Mortal Pursuit

36

Movement on the patio.

Trish heard a soft shuffle of nylon jump suits. Halfway along the hedge she froze, Ally behind her.

Most likely the killers would go to the gazebo, expecting their quarry to be hidden there. She didn’t think they would take the path. Walled in by hedges, they would be vulnerable to ambush.

Instead they probably would do what she had done: stay low along the outside of the path, using one row of bushes for cover.

But which row East or west It was a coin flip. Heads, she lived; tails, she died.

She waited, breath held, supported by her elbows, the Glock clutched in both hands.

If they came this way, she could shoot one of them, perhaps. Then the others would open fire, tearing the hedge apart in a lethal fusillade.

Rustle of lavender stalks. Close.

This wasn’t going to work. Abruptly she was certain of it. She’d gambled and lost.

Then she heard Cain’s voice, pitched in a whisper: “Keep your heads down.”

He was directly opposite her-on the other side of the path.

She’d won the coin toss. Cain and his men had chosen the parallel route. Two hedges and the flagstone path between them were all that separated hunters from prey.

Trish remembered the use of her lungs. Swallowing fear, she started crawling again.

Cain moved forward in a crouch, leading Tyler and Gage. His footsteps were soundless, the tread of a ghost. The only noise was the tuneless clinking of the patio wind chimes, making their night music.

The gazebo’s interior drew into view. Empty. Most likely Robinson and the girl were squatting at the rear.

He paused at the end of the path, hunched behind the hedge, smelling lavender and thinking.

Best move was to take Robinson by surprise. He motioned to Tyler and Gage: Stay back.

Silently Cain slipped between the hedge and the gazebo. He drew a deep breath.

Now.

He burst into the gazebo and swung his gun over the back wall, ready to shoot the rookie from above before she could react.

No one was there.

Trish wished she could be cool about this, like some TV cop. Wished she could shed the fear that was wearing her ragged.

Her stomach bubbled. A sour taste lay like something furry and hot at the back of her throat. She kept puffing up her cheeks to hold in the small, nervous belches that made her eyes water.

Fear kept a person alert, Pete Wald had told her.

She was more alert now than she had ever wanted to be.

At the end of the path she paused, waiting for Ally to catch up. The patio light was off, making it easier for the two of them to wriggle behind the redwood furniture.

But to get in the door they would have to expose themselves briefly to view. Ally first, Trish second.

With luck the killers would be focusing their attention on the gazebo, their backs turned to the patio.

Yes. With luck.

Cain switched on his flash. The beam, probing the shadowed ivy at the rear of the gazebo, caught a glint of black plastic.

The handset of the cordless phone.

“They were here,” he muttered.

Somehow they’d gotten away without being seen.

But it was impossible. Tyler and Gage had been watching the yard through the rear doorway the whole time. There was no cover their two quarries could have hidden behind. Except …

The same cover Cain himself had used. The hedges on the path.

He whirled, staring down the walkway, and saw a double blur of motion on the darkened patio-Ally in her white dress, Robinson right behind.

Ally disappeared into the rear hall before Cain could even lift his gun. He wouldn’t have time to target the cop either.

Then she went down.

Just inside the doorway, she fell sprawling on her side.

For a split second Cain thought Tyler or Gage had taken her out with a silenced shot.

No. She’d simply lost her footing as she pivoted into the hall.

An easy kill.

The Glock beamed a thread of laser light across the yard, stamping a red-orange dot on her chest.

Trish fell on the tiled floor, wet shoes betraying her, and then she was scrabbling at the baseboard, trying to rise, her chained hands clumsy, and suddenly there was an amber glow on her uniform, close to her heart.

One chance.

She pistoned her right leg. Kicked the patio door.

The door swung shut as the bullet reached it. She heard the crunch of the jacketed hollowpoint drilling through wood. But the door was heavy, with a solid core, and though the lower panel swelled inward, the bullet didn’t penetrate completely.

She twisted upright as three more bullets smacked into the door, punching new bulges in the panels and stiles.

“They just don’t give up!” Ally screamed.

“Neither do we. Come on.”

Trish was running again, the hallway lurching around her as her shaky knees threatened to buckle.

“I’ve got keys.” The words came out in explosive gasps. “We’ll get a car-from the garage-ram the gate.”

Ally’s bare feet slapped the tiles in a staccato rhythm. “They teach you this stuff at the police academy”

“Gate ramming Yeah.” Trish wanted to laugh, wanted to become hysterical, but she had no breath. “I came prepared.”

Tyler and Gage had started shooting after Cain’s bullet impacted the slammed door. They were only wasting ammo and degrading their sound suppressors.

“Hold your fire!” Cain yelled.

Gage lowered his gun and wiped a shaking arm across his face.

Tyler twirled his pistol, Wild West style. “What now, boss”

“We keep ‘em bottled up. You guard the side exit. Gage, take the rear.”

Tyler broke into a run, covering ground in long, loping strides, simultaneously gangly and graceful. His black jump suit melted into the shadows between the house and the garage.

Cain was already on the radio to Lilith. “They’re in the house. May try getting out through the front. Watch the door.”

“You should’ve let me take a crack at her in the first place.”

“This isn’t woman’s work.”

“Tell that to Robinson.”

“I will-right before I blow her brains out.”

He terminated the transmission and quickly followed Gage to the patio.

Someone had to search the house. It was the job entailing the highest risk, so naturally he would do it. Not bravado, just basic leadership skills.

The little rookie was showing some skill of her own, he reflected. Smooth moves-using the hedge for cover, kicking the door shut. She was a street fighter, inexperienced but with the instincts and reflexes of a pro.

He’d thought his threats over the radio had rattled her. It appeared she didn’t get rattled so easily.

Yeah, she was good, all right.

But as the saying went: The good die young.