KnockOut by Catherine Coulter

Titusville native, any ranger, knew them certainly better than this maniac. He heard Blessed now, heard him running, breaking branches, stumbling, heard his hard breathing, and he smiled. He ran directly to his left, knowing where to run to keep as fast and quiet as possible. He was nearly to the road. It was then he heard the sirens blasting through the still night. Blessed had to hear them too, had to know they’d block off the road.
    Ethan smiled. Gotcha. He broke out of the trees not six feet from the asphalt when three patrol cars raced by. He fired his Beretta into the air. All three cars screeched to a stop. Marco Hayes leaped out of the driver’s seat, his gun drawn.
    “Sheriff? What’s going on?”
    “A man alone, tall, kind of skinny, ski mask. His gun’s empty, but he could have another one. He’s close, in the woods. His vehicle has to be nearby. Did you see a car by the road when you went by?”
    None of them had seen a car, but it was dark, and they’d been over the top with excitement, focused on getting to his house. The car could be well hidden.
    Ethan put his finger to his lips and listened. He couldn’t hear Blessed moving now. Was he still again, and waiting? Had he walked here from Titusville? No, that made no sense. He had to have a car, or maybe a motorcycle.
    But where had he gone?
    And then Ethan knew. Adrenaline rushed through him, making him nearly airborne. He yelled to his deputies, “Everyone get to my house. He’s gone back. Hurry!”
    Without another word, Ethan took off running into the woods, not trying to mask his noise. When he neared the edge of the woods at the back of his property, he heard a gunshot not twenty feet from the side of his house. The man had another gun or he wouldn’t have gone back. Or maybe Joanna had been the one to fire. Only a single shot, and that scared him more than a firefight.
    He saw cars pile into his driveway, heard men’s shouts fill the night. He didn’t see Blessed.
    “Joanna!”
    She didn’t answer. When he reached the shattered bedroom window, he realized he was afraid to look inside, afraid he’d see that Autumn was gone, her mother bleeding on the floor. And Ox?
    He heard his deputy Larch yell, “Sheriff, front door!”
    He ran around the side of his house to see Ox and Blessed, locked together like wrestlers, burst out of the front doorway, roll across the porch, and land hard on the flagstone steps. Both men were grunting and heaving as their fists pounded, blood from Blessed’s arm spreading over both of them. Ethan saw Blessed had a gun.
    “Stay back!” Ethan yelled at his deputies. “Don’t shoot! You might hit Ox!” He got within six feet of where the men pummeled and battered each other when Blessed managed to jerk his arm out of Ox’s hold and fired. The bullet barely missed Ox’s face. It was so close it had to deafen both of them.
    Ethan raised his gun. Enough was enough; he had to end it. He aimed carefully, only to have Ox suddenly roll on top of Blessed. All of them watched, guns leveled at the two men, when suddenly it seemed like Blessed was embracing Ox, but Ox wasn’t fighting him now. He was holding Ox close, and the two were staring at each other, Ox’s body blocking any shots. Neither man moved.
    Moments passed before Ox came to his feet, Blessed coming up behind him, pressed against his back. Ox stood there, not moving, protecting him. All of them saw the gun pointing to Ox’s neck.
    “Stay back, all of you, stay back, or this boy here’s dead!”
    The Ox Ethan knew, the Ox he worked with, a man who was so tough he could beat the stuffing out of most other men without breaking a sweat, simply stood there, no expression on his face. He knew his deputies couldn’t believe Ox had folded, that he’d stopped fighting. It looked like he was now willingly protecting Blessed, letting him press his gun into his neck. Ethan raised a warning hand. “Blessed, we’re not moving. Look around you. You’re