The Edge

Chapter Nineteen

Laura and I held hands while we watched the sun sink into the ocean. The evening was mild with only a light breeze coming off the ocean. We walked along the cliffs, stopping every couple of steps to talk or kiss.

"You're right," she said, her arms clasped tightly around my back.

"About what this time?" I kissed her silly before she managed to pull back.

"We've talked to almost everyone today. You baited Tarcher. You went after Paul and he's locked himself up. It's hard to know how to make any more progress. Unless you've got a better idea, maybe it's time to call my boss and let the DBA come on out and kick butt."

Savich agreed with her. I agreed with her. But what hit me full in the gut in that moment was that I had met Laura less than a week before. Yet I knew she was honorable and, I'd wager, as loyal as a tick.

After less than a week, I knew I didn't want to let her get away from me.

I couldn't stop looking at her. She was wearing Nike running shoes, tight jeans, and a long, loose white shirt.

She'd pulled up her long hair and fastened it with a banana clip. She wore a bit of coral lipstick and no other makeup. I'd nearly kissed all of it off. I looked at her mouth and decided it was my duty to get the rest of it. I closed my hand over her forearm and pulled her to a stop. We looked out over the ocean, following the flight of several seagulls that were cruising for dinner in the water below. It was quiet and peaceful, tastes of salt blowing in the wind.

"Let's sit down," I said. We found a trio of rocks leaning into one another, back about fifteen feet from the cliffs.

"Talk to me," I said.

"You want me to tell you how sexy you look?" "Yeah, but it can wait a minute. Tell me about yourself, Laura,"

"Nothing wild in my youth, Mac. Actually, I had a pretty normal life growing up in Tacoma, Washington.

My mom and dad were close to me and my older brother.

"I played the clarinet growing up. I had great technique but my tone wasn't very good, I could never be first chair because of that."

"You couldn't play those sweet solos, huh?" "Only once in junior high. I was a pretty sight, my mom said, but my clarinet wasn't a pretty sound. I went to Boston College, dropped the clarinet-no loss to the music world-and got a degree in psychology. I always knew I wanted to be a cop. I love my job, Mac.

My older brother, Alan, is a homicide detective in Seattle. My dad was a cop. He's dead now. My mom lives near my brother and his family in Seattle."

I noticed how the wind, stiffer now than just five minutes before, lifted some stray hair and blew it across her face. I watched the fading daylight shadow-play across her face.

In that instant, a bullet struck the rock not an inch from her hand, spewing out sharp shards. She looked at me blankly as I grabbed her and hurled her to the ground, rolling back behind those rocks. Not much cover, but it was all we had.

Two more shots rang out, one striking the rocky ground and flinging out clumps of dirt and shards of stone, and the other probably high and wide. I grabbed Laura's head and flattened her face against the ground. I had all of her covered with my body, I hoped.

I leaned close to her ear. "Damn, we're about twenty-feet from the cottage and there's not even a stump for cover."

There was another shot, this one thudding solidly into the ground beside us. I pulled her back farther under me.

I looked back at the cottage, beyond that huge expanse of naked ground, and saw the front door slowly open. "Sherlock, Savich," I shouted. "Keep inside. Call the cops."

I saw a good half-dozen bullets slam into the cottage. Those shots came from my right, near the cliff. I squirmed around, pulled my SIG Sauer, rose up on my elbow, and fired off six rounds in that direction. I heard a yell.

I smiled. "Maybe I got one of the bastards. Now they know we're armed, they won't take the chance of rushing us. They might have heard me yell for Sherlock and Savich to call for the backup. Just hold tight, Laura. Think of me as your Kevlar vest."

Her face was covered with dirt. She spit some out. "Damn, that was close. This is incredible, Mac. Who are these people coming after federal agents? What good does this do them?"

I was lying only half on top of her now. Three more shots sounded, these toward the cottage. I wasn't surprised to hear return fire from the cottage, fast, an entire clip in a matter of seconds. I knew I wasn't mistaken- there was a shout of pain. Sherlock or Savich had hit one of them. How many were there?

There was silence now. Even the seagulls were quiet. Laura began to squirm away. "No," I said, grabbing her shoulder. "Don't move, not yet. Wait a few more minutes."

I yelled, "Savich, did you get through?" He yelled back, "The cops should be here in three minutes, no more." But there was something about his voice I didn't like, something that didn't sound right.

"Those guys must have thought they'd died and gone to heaven when you and I came trooping out here."

I looked up at the sky. We had another fifteen minutes of daylight. Laura and I had three rocks for cover.

A piece of cake.

She twisted about to get more comfortable, lying fully beneath me now, and said, "How many are there?"

"I don't know. At least three. Two of them may be hit. Now we wait for Sherlock and Savich. It shouldn't be long."

We waited stiff and silent for two more minutes. Laura spit out some more dirt. The door to the cottage opened. I heard Savich yell,

"Come on in, Mac. Run!"

We ran hunkered over, zigzagging over the ground as we'd been trained to do, Sherlock and Savich covering us. They fired off another clip each, fanning the area behind us. There were three or four stray shots that didn't come near us, several more that struck the cottage, then silence again.

I literally threw Laura through the door, turned and fired as Sherlock and Savich eased back into the cottage. I slammed the door, crouched to the floor, and turned to see both women laughing.

"Well done, you two," Laura said, her arms around Sherlock. "You really saved our hides."

Well, I thought, staring at the women, everyone reacts differently to being shot at. I checked out the other narrow window that looked toward the cliffs. Nothing. I pulled the curtain tightly over the window.

Savich nodded. "All clear from here." He was staring from his wife to Laura. Laura's face was dirty, her hair hanging in tangles. Sherlock was grinning at her like a loon.

"You've got a clot of dirt in your ear," Sherlock said and picked it out.

"So who did you call, Savich?" I said.

He pulled the curtain back into place. "They cut the phone lines, Mac. It's just us in this little box of Cracker Jacks."

"Damn," I said. "These guys are good." I got to my feet and went into the kitchen to check the back of the house. I brought the two beers left in the refrigerator back into the living room. I looked from Laura to Sherlock, knew there was no hope for it, and pulled a quarter out of my pocket. "Call it in the air, Sherlock," I said.

So much for fairness. They started on the beers without the slightest guilt.

"They've got balls," Savich said, looking up from cleaning his gun by the window. "They can't shoot worth a shit, but they're serious about this."

"Please tell me our rental car has a cell phone, Dillon," Sherlock said.

"I'd tell you so if it were true," Savich said.

"This is very depressing," Sherlock said. "I wish I hadn't finished my beer off so fast."

I checked the dead bolt again and shifted the chair more firmly beneath the knob. "When it's dark we've got to try to get out of here."

"It's dark enough," Laura said. "We'll all go right now. Let's try to make it to your car, Mac. We can get the hell out of Dodge." I saw she was chewing on her bottom lip, looking toward Savich, who'd been silent. He said finally, "I agree. It's been nearly a half hour that we haven't heard a thing. If they wanted to kill us, they'd still be shooting. Yeah, why not try to get out of here?"

I opened the front door very quietly. I waited, then eased outside, looking toward the cliffs, sweeping my SIG Sauer slowly around in a wide arc. There was a big moon floating over the water, but roiling dark tattered clouds kept sliding in front of it. The night was blessedly dark. I waited until the moon was covered, then ran low to the Taurus, Savich, Sherlock, and Laura on my heels.

Both women were in, down on the floor of the backseat, Savich in the passenger seat as I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. I tried again, then stopped. "Somebody disabled the car," I said.

"They must have been very quiet about it," Savich said. "Let's get back inside. I'll cover you."

No one tried to shoot us on our mad run back.

Once the four of us were back inside the cottage, the front door closed and locked, Savich said, "This is interesting. We're in America and we're as effectively cut off from help as you were, Mac, in North Africa." I remembered that day when I thought my ticket was punched. There'd been help there though.

Laura shook her head, her face drawn. 'This should have been just me. It doesn't matter that you're cops too, this wasn't your assignment. You're innocent bystanders. I'm sorry you got tossed into the middle."

"I made the decision with you," I said. "It's Sherlock and Savich who are the innocent bystanders."

"Shove it, Mac," Savich said.

"Coffee," Sherlock said. "We might as well start making some. We're just going to have to wait for the sheriff. You do think she's coming to check on us, don't you?"

"I don't think they're going to let us just sit here and snooze all night, Sherlock," Savich said. "They're going to come for us."

"Interesting how they got off at least a dozen shots at us, Laura, and missed. Don't you think that's strange?"

"They don't want us dead for some reason?" Savich said, a dark eyebrow hoisted up an inch. "Maybe not," I said.

In the next instant, all three windows across the front of the cottage imploded, spewing in shattered glass, tattered bits of curtains, and heavy metal canisters that struck the floor and rolled. They made loud popping noises and gushed out smoke. The smoke was something caustic, bitter, something that burned the very air, something that burned the breath in your mouth.

There was no time. I looked at Laura, who was staring down at one of those small egg-shaped gray cylinders that was releasing a steady stream of the pale blue smoke not six feet away from her.

"It's ice acid," she said. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm very, very sorry."

I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. I opened my mouth, inhaled some of the ice acid, and thought my tongue would burn off. I wanted to yell with the pain, but my throat was burned closed. I was shutting down and it was the strangest feeling. I was beginning to feel cold, my mouth was numb, my teeth chattering. That's why they called it ice acid. It did that to you before it laid you flat.

Before I closed my eyes, I saw Savich holding Sherlock tightly against him, his head against the top of hers. Laura was on her side on the floor, her legs drawn up. She wasn't moving. I tried to get to her.

Then I couldn't see her. My eyes were freezing shut, tears seeping out, ice cold on my cheeks. I wanted to tell Savich that we had to get out of here.

Then I didn't feel a thing.