Chapter 586

After all that, there was really only one conclusion:

Evenson simply didn’t want to go.

It wasn’t because, as Skye had claimed, he lacked the means to deal with Michael. If he wanted to put the man down, a low-level Life Drain would be more than enough to make him regret being born.

The problem was that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t the only group responding this time. The Twins would be sending people as well.

And, given the choice, Evenson would much rather have the two people he knew inside and out take Michael away.

Which created an awkward problem.

What was he supposed to do if he went along and ran into them?

Pretend he didn’t know them?

Put on some elaborate act?

What a pain.

Besides, this whole incident had very little to do with him in the first place. He had only come to collect his bounty. If Coulson asked him for a favor and he immediately dropped everything to help, what happened the next time Coulson asked?

Was he supposed to go again?

And the time after that?

Help someone often enough and eventually they stopped seeing it as a favor. It became an expectation. Then, if Evenson happened to have something better to do one day and couldn’t show up, he’d somehow become the unreasonable one.

Coulson was far too decent a man for that kind of behavior, of course.

But Evenson wasn’t stupid enough to knowingly walk into trouble just because the person asking was a good guy.

"You don’t want to come? Fine."

Seeing that Evenson had made up his mind, Coulson stopped wasting his breath. He opened the car door and prepared to get in.

"What’s so bad about joining one of our missions? We’re S.H.I.E.L.D.’s special operations team. We get an extra hazard bonus on every assignment. Even if you just show up, stand around, and do absolutely noth—"

He stopped.

"Huh?"

The spot where Evenson had been standing was empty.

Coulson looked around.

"Where’d he go?"

"Quit standing there and get in!"

Coulson turned toward the car.

Evenson was already sitting in the passenger seat, calmly fastening his seat belt.

"This is an emergency. People could get hurt while we’re standing around here! What are you waiting for? Drive!"

Coulson stared at him for a moment before starting the engine.

Then he looked sideways at Evenson with an expression that bordered on disbelief.

"If I’d told you there was money involved from the beginning, would you have come with us immediately?"

"Obviously! If you’d said that in the first place, do you think I’d have wasted all that time arguing with you?"

Coulson put on his sunglasses.

His eyes rolled so far upward they nearly disappeared into his skull.

"Listen. You’re only our last resort. We’re going to try talking him down first. But if that fails..." Coulson paused. "Since you can control the way he explodes, I want the blast radius as small as possible."

"No problem. You tell me how you want him to explode, and I’ll make it happen."

They reached the coordinates Skye had transmitted a short while later.

A van sat surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Coulson raised a megaphone.

"I know you’re in there, Mr. Michael! We’re here to help. Just cooperate with us!"

Evenson almost sighed.

Of course he wasn’t going to cooperate.

When had these soft, polite surrender speeches ever worked?

If you really wanted someone to come out, you needed something more convincing.

Listen up! We’ve already killed the hostage!

He’d bet money Michael would come running out with his hands raised.

As expected, Michael quickly realized something was wrong.

The van’s side door suddenly flew outward as he kicked it off its hinges, sending several agents tumbling. With one arm wrapped around his son and the other gripping Skye, he bolted toward the nearby train station.

"So..." Evenson raised one finger. "Do I get to work now?"

Skye and Michael disappeared into the station, while the Twins’ people still hadn’t arrived.

"I can make the explosion cylindrical, keep the diameter under a meter, and guarantee nobody else gets caught in it."

"Put that finger away!"

Coulson resisted the urge to slap his forehead.

"Can you stop trying to kill him every thirty seconds? Let me talk to him first."

"You’re the boss, Mr. Franklin."

Evenson called after Coulson as the agent led a large team into the station.

Then two police cruisers came sliding around the corner and stopped in a pair of sharp drifts.

Six uniformed officers jumped out.

Each carried a shotgun.

They charged into the station.

Police?

Evenson frowned.

Coulson should have contacted the local police beforehand. So what were these people doing here?

And judging by the way they moved—and their physical conditioning—they were far too elite for ordinary cops.

But if they were people sent by the Twins, they seemed far too weak.

Besides, the Twins already had their own department. There was no reason for them to disguise themselves as police officers.

Which left one possibility.

Uninvited guests.

Evenson’s smile turned faintly sinister.

His hands slipped behind his back, fingers forming a subtle spell.

Dealing with ordinary humans was easy.

One little spell, and they’d all be dead.

Then Evenson’s eyes suddenly brightened.

His hands relaxed.

Actually...

Letting these people charge inside and stir up the situation wasn’t such a bad idea.

They might slow Coulson down.

Because a heavy Harley-Davidson motorcycle had just pulled to a stop nearby.

A woman in black cowboy gear dismounted with an easy flourish. A large firearm hung at her hip.

She casually tossed her cloak back, then crouched down and used a chain lock to secure the motorcycle.

Interesting.

Inside the station, Skye wasn’t about to sit quietly and wait for rescue.

Michael had dragged her along, but as they passed a group of Russian tourists who looked as though they had been assembled entirely from excess testosterone, Skye suddenly lashed out.

Her foot drove straight between one man’s legs.

He folded instantly.

Before the others could figure out what had happened, Skye used a quick misdirection to redirect their attention toward Michael.

"You were right," she said sweetly. "He really is an asshole."

The Russians exploded.

They swarmed Michael.

Unfortunately for them, the enhanced Michael was far stronger than they were. Within seconds, several of the men had been sent flying.

But by the time Michael recovered his bearings, Skye—and his son—were nowhere to be seen.

Michael’s heart lurched.

That woman had betrayed him!

Worse, she’d apparently joined some kind of human-trafficking operation and was trying to abduct his son.

Absolutely not.

He immediately went after them.

Then a group of people dressed as police officers suddenly opened fire with shotguns.

Michael had no idea that the weapons were barely capable of hurting him anymore. He could only dodge the blasts while desperately continuing his search.

Up on the second floor, Melinda was looking for a suitable vantage point when the gunshots suddenly rang out.

She immediately grabbed her communicator.

"What the hell is going on? We were told not to fire first!"

"Those aren’t our people," Coulson answered urgently. "There’s another organization here."

The situation had just become considerably more complicated.

They now had to deal with Michael, who could explode at any moment, and an unknown group of armed impostors.

"Could they be the Black Badge Division?" Melinda asked.

She reached one of the fake officers from behind and slammed her fist into the back of his knee.

The man dropped instantly.

"They’ve been investigating this too."

"That would be a bad assumption, ma’am."

A voice suddenly came from behind her.

Melinda’s instincts took over.

There was a very good reason large predators didn’t appreciate being approached from behind while they were hunting.

She spun around and threw a punch.

Bang!

The stranger caught it with one hand.

Melinda’s eyes widened.

The encounter had happened too quickly for her to restrain herself. She hadn’t even thought about holding back.

That meant she’d hit with everything she had.

And this woman had caught the punch one-handed.

Only then did Melinda get a proper look at her.

A broad-brimmed cowboy hat concealed most of her face. Half a lit cigarillo hung from the corner of her mouth. A short black cloak designed to shield against wind and dust rested over her shoulders.

She wore an unfamiliar leather breastplate, black jeans, and heavy cowboy boots fitted with large rotating spurs.

A weathered revolver hung at her hip.

She looked as though she’d stepped straight out of an old Western.

"Easy there, ma’am."

Her voice carried the same lazy, irreverent drawl you’d expect from a gunslinger.

Her smile, however, twitched slightly.

Apparently, catching Melinda’s punch hadn’t been quite as effortless as she’d made it look.

"I’m Special Agent McKenna of the Black Badge Division. Jesse McKenna."

"Special Agent?" Melinda glanced at the hand still holding hers.

"That’s certainly... special."

After the enhancement she’d undergone, Melinda knew exactly how much force that punch had carried.

Someone who could stop it with one hand really was something.

"You’ve got quite a grip yourself..."

McKenna’s hand tightened around Melinda’s.

Their fingers creaked.

Neither woman was holding back.

"Have you been enhanced too?"

"Of course not."

Melinda immediately pulled her hand free.

No.

Absolutely not.

She had no idea what McKenna was talking about.

McKenna stared at her.

"Then how are you so strong?"

Melinda answered without hesitation.

"I was born this way."

"Oh?"

McKenna lowered the brim of her hat.

Then her expression changed.

"Look out!"

The fake police officer Melinda had knocked down had regained consciousness. He was quietly reaching for the shotgun lying on the floor.

McKenna stepped forward.

Her leg swept around in a vicious spinning kick.

The sheer force of the movement sent a gust of air across the officer’s face.

He froze.

A moment passed.

Nothing happened.

He wasn’t even in pain.

Had she missed?

Then he felt something cold against his throat.

A thin red line appeared across his neck.

A heartbeat later, blood sprayed from the wound.

Only then did the spur on McKenna’s heel finish its rotation.

A single drop of crimson slid from the metal and fell to the floor.

"That was a little brutal," Melinda said, shooting McKenna a look.

If she’d handled it herself, she probably would have taken the man alive.

"Don’t get the wrong idea, ma’am. I used my foot."

McKenna rested one hand on the grip of her revolver.

Her gaze swept across the station.

Every position occupied by the fake police officers had been marked in her mind.

"And I don’t want anyone getting confused and thinking these assorted nuisances are members of the Black Badge Division."

Then she drew.

Her revolver flashed from its holster like lightning.

She fired.

Her left hand moved so quickly it became little more than a blur as she worked the hammer.

One shot.

Another.

Another.

The entire cylinder emptied in an instant.

The fake officers scattered throughout the station were struck almost simultaneously.

Blood blossomed across their uniforms.

They collapsed where they stood, disbelief frozen on their faces.

McKenna raised the revolver.

One finger pressed the release, and she gave her wrist a sharp twist.

The cylinder swung open.

Empty casings spilled onto the floor with a series of metallic tinging sounds.

She reloaded with practiced efficiency.

Then she snapped her cloak back into place, caught the brim of her cowboy hat with one hand, and slid the revolver back into its holster with the other.

"Right on time..."

She glanced down at the watch on her left wrist.

Every hand had aligned perfectly at twelve.

Not a second early.

Not a second late.

Exactly midnight.