Daniels spun around, drawing his service weapon with desperate speed. But Naomi was faster. She didn’t shoot to kill. She fired a single round that shattered Daniels’ right knee.
The Sheriff screamed, a pathetic, high-pitched wail, and collapsed into the thick mud, dropping his gun.
Deputy Ryan, standing on the other side of the vehicle, froze. He looked at his fallen boss, then raised his assault rifle, his hands shaking so violently the barrel rattled against the roof of the car. He had the drop on Naomi. She was in the open.
“Drop it, Ryan!” Naomi ordered, her weapon leveled directly at his face. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. “You pull that trigger, and you die in the mud for a cartel that doesn’t even know your name. Drop the gun.”
Ryan’s breathing was ragged. He looked at Naomi, really looked at her. He saw the woman he had tried to bully on the highway, standing amidst a storm of gunfire, entirely unshaken, radiating an authority he could never hope to possess.
With a choked sob, Ryan threw the rifle into the mud and fell to his knees, raising his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot! I surrender! I surrender!”
Naomi didn’t blink. She kicked Daniels’ discarded gun away and kept her weapon trained on them until the gunfire in the yard slowly died down.
“Area secure, Commander,” Vance panted over the radio. “All hostiles neutralized or detained. We got the cargo.”
“Copy,” Naomi said, finally lowering her weapon slightly.