the truck. Brakes screeched.
    Kirstie was scrabbling through her belongings and came up holding the gun she’d chosen from the stash we’d brought with us. It was a Glock 19, a good fit for her hand. I watched her slip the clip out, check her load and then slap it back in place, before racking the slide. She knew her guns. But it was one thing shooting paper targets, quite another a living thing. Particularly when the living target was shooting back. ‘Your safety’s the most important thing, Kirstie. Only use your gun if you’ve no other option.’
    Rink glanced our way.
    ‘We’re sitting ducks here. We gotta make it between those boulders back there. Go now. I’ll cover you.’
    I didn’t wait. Propelling Kirstie before me, I headed for a fissure between the rocks. Bullets smacked the back end of the car, but already we were out of their line of fire and safe but for ricochets. By the time our attackers found a bead on us, I’d already pressed Kirstie down behind some boulders at the mouth of the narrow canyon.
    ‘You OK?’
    ‘I’m fine. But you . . . oh, my God! Your face looks horrible!’
    ‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Rink.’ She didn’t get the joke. I wiped the trickling blood off my features. ‘It’s nothing. Scalp wounds bleed like crazy, but I’m fine.’
    To prove my point I bobbed up and fired half-a-dozen rounds at the truck and the men now crouching behind it. I didn’t get a hit on one of our attackers, but that wasn’t my purpose. Rink sprinted over and joined us while they kept their heads down.
    ‘Fuckers are too determined for thieves,’ he said, as he found a place from where he could return fire.
    ‘They have to be my ex-husband’s people,’ Kirstie said.
    I shook my head. Something about the scenario was troubling me. I didn’t think these men had anything to do with Molina, or Benjamin, because there was no way they could’ve known where to launch an ambush on us. Besides, Molina would have sent more capable killers than these. There was something else happening here, but I agreed with Rink that they were too committed to be mere opportunistic thieves. They’d already lost more than they could ever achieve from continuing the attack. Perhaps they were so angered by the deaths of their friends in the first truck that the fight had grown personal.
    More bullets chattered against the fissure walls, and the time for worrying about motive was over. What did it matter? They were attempting to kill us, and knowing the reason for that didn’t amount to zero weighed against the need to stay alive.
    Leaning out past the rocks, I checked their positions. The four men were down behind their truck, bobbing up and down like whack-a-moles on a funfair while they took pot shots at our position. I ignored them in favour of checking where the fake cop had gone. The son of a bitch had laid the trap, but now that things were becoming unhinged, he was heading back for his abandoned vehicle. He turned briefly and the moonlight flooded his features, giving me a first look at his face.
    Two things struck me.
    He was no Mexican.
    And I recognised him.
    A bullet cut a chunk from near my shoulder, and I ducked down. By the time I looked again, the fake cop had clambered inside his truck, and his face could no longer be seen. He reversed on to the road and took off in the opposite direction. His friends fell silent, wondering where the hell he was going, but their confusion only lasted a few seconds. The sound of another engine had joined the fray, and I was relieved to hear that our back-up was almost upon us. To help Harvey and the others gain a safe position where they could offer protection to our flank, both Rink and I began firing at the truck. Curses rang out loudly, all in Spanish.
    The machine-gunner made another attempt at finishing us off, and we had to stay down until