drops joined together by a tiny pearl.
“Oh, they’re wonderful. They’re beautiful.”
“I know you always wear those gold studs, but Maddie thought you might like these.”
“I do. I love them. I don’t have anything but the studs. I got my ears pierced the day before … the day before. These are my first real earrings.”
“Happy seventeen, Liz.”
“Go, try it all on,” Terry ordered. “You know you’re dying to.”
“I really am. It’s all right?”
“Birthday power. Go.”
“Thank you.” Riding on the thrill, she wrapped Terry in a hug. “So much. Thank you.” Then John. “I am happy. I’m happy seventeen.” She clutched her gifts and raced for the stairs.
“It’s a hit.” Terry let out a long sigh. “She hugged. She never hugs.”
“Never got them. I gave her mother the secure-line number—again. Told her we were going to get Liz a cake for her birthday, and we’d make arrangements to bring her in for it. She declined. Politely.”
“A polite bitch is still a bitch. I’ll be glad when this is over for her, you know? And for us. But I’m going to miss that kid.”
“So am I. I’m going to call Maddie, let her know Liz liked the earrings.” He glanced at the time. “I’ll call in, check on Cosgrove’s and Keegan’s ETA. I expected to hear they were en route by now.”
“I’ll set the table, see if I can fancy it up a bit, make it celebrational.”
She got out plates and flatware, and thought of flowers. “Hey, John?” On impulse, she moved toward the living room. “See if Cosgrove can make a stop, pick up some flowers. Let’s do it up right.”
He gave a nod of assent, continued to talk to his wife. “Yeah, she loved them. She’s upstairs putting them on. Hey, put the kids on. I probably won’t be home till they’re in bed.”
Terry walked back into the kitchen, thinking she should sample a little of that red sauce, just to make sure it passed muster. Even as she reached for a spoon, John called out.
“They’re rolling in now.”
“Copy that.” One hand on her weapon out of habit, Terry went to the garage door, waited for the signal. Three quick knocks, three slow.
“You guys are in for a treat. We’ve got—”
Bill came in fast. “We may have some trouble. Where’s John?”
“In the living room. What—”
“Bill thinks he spotted a tail,” Keegan said. “Where’s the witness?”
“She’s …” Something wrong. Something off. “Did you call it in?” she began, and pulled out her phone.
She nearly dodged the first blow, so it skated down her temple. Blood slid into her eye as she went for her weapon, shouted to John.
“Breech!”
The butt of Keegan’s gun smashed viciously across the back of her head. She went down, overturning a chair with a crash in the fall to the tiles.
Weapon drawn, John flattened against the wall in the living room. He needed to make the stairs, get to Liz.
“Don’t shoot him,” Keegan said quietly as he holstered his own gun and took Terry’s. “Remember, we don’t want any holes in him.”
Bill nodded. “I got him, John. I got the bastard. Terry’s down! She’s down! Keegan’s calling it in. Secure the wit.”
John heard Keegan’s voice over the drum of rain, rapidly relaying the situation.
And he heard the creak of a floorboard.
He came out, weapon up. He saw Bill moving on him, saw his eyes. “Drop your weapon. Drop it!”
“Terry’s down! They’re going to try for the front.”
“Lower your weapon, now!”
John saw Bill glance to the left, pivoted, elbowed back before Keegan could land a blow. As John dived to the right, Cosgrove fired. The bullet caught his side, burned like a brand. Thinking of Elizabeth, he returned fire as he raced for the stairs. Another bullet hit his leg, but he didn’t slow. He caught a glimpse of Keegan moving into position, fired on the run.
And took a third bullet in the belly.
His vision grayed, but somehow he kept moving. He caught sight of Elizabeth running out of the bedroom.
“Get inside. Get back inside!”
He lurched forward, shoving her in, locking the door before he fell to his knees.
“Oh my God.” She grabbed the shirt she’d just taken off, used it to apply pressure to his abdomen.
“It’s Cosgrove and Keegan.”
“They’re marshals.”
“Somebody got to them.” Teeth gritted, he risked a look at his belly wound, felt himself slipping. “Oh, Jesus. Maybe they’ve been dirty all along. Terry. She’s down. Maybe dead.”
“No.”
“They know I’m in here with you, that I’ll fire on anyone who tries coming in the door.” As long as he could hold a weapon. “But they know I’m hit.” He gripped her wrist with his left hand. “It’s bad, Liz.”
“You’ll be all right.” But she couldn’t stop the blood. Already her shirt was soaked through, and it just kept pouring out of him, flooding like the rain. “We’ll call for help.”
“Lost the phone. Keegan, he’s got connections—in the service, he’s connected. He’s moved up fast. Don’t know who else might be in it. Can’t know. Not safe, kid. Not safe.”
“You have to lie still. I have to stop the bleeding.” Pressure, she told herself. More pressure.
“They should have rushed me. Planning something else. Not safe. Listen. Listen.” His fingers dug into her wrist. “Gotta get out. Out the window. Climb down, jump down. But get out. You run. You hide.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re going. Get your money. Can’t trust the cops, not now. More in it. Have to be. Get your money, what you need. Fast. God damn it. Move!”
She did it to keep him calm. But she wouldn’t leave him.
She stuffed the money in a bag, a few items of clothing at random, her laptop.
“There. Don’t worry,” she said. “Someone will come.”
“No, they won’t. I’m gut shot, Liz, lost too much blood. I’m not going to make it. I can’t protect you. You have to run. Get my secondary weapon—ankle holster. Take it. If one of them sees you, comes after you, use it.”
“Don’t ask me to leave you. Please, please.” She pressed her face to his. He was so cold. Too cold.
“Not asking. Telling. My job. Don’t make me a failure. Go. Go now.”
“I’ll get help.”
“Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Out the window. Now.”
He waited for her to reach it. “Count to three,” he ordered as he crawled for the door. “Then go. I’ll keep them off you.”
“John.”
“Make me proud, Liz. Count.”
She counted, slid out. She gripped the gutter as rain lashed against her face. She didn’t know if it would hold her, didn’t think it mattered. Then she heard the volley of gunfire, and shimmied down like a monkey.
Get help, she told herself, and began to run.
She was less than fifty yards away when the house exploded behind her.
Brooks
