There was a fence at the end of the alley, a dented High Voltage sign tacked on at an angle.
38, the feel of it in his hand instantly calming, and turned the corner, weapon raised. And from the way he leapt, inhumanly graceful, over a fire hydrant and catapulted down a side alley, he cared who the BSI was, too.Ĭooper ran around the hydrant and slowed as he approached the alley. Didn’t care.īen Pultz knew who the BSI was, though. When Cooper identified himself as a BSI agent, civilians hardly looked twice. Maybe stick a foot out to trip Pultz, who at five-foot-five, a little pudgy and apparently unarmed, hardly looked intimidating. In that case, some may have even tried to intervene. Cooper wondered if they’d look more excited if he’d shouted FBI. The few people on the street watched them race past with mild interest. Apparently Pultz didn’t think he looked like a “boy band reject,” though Cooper doubted his dad, Sherriff Dayton, would be swayed by the opinion of a fleeing homicide suspect.
Not from the weapons carefully hidden under his intentionally oversized jacket. How else could Ben Pultz have made him as a federal agent from thirty feet away and taken off running? Not from his jeans and T-shirt. by now was proof that his father had been dead wrong. The fact that Cooper Dayton was running down the side streets of Bethesda and not driving back to D.C.
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