The Naked Edge by David Morrell Read Free Book Online Page A

compartment, grabbed a roll of duct tape, and threw it back to Angelo.
    “The gunfighter's friend.” Angelo gave William his rifle, then unclipped a folding knife from a pants pocket, thumbed it open, and cut off the sleeve on his left arm. Cavanaugh got a glimpse of him wrapping duct tape around the wound as the Taurus rushed across the meadow, bullets pelting the vehicle.
    “Seat belts!” he warned, fumbling to secure his.
    The bullet-resistant windows developed stars. While the reinforced glass could withstand widely spaced bullets, it could be shattered if several struck the same spot. Cavanaugh flinched as more stars developed in them.
    Then he worried about something else. Tensing his hands on the steering wheel, he felt his right front tire shudder from a bullet's impact. A tire with a bullet hole could support a car for perhaps five miles before the tire completely deflated. But repeated bullet impacts were another matter.
    These tires are reinforced, though , Cavanaugh fought to assure himself. It's fine, it's okay, it'll still do its work.
    The gunmen in the trees didn't have sound-suppressed rifles. To Cavanaugh's left, the horses galloped insanely, the din of the shots overwhelming.
    “Somebody'll hear and call the police,” William said.
    “The nearest neighbors are a couple of miles away. They hear us shooting all the time.” Cavanaugh pressed the accelerator, throwing up dust. “It's a private canyon. The ridges muffle the shots. Nobody pays attention.”
    “But they'll see the smoke and call the authorities,” William said.
    “It'll take time before the smoke rises above the canyon. Then it'll take more time before emergency crews arrive.”
    “Couldn't you lie to me just once?”
    The horses reached the trees to the left and veered in panic.
    Don't you dare hurt them , Cavanaugh silently warned the gunmen in the trees.
    Out of control, the horses galloped toward the Taurus now. More bullets starring the windshield, Cavanaugh aimed toward a gap in the trees: the lane that would take him to the road. The horses threatened to cut in front of him, making him afraid he'd hit them.
    Blood spraying, a horse flipped, its momentum twisting it over and over.
    In a fury, Cavanaugh veered around it, then urged the Taurus into the gap between the trees. Now the gunmen at the eastern and western sides of the canyon couldn't see the car. Only the shooters in the woods to the south could be a threat. The left front tire felt mushy, the same as the one on the right, but the lane was only a quarter mile long.
    We'll soon reach the road , Cavanaugh hoped. Rounding a thickly treed curve, he pressed the button that would open the gate, only to realize that the button was useless—the electricity wires had been cut.
    His thoughts were shattered by the sight of a van parked sideways, blocking the lane. The trees were dense on each side, giving him no room to veer around it. He'd be forced to ram it, striking the van where it had the least weight—at the fender behind the rear axle. The mass of the Taurus's armor would give it enough force to shift the van and allow the Taurus to squeeze past. But the moment Cavanaugh flicked a switch to deactivate the Taurus's air bags, he noticed how low the van was. Something in it was enormously heavy.
    I'll never be able to force it aside .
    As a man stepped from behind the van and fired toward the Taurus's windshield, beads of glass flew inside the car. Cavanaugh stomped the brake pedal and skidded to a stop, his passengers jerking forward despite their seat belts. He yanked the gearshift into reverse and sped swiftly backward along the lane.
    A bullet whacked through the front windshield.
    “Everybody down!”
    Cavanaugh sped backward around the curve. He reached an area where the lane widened, took his foot off the accelerator, and simultaneously twisted the steering wheel a quarter turn. The Taurus spun a hundred and eighty degrees, grazed a tree trunk, and now faced ahead.