Second Chance

Chapter 88

I SAW TWO MEN coming, one with a blond beard and long ponytail, the other in a sleeveless denim vest with massive tattooed arms. I had absolutely nowhere to go.

They fixed on me. “Who the hell are you?”

Two possibilities: back away with my gun aimed at them, or make a stand and take Coombs in right now. The latter seemed the better idea to me.

“Police,” I shouted, freezing the two new arrivals. My automatic was extended with both hands. “San Francisco Homicide. Get your hands up.”

The two men had measured, unpanicked reactions. They glanced at each other calculatingly then back at me. I was sure they were armed, and so were the others inside. A terrifying thought flashed through me: I could die here.

Noise erupted from all over. Two other men arrived from the street. I spun around, jerking my gun at them.

Suddenly the lights inside the house went out. The driveway got dark, too. Where was Coombs? What was he doing now?

I jerked into a shooting crouch. This wasn't about Coombs anymore.

I heard a noise behind me. Someone coming fast. I spun in that direction - and then I was blindsided by somebody else. I was grabbed, taken down. I hit the ground hard under a couple of hundred pounds.

Then I was looking at a face I didn't want to see. A face I hated.

“Look what the tide rolled in.” Frank Coombs grinned.

He wagged a.38 at my eyes. “Marty Boxer's little girl.”