the house. Though it was difficult to pinpoint, it was a sound Logan had heard before-bullets passing through a silencer. Two, in this case.
He whirled back around.
“Who are they shooting at?” Dev asked.
Logan shook his head. “I have no idea.”
A cry of pain.
CHAPTER SEVENTY — NINE
Erica and Clausen exited via the sliding glass door and split up, Clausen going left while she went right.
Scanning the darkness, she looked for any sign of movement. There were no places for anyone to hide against the house or the back of the garage, with the grass running right up to the foundation. Closer to the back of the property, though, along the cinder-block wall that served as the fence, was a metal gardening shed, and beyond it, across the rear of the lot, was a wide section full of bushes and trees and plants.
She headed for the shed first, pausing a few feet away to listen.
Breathing. Faint, either coming from inside the shed or out further in the bushes.
She moved over to the door, but immediately saw the sound couldn’t have been coming from within. The door was padlocked.
Whoever was hiding had to be in the bushes.
She glanced at the other side of the yard. Clausen had headed straight for the planted area on his half, and was working along it in the opposite direction.
Erica clicked her tongue once against the top of her mouth.
Clausen turned, and she motioned to the section of the brush area where she thought the voice had originated. With a nod, Clausen switched directions so they were closing in on the area like a vise.
As Erica inched forward, she looked specifically for any pattern in the shadowy vegetation that didn’t fit.
Movement, subtle at first, then a rush of leaves slapping against each other.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” a man said, popping out of the brush, his hands above his head.
He was large, not tall but fat.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked.
“Please don’t hurt me. I haven’t done anything.”
“Answer my question.”
The man hesitated. “Kurt. Kurt Abbott.”
“That name means nothing to me.”
“This…this is my house.”
“Oh, it is, is it? Then tell me, Kurt Abbott, where’s the girl?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Abbott wasn’t a very good liar.
“Step out of the bushes,” Erica said. “Slowly.”
Abbott didn’t move. “Why?”
“I just want to talk to you.”
“Please. Just go. I won’t call the cops or anything.”
Erica’s face hardened. “Get your ass out here. Now.”
As Abbott was about to take a step forward, another man erupted out of a bush just to the right.
Erica and Clausen swung their guns around and pulled their triggers, but both fired in surprise, their shots going wide.
Clausen fired again.
With a cry of pain, the man went down.
“Holy shit,” Abbott said.
The guy on the ground was also big, but in the muscular-and-tall way.
Erica used her foot to roll him over, while Clausen kept an eye on Abbott. The injured man winced in pain. His arm hugged his gut, the shirt beneath turning dark with blood.
Most times, Erica liked to leave the gun work to others, but after the two days of frustration, and now this, she was pissed off. “Who the hell are you?”
“Go to hell, Dr. Paskota,” the man grunted. Then he smiled. “You’re too late. She’s gone.”
Erica’s eyes narrowed, her sense that everything was working out slipping away. She put her foot on back of the hand the injured man was pressing against his wound, and shifted her weight onto it.
The man cried out.
“Who
CHAPTER EIGHTY
The first thing Harp saw as he and Barney neared the other car was that Alan was not there. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment, because the second thing he noticed was Markle pushing himself off the ground.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Harp said, rushing forward.
He raised the tire iron he’d taken out of the back of the Cherokee.
“Go to hell, old man,” Markle said. He started to stand, not taking the threat seriously.
Harp clenched his jaw, hesitated a second, then swung.
The tire iron slapped the side of the man’s head. He twisted toward Harp, dazed, his eyes trying to focus on his former captive before he dropped to the ground.
“Harp!” Barney said.
“What?”
“You hit him!”
“Yeah, I did.”
“You…you might have killed him.” Ever the doctor, Barney dropped to his knees and checked the man’s pulse.
“Well, he and his friends wouldn’t have hesitated to kill me.”
“He’s alive,” Barney said, relief in his voice. He looked back at Harp and smiled. “Good thing you’re not so strong, huh?”
“‘Good thing you’re not so strong,’” Harp shot back like a sixth-grader. He thrust the tire iron into Barney’s hands. “Take it.”
“Why?”
“Next time it’s your turn.”
“I can’t hit him. My oath.”
“Oh, good Lord. Give it back.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY — ONE
As Logan reached the sliding glass door, he heard another cry of pain.
Dr. Paskota was standing over someone on the ground, her foot pushing down on the person. Her companion had a gun trained on a man standing in the bushes.
