I step out, fire at the broad of Abe’s back. I squeeze off every fucking round and pul back. I know the shots hit the mark but Abe doesn’t go al the way down. He’s knocked to his knees, staggers back to his feet, whirls toward me.
He’s wearing a ful torso vest.
He sprays a burst in my direction, shattering the door and sending glass flying into the parking lot. Instinctively, I duck and step back behind the door. In the distance, a siren shrieks. Reinforcements.
Abe hears it, too, and moves deeper into the store, yel ing Miriam’s name.
There’s a service counter about ten yards inside the door. I pul a speed loader from the pocket of my jacket, reload. I could be at that counter and over before Abe could take another step. But there are too many eyes on me now after that exchange of fire. I suck in a breath and sprint toward the counter, feeling like I’m moving in slow motion.
I dive over and startle two female employees, pressed like frightened rabbits against the counter. They look up at me with eyes round with fear. I place a finger to my lips, push up to squint over the counter.
Abe is heading toward the back of the store. He stops at the office door, tries the lock. When it doesn’t yield, he kicks at it and screams, “Come out, Miriam. If you don’t, I’l kil everyone in this store. The blood wil be on your hands.”
One of the women beside me grabs my arm. “He’s crazy.
You’ve got to stop him. You’re a cop or something, aren’t you?”
I shake myself free of her grasp. I fal in the “or something”
category. But she’s right. Fuck restraint. I can’t give that maniac the chance to kil someone else. Before she can say anyr soelse, I’m up and over the counter.
I have a decision. I could break his neck. But how would I explain getting to him faster than is humanly possible and then using strength that is humanly improbable? No. I can explain one much easier than the other so I tap him on the shoulder and let him spin toward me. He has a heartbeat to look surprised. Then I fire. It takes only one shot. To the bridge of his nose. Abe col apses like a deflated bal oon, leaving bits of his head plastered against the office door like a macabre Hal oween decoration.
There’s blood. Lots of it. Pooling around his head. He fel faceup and there’s only a smal rose blooming on his face.
The pool is coming from the exit wound. Stil pumping from a heart that hasn’t gotten the message yet.
The smel. When I look down, I realize I’m splattered with blood, too. My clothes, my hands. I want to lick at it. Instead, I set my jaw and tense every muscle to keep the vampire in check.
It’s a good thing I fed yesterday.
THERE IS A REASON I CHOSE TO BECOME A BOUNTY
hunter and not a cop. I’m reminded of it in the minutes that fol ow. Cops appear from everywhere. I’m ordered to drop my gun, put my hands behind my head, kiss the ground.
I do what any sane person in that situation should do.
Obey.
My gun is kicked aside, my hands secured behind my back.
I can hear the same thing happening to Tracey behind the closed office door. In a second, she’s led out and pushed to the floor beside me.
Miriam is hysterical. She’s yel ing at the cops that it was her sister and I who saved her. Soon the two women who were hiding behind the counter join us and add to the din.
It takes six cops, a couple of detectives and two hours to sort out the story, check that Tracey and I are fugitive apprehension officers and are indeed licensed to carry.
Tracey stil has the temporary restraining order in her pocket, which adds credence.
By the time our hands are freed, Miriam has gone into shock. Tracey is told she can take her home. I’m told I can accompany a detective downtown to give yet another statement.
The wheels of bureaucracy creak round and round.
Tracey stops to thank me, but I wave it aside.
“Take care of your sister. Stay with her for as long as she needs you. David and I can handle everything at the office.”
She smiles. “Maybe we should consider adding process server to our curriculum vitae.”
“Might liven things up.”
She glances down at the corpse of her ex-brother-in-law. I think if no one was watching, she’d kick the bastard. Instead she walks stiffly away and moves off to join her sister.
At the same time she’s leaving, another familiar face is approaching through the throng of cops gathered around the door. He heads straight for me.
Shit. Detective Harris. I was hoping to avoid having to repeat the story yet again. I release a breath, huff, “What took you so long?”
Harris looks at me with raised eyebrows. “I heard what happened. Knew there couldn’t possibly be more than one Anna Strong.” He walks over to the body. The medical examiner is off to one side making notes. He and Harris nod to each other. Then Harris kneels down for a closer look.
“Nice shot.”
“Couldn’t miss. We were nose to nose.”
“Heard that, too. How’d you pul that off?” He stands again and aims his squint-eyed Dirty Harry cop stare right at me.
“A guy with an AK-47 and you manage to close the distance between a counter fifty feet away and the shooter without drawing fire. What are you, faster than a speeding bul et?”
It’s grown quiet around us. The two women who were hiding behind the counter look away when they see me turning in their direction. What did they tel the police?
The truth, most likely. I am faster than a speeding bul et.
What can I tel the police? The same thing I’ve said three times before.
I raise my shoulders. “You know how it is when the adrenaline is pumping. People do things they couldn’t do in normal circumstances.”
Harris lets a beat go by. “You give a statement?”
“To every fucking cop you see. I’m stil invited to headquarters. Anything you can do about that?”
Harris motions to one of the other detectives. “You need anything else from Ms. Strong?”
The detective looks at his notes. “Nah. Nothing now. She can go.”
Harris turns back to me; a half smile touches his mouth.
“And I know where to find you if we need anything else, don’t I?”
I’m tempted to crack wise and suggest that he remember the donuts the next time he drops by. But he’s helping me get out of here. Best not to press my luck. I nod my thanks and turn to go.
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “Are you al right? Do you need a ride home?”
Those are the questions he’s asking. He wants to know something else. A normal human being who just kil ed someone would be showing some emotion. He wants to know why I’m not.
I could fake it. Probably should. Instead, I tel him the truth.
“He kil ed an innocent man. He would have kil ed Tracey’s sister. What would you have done in my place?”
Harris al ows a rare, real, honest-to-God smile. His only answer. Then, “I’l see you get your gun back as soon as forensics is finished with it.”
“I appreciate it.” I start for the door. Harris stops me again and jerks a thumb toward the back.
“Better go out that way. There’s a shitload of reporters waiting out front.”
He saved me again. That’s three times now. If this keeps out, I might start to like the man.
Suddenly I’m glad Stephen is out of town. He’s one reporter I would have a hard time shaking.
CHAPTER 7
