Vincent moved instantly.

He pushed me down onto the wet gravel as a shot shattered the night air.

The bullet chipped the stone pillar behind us, spraying chips of concrete into the air.

A second later, a volley of shots rang out from the federal agents.

Derek fell to his knees, his gun flying from his hand and clattering across the asphalt.

He was not hit by bullets, but the force of the agents tackling him to the ground was immense.

They pinned him face down in the wet gravel, pulling his arms behind his back.

“Derek Cole, you are under arrest for forgery, fraud, and attempted murder,” the lead agent declared.

I lay on the ground, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Vincent knelt beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He helped me stand up, his grip firm and steady.

We watched as the agents pulled Derek to his feet and pushed him into the back of a police cruiser.