The Penitent One (Boston Crime Thriller Book 3) by Brian Shea (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📗

the quiet, although the crunching and movement in the trees and the ice underneath didn't help. Kelly was being hunted.

He scrambled behind a nearby tree trunk. Pinned down, he reached for his radio as three more rounds hit a tree on the other side of him.

Kelly started backing up, working himself away from the kill zone in some poor attempt at a crab walk. Moving on all fours, staying low, he tried to keep as many trees as possible between himself and the killer stalking him.

His hand ran into something cold and sharp. Kelly turned. Just beneath a few ice-covered branches was the jagged, sharp teeth of an open bear trap. Just like the one that got Gray. And Kelly had almost put his hand inside it.

He was about to bypass it when he had a thought.

Kelly let out a scream rivaling Gray's. Possibly louder. "My leg!"

Gray was close, but not that close. He heard him call out in a hushed whisper, "Stay down, Kelly. I'll try to come to you."

Kelly responded, "Stay where you're at." He then screamed again for effect, but stayed tucked behind the tree, which was now shredded by bullets.

He worked his fingers around the base of the trap. It took a little effort, but he quickly released it from the frozen ground’s icy grip.

Kelly waited in the dark. Every few seconds, he'd let out a wail or a curse, giving away his position time and time again.

Less than a minute later, he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps, still a short distance away but closing in. Kelly knew it could be only one person, and he was coming to finish the job.

Adding to his ruse, Kelly picked up his radio, still turned off, and relayed, "All units be advised, Gray and I are both down. I repeat—officers down! The place is booby trapped. All responding units, take caution. Target on scene!"

The crunching steps were closer now. Kelly rolled to his side and wailed, projecting his voice to one side of the tree just as he heard the killer step around the other.

Split seconds. That was all it took. Action versus reaction. Kelly rolled to his side, facing Vance, and flung the bear trap forward. Vance raised the gun to shoot as the trap struck his extended hand and slammed shut with a sickening crunch.

The pistol was knocked from his hand as Vance wailed like a siren. The damage from the steel trap’s sharp teeth was readily apparent, nearly severing his hand clean off.

Not waiting for him to recover or react, Kelly launched himself off the icy ground and swung his right hand down harder than he’d ever thrown a punch. Kelly’s legendary overhand right crashed into Vance's face. He felt the crunch of his nose and the snap of his glasses underneath his bare knuckles. A devastating blow in the ring. More so now, ungloved and unpadded, his cold, hard knuckles delivering justice a long time coming. And it felt good.

Vance staggered back on the uneven icy ground. Between the blow and the bear trap, he fell, slamming his head into an exposed tree root. Not waiting a second for him to recover, Kelly pounced on top of the man.

Vance's head bobbled loosely as Kelly rolled him over. The punch had rendered him unconscious, or close enough to it. He cuffed him, cinching the other cuff above the damaged arm ensnared by the trap, then did a rapid but thorough search of him, making sure he didn't have any other weapons.

Satisfied, Kelly dragged him and sat him a few feet away from the pistol he had used to try to kill him.

Keeping his gun on the killer, Kelly pulled his phone. “We got him.”

“Wha—” Halstead started to say.

“Send medics. Gray got snagged by a bear trap. Vance is injured too. Tell the guys to be careful. He’s got the surrounding woods rigged with traps.” He hung up before giving his boss a chance to respond. Kelly knew there would be time for that later.

Kelly stared down the sight of his gun at the man who had killed his partner nearly nine years ago, the same man who had killed an undercover FBI agent and who had nearly killed his girlfriend and partner. A deep-rooted rage boiled inside him, and he fought to control it. He could pull the trigger now, end it, end this man who had caused so much misery.

Kelly's finger toggled the Glock’s trigger, taking it to a fraction of an inch from the break point and holding it there. One micro squeeze, and the round would free itself from the chamber and end this man's life.

But Kelly wasn't an executioner.

With an exhale, he released his finger and indexed alongside the slide. He held steady as the sirens in the distance grew louder.

28

Halstead arrived on scene and took in the aftermath. Gray was already on his way to the hospital, and Christopher Vance was being stabilized and readied for transport. Two uniformed patrolmen accompanied him in the ambulance, and one followed behind. They were taking no chances with the killer, the trained assassin who had proven himself to be as dangerous and elusive as they came.

Halstead stared blankly at Kelly, the cobalt blue of his eyes betraying none of his thoughts. And then he opened his mouth to speak.

Kelly readied himself for whatever onslaught of expletives he had in store. He was prepared for the fallout. He deemed it worthy, whatever the cost. And then Halstead did something that surprised Kelly completely. He smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. Kelly shook himself, as if stuck in a dream.

"Good job. It's a hell of a thing you did here today."

Kelly continued shaking his head in disbelief.

"Didn't expect that?" Halstead asked.

"Didn't know you could smile."

Halstead laughed. And then, as if flipping a switch, his face was deadpan again. "You believe all that stuff you hear? The Iceman? You of all people, Michael Kelly, should know better than to take anything at face value.