Outside, a police car raced down narrow Acorn Street, lights flashing. They heard popping sounds, like fireworks going off. Then the sound of a car crash.
Roderick appeared in the kitchen again. He was dressed in khaki pants and a golf shirt. “Here,” he said, handing a phone to Claudia. “I found your phone on the dresser.
Your cell’s been ringing nonstop.”
Claudia took the phone. It wasn’t ringing now, but she had three missed messages in just the past five minutes.
She was about to call up the latest one when her cell went off in her hand.
“Where are you going, Roddy?” Gillian cried, nearly hysterical.
“Out. To see what all this ruckus is about.”
“No, you can’t—”
“Hello,” Claudia said into her cell.
“Claudia, thank God you’re safe,” said her husband.
“Of course I’m safe. A little rattled, maybe—”
“
“I knew it,” Claudia said.
Outside, the fireworks got louder, and closer.
“We got the word in earlier this evening, from an un-trustworthy source, frankly,” Nathan Wheelock continued.
“But it appears the agent in question was correct.”
Roddy stormed out of the kitchen. Gillian wrung her hands.
On television, the announcer warned: “The Mayor has just issued a command that all citizens of the Boston area are to remain inside their homes. Let me repeat that…”
“Roddy!” Gillian cried, rushing to the front door.
“Truck bombs, Claudia,” Nathan Wheelock said. “At least two of them, possibly as many as four—”
“We heard a number of explosions,” Claudia replied.
“Now it sounds like fireworks outside—”
“Those aren’t fireworks,” Nathan cried. “They’re gunshots.”
On the television, the anchor took another piece of paper and visibly paled. “We’ve just received another bulletin. Armed gangs are roving the streets around Boston Commons and the Beacon Hill area. All citizens in those neighborhoods are advised to lock their doors and take shelter in basements or attics—”
Claudia heard a fusillade that seemed to fire off right outside their door. She heard Gillian scream. Claudia closed the phone and bolted to the entranceway. Gillian was standing in the door, clutching her head.
Outside, someone was facedown on the pavement, blood pooling around a shattered skull. It took Claudia a moment to realize it was Roderick. Another form was crumpled on the sidewalk, a youth with long hair and a brown beard, wearing tie-dyed pajamas.
Claudia dragged her sister’s arm, yanked her backward, then shut and locked the door. Another round of shots rang out, one of them puncturing the stout oak and shattering a mirror in the hallway.
On the other side of the door, they heard shouts and screams — and more shooting. Claudia dragged her sister deeper inside the house just as someone slammed a shoulder against the front door.
Frantically searching for a place to hide, Claudia opened the closet and pushed her sister inside.
“Keep quiet, no matter what you hear,” Claudia commanded.
She’d just closed the door on her sister when Claudia heard a crash, then heavy boots tramping on the polished hardwood floor. She slipped her hand into the robe’s pocket, touched the butt of the small handgun — but she was afraid to pull it free. She wasn’t all that sure of her aim, but mostly she didn’t want to provoke the man.
A burly African American appeared in the hall. He wore dirty overalls and a skullcap. In his beefy hands, he clutched a double-barreled shotgun, which was pointed at the ceiling. His eyes appeared wild, like he was drugged.
“What do you want?” Claudia asked as gently and calmly as she could. The lawyer in her took over.
“I want to help you,” Claudia assured him. “What can I do to help you?”
The man blinked, his eyes beginning to focus. He looked down at Claudia’s long, tanned legs. His gaze moved upward, over her trim figure, attractive face, and golden, sleep-tousled hair. Finally, he met her sky-blue eyes.
“Please, just put the gun down…” Claudia urged.
Claudia held her breath, feeling a moment of triumph as he did what she asked.
“Good,” Claudia murmured on a released breath.
“That’s good.”
The man stood there, unarmed now. But he still hadn’t said a word.
“You don’t want to hurt me, do you?” Claudia cooed.
A slow grin spread over the big man’s face, the wide smile showing a single gold tooth. Then he began to move toward her, his steps deliberate, his sexual interest at last apparent to Claudia.
The lawyer’s mind seized up; her jaw went slack. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Finally registering what was about to happen to her, she simply stood frozen in place, barely able to breathe.
Her courtroom tactics were useless now; but Claudia Wheelock wasn’t defenseless. Something deep inside her was taking over. Like a puppeteer, it directed her hand to take hold of the heavy item in her pocket — the gun her husband had given her. As if in a dream, Claudia felt her fingers curling around the butt.
The man reached out, still grinning, the gold tooth winking. She could read the laughter in his eyes now:
His beefy hands tore open her robe, and Claudia’s finger squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in her hand, the first bullet ripping through the terry cloth. She pumped four more shots into the stunned intruder before he finally went down.
Tony Almeida peered through the windshield of the stolen Explorer. Judith Foy sat beside him in the passenger seat. The idling Ford was tucked between two chop shop wrecks, nearly invisible to anyone cruising along Howard Street — or so Tony hoped.
“There’s the Hummer,” he announced, sitting up.
Agent Foy followed his gaze. “That’s the one,” she agreed.
Tony threw the SUV into gear. “I was getting worried.
The plane must have been delayed.” He glanced at his partner. “Get clear
Foy popped the door and slipped out.
Inside the Explorer, Tony waited for the black Hummer to roll toward him along Howard Street. When the vehicle was almost upon him, he gunned the engine. Tires squealed and the Explorer lurched forward.
The crash came sooner than Tony expected. The noise was deafening. The hood crumpled, flew open. Then the windshield exploded. After that, Tony was blind because the front impact air bags deployed.
The tremendous force of the crash jerked both vehicles to the side. In the middle of the cacophony, Tony heard his front tire pop. Then all was quiet, save for the hiss of steam leaking from the radiator.
Tony used a knife to deflate his air bag. With some difficulty, he forced his door open. Judith was already next to him, gun drawn. They reached the other car at the same time, both leveling their weapons.
The driver of the Hummer, a man wearing a black leather blazer, with Eastern European features, a crew cut, and an unshaven chin, was obviously dead. Tony ripped open the back door, peered inside, then cursed.
Judith pushed Tony aside and looked in the backseat.
Neither the driver nor his passenger had been wearing a seatbelt. Judith Foy touched the woman’s throat.
