KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set Read Online Free PDF

Marina just as the EMS van is leaving and Tamara White Cloud is opening her door to get back into her car. The small crowd of six or eight people have dispersed, and the only other person there is Lieutenant Legend. She’s standing next to Tamara with her back to me.
    I’m trotting toward them, out of breath. But neither woman notices me. With the exception of Marine Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape (SERE) School, I’d never run this far with my hands secured behind my back. The negative affect it has on balance and stamina surprises me.
    Just as I’m thinking there’s no need to rush — the silver Chevy isn’t anywhere in sight and neither is the guy with the rifle — I notice the silenced muzzle of an assault rifle protruding from the side of the marina.
    Awkwardly, I sprint at the two women.
    “No!” I shout. “Get down!”
    The lady cop turns, drawing her Glock 22 .40 cal.  My parole officer now has one foot inside her car.
    I body slam Lt. Legend into Tamara White Cloud.
    The lieutenant’s handgun goes flying and Tamara’s purse spills out just as the driver-side window shatters. Glass rains over us, and I know the window breaking is not from my assault, but from a bullet.
    I’m lying across the lieutenant sideways, and she gives me an elbow thrust to the top of my chest as she gets up. Without a means to block it, I take the full force of her attack, and it knocks the air from my lungs.
    With a couple of gasps, I find the oxygen to say, “Wasn’t me! Shooter at the corner of the building!”
    My warning comes too late. As Lt. Legend is reaching for her gun on the gravel, she takes a bullet in the back.
    “Damn it!” I say and stumble up, my hands still behind me.
    Tamara White Cloud has slipped away and is heading across the parking lot in the opposite direction from the marina.
    “Tamara, get back here. Get down!”
    Again, too late. She runs into the shrubs that separate the lot from the street and right into the arms of the other assailant.
    I strain to hear sirens, but there are none. Where are the damn cops when you need them?
    I turn clumsily. I want to go to the downed cop, but she can’t be a priority, now. She’s not moving and quite possibly dead. I need to get to Tamara, but with hands zipped behind my back and a shooter behind me in the opposite direction, I’m unsure of how.
    Lt. Legend starts to move. A silenced bullet kicks up rocks in the gravel lot only a few inches from her head. It’s a warning shot. From the short range with a nearly stationary target, a ten-year-old with a slingshot could have easily hit her.
    I have no hope but to attempt a stalling bluff. The cops are going to be back any second, I’m sure of it — and if these guys have any sense at all, they should realize that too.
    I stand and glare at the shooter, sixty feet away. "If you let them both go now,” I tell him, “I won't kill you."
    Both assassins laugh. They have the same laugh, and they’re both short and stocky.
    "He's wasting our time. Kill 'em!" says the guy holding Tamara. “We got her alive — that’s a double bonus.”
    The shooter says, “You’re a dead man.”
    As foolhardy as it may seem, my only chance is that I might somehow defeat them with a kamikaze attack. This little plan depends on confidence — but not mine. I must rely purely on luck. It’s the overconfidence of our attackers that I’m counting on to better my overwhelmingly dismal odds: their overconfidence in easily staving off the attack of an unarmed — double entendre intended — seemingly defenseless man.
    I begin a swift walk toward the shooter whose aim is shifting from Lt. Legend to me, my eyes on the guy’s trigger finger.
    Time seems to slow.
    The sniper takes quick aim.
    Now forty feet away, I see he’s not wasting a second for careful placement of the round that should kill me. He’s aiming center of mass — dead center of my chest.
    He’s squeezing the trigger, I can feel it — I see it.
    I