Outside, the humidity hung thick in the hot air and the odd hush felt even heavier. Not one person walked down the normally crowded street. Their soft-soled shoes were silent on the pavement as they moved through the darkness. Still, Harper was conscious with every step of a sense of being watched.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose.
‘Where is everyone?’ she whispered.
Slowing, Miles scanned the ramshackle buildings around them. They appeared empty. But Harper suspected there were people there, behind every dark pane of glass.
‘Waiting,’ he said grimly.
Across the street, something moved in the shadows.
They both noticed it at the same time but Miles reacted first, grabbing Harper’s arm and pulling her behind a parked car.
They crouched low.
Peering into the darkness, Harper could make out three figures about twenty yards away. Two were tall and thin, one was short and stocky. Hidden behind a tall, abandoned tenement, the three didn’t seem aware they were being watched. They were staring intently in the opposite direction.
Following their line of vision, Harper at first saw nothing. Then she noticed the glow of a flashlight bobbing at the far end of the long, dusty courtyard.
Her heart sped up. It had to be the cop – Five-six-eight.
The killers were two buildings away from him and he was heading the wrong way. He had no idea where they were. But they knew right where he was.
Carefully, she raised herself up above the hood of the dusty parked Toyota, trying to get a better look at what the men were doing. The small one was fussing with something around his neck. It took her a second to realize it was a bandanna.
The three wanted men leaned towards each other, whispering. They seemed to be arguing.
The smallest one said something that silenced the others. Despite his size, it was immediately clear he was the leader of that group.
The other two dropped back as, with one hand, he tugged the bandanna up over his nose and mouth, like a bandit from a western movie.
Reaching behind his back, he pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans.
Harper’s stomach dropped.
He was going to take the cop out.
In desperation, she looked over her shoulder to the empty street. Where the hell was backup? They should have been here long ago.
But behind them there was only darkness.
A few feet away, Miles had balanced his camera on the very edge of the trunk and was focusing it on the three men. His hands were absolutely steady.
Harper leaned towards him.
‘We have to warn that cop,’ she hissed.
Miles turned far enough to give her an incredulous look.
She couldn’t blame him. She knew as well as anyone reporters at crime scenes were supposed to be nothing but eyes and ears – always observing, never getting involved.
But surely this was different. Someone could die. And there was no one else here to save him.
Before she could make up her mind what to do, the three gunmen stepped out of the shadows.
Harper’s eyes had adjusted to the dark now and she could see them clearly as the one with the bandanna raised his gun, leveling it at the bobbing light in the distance.
The would-be shooter was small – no more than five foot four – and so young. He could easily be a teenager.
But his stance was confident. His hand was steady. There was a kind of eagerness to his posture – he leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, the gun thrust out. As if he couldn’t wait to kill.
The scene took on a haze of unreality. It was too late to call for help. They were too close, anyway.
Next to her, Miles took his first careful shots. There was no loud click – just a muffled shushing sound, instantly lost in the breeze.
He modified his cameras for silence.
Across the road, the gunman spread his legs, bracing himself to fire. The gun glittered silver in his hand.
Every muscle in Harper’s body tightened, preparing for the roar of gunfire. Her hands gripped the trunk of the Toyota in front of her, knuckles gleaming pale.
This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t sit there and watch a man die. She had to do something.
Closing her eyes she drew a sharp breath. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she shouted into the quiet night.
‘Police. Drop your weapons.’ She paused, trying to think up something else intimidating to say. ‘You’re surrounded.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miles glare at her.
Across the courtyard, the cop’s flashlight swung hurriedly in her direction. It blinked once, then disappeared.
The wanted trio whirled toward her voice. The taller two whipped handguns out of their waistbands and pointed them at the Toyota.
Harper and Miles ducked down below the windows.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Harper listened for any sound. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her breath came in short, tight gasps. She had definitely not thought this through.
‘Great.’ Crouching next to her, every muscle tense, Miles hissed, ‘What’s next in your plan? Hit them with your pen?’
Harper didn’t have an answer. What was the step after yelling? Yell again?
Where were the real police, for God’s sake?
Cautiously, she raised her head to look at the men through the dirty car windows. All their guns were pointed directly at her.
With a gasp, she dropped back down. Her ribs felt too tight around her lungs – she couldn’t seem to breathe.
If the police didn’t get here soon, she and Miles were both going to die.
Swallowing hard, she tried shouting again.
‘I said drop your weapons, now.’
‘Fuck you, five-o,’ the tallest of the three shouted defiantly.
She heard a series of metallic clicks.
Her heart stopped.
She heard Miles whisper, ‘Oh, hell.’
They threw themselves down flat, hitting the rough concrete as the men fired.
The noise of three powerful guns letting loose was deafening – an almighty cannon roar.
Overhead, the windows of the car shattered.
Her hands covering her head, Harper squeezed her eyes shut as glass showered her.
They were trapped.
Chapter Four
The shooting seemed to go on forever. When it finally stopped, the silence left a hollow feeling in Harper’s chest – a curious emptiness.
Her ears ringing, she reached out blindly for Miles.
He wasn’t there.
‘Miles,’ she whispered urgently, hands flailing in the air.
‘I’m alive,’ he hissed from a few feet away. ‘No thanks to you.’
Blinking dust and glass from her eyes, she saw him, crouched by the trunk of the car.
‘You dead, five-o?’ one of the shooters shouted mockingly.
Before Harper could think of an appropriate reply, a cool voice spoke from behind her right shoulder.
‘I am alive and very pissed off,’ it said. ‘Now drop your weapons or I will unload on you.’
Startled, Harper twisted around. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood directly behind her. He had a 9 mm semi-automatic pistol trained on the three suspects.
Luke Walker.
He wore a black T-shirt and jeans. The badge hooked to his belt gleamed. His gun hand was absolutely steady.
‘You really are surrounded,’ he added, motioning with his free hand.
As if on cue, a line of dark-clad undercover cops poured onto the street. Overhead, a police helicopter thundered across the sky, its blinding spotlight turning the night into cold, white day. Amid the sudden deafening confusion, voices shouted rough commands.
The cavalry had arrived at last.
Caught off guard, the three wanted men were pointing their guns wildly in all directions. But it was too late, and even they knew that.
With slow reluct
ance, the tallest one dropped his gun. The short one gave him a look of disgust.
But seconds later, as the police shouted commands and threats at him, he did the same.
One by one, they knelt on the ground, putting their hands behind their heads.
As the police swarmed them, Miles left the battered Toyota and ran over to get more shots.
Harper stood cautiously. Her legs were a little shaky.
That had been too close for comfort.
As she turned to face him, Luke holstered his weapon.
‘Harper McClain.’ He didn’t sound happy. ‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’
‘Because I’m always this intrepid?’ Harper forced a nonchalance she didn’t feel into her voice.
She’d known Luke since she was an intern at the paper and he was a rookie patrol officer. At twenty, he’d been earnest and thoughtful. They’d both grown up in the same neighborhoods and they were the same age. So, when her editor assigned her to do a ride-along with him, it was almost inevitable they’d hit it off.
They’d spent three hours racing from one fairly minor crime to another with the enthusiasm of ingénues. She’d written an excited article about his life as a new cop. They’d been friends ever since.
So she knew him well enough to know he was genuinely pissed off as he strode toward her, boots crunching on broken glass.
‘Intrepid is not the word I’m thinking of,’ he said, a sharp edge to his voice. ‘Dammit, Harper, since when do you perform citizen’s arrests? You could have gotten yourself killed. You know that, right?’
‘What else was I supposed to do?’ she asked. ‘Backup never showed. Those guys were about to shoot Officer Flashlight over there. I had to do something.’
‘You could have waited for us,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘You could have gone to a safe place and called this in. You could have considered your own safety for one minute. You could have done a lot of things, McClain, if you’d just thought it through.’
Harper flushed.
‘I did think it through,’ she insisted. ‘And I decided I wanted everyone to live. Jesus, Luke. Give it a rest, OK?’
She folded her arms tightly across her torso.
His eyes swept her pale face.
‘Are you OK?’ He took a step toward her, his face softening. ‘I was half a block away when they let rip on you guys. I thought …’
His voice trailed off.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘They’re crappy shots.’
‘Not that crappy.’
Across the road, the cops were searching the shooters, emptying their pockets onto the dirty pavement. Fat rolls of money, a handful of tiny plastic bags of white powder, a comb, some change.
Harper had begun to piece the night together. Luke worked on the undercover squad – which meant he mostly handled drug-gang cases. She hadn’t seen him in more than a month, which usually meant he was working somewhere deeply unsavory.
‘Luke – did this blow your cover?’ she asked.
She was relieved when he shook his head.
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on these clowns for a few weeks. Had a tip-off they were making a move tonight against a rival group.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m still not sure how you and Miles got caught in the middle.’
‘We heard the call that the killers had been spotted,’ she explained. ‘Came over to see it go down. We didn’t realize it was going to go down right on top of us.’
She gestured as she spoke, and only then noticed that glass had cut her hand at some point. A small trickle of blood traced across her skin. Harper stared at it.
‘Jesus, Luke,’ she said. ‘They actually shot at me. Is this what it’s like to be you?’
‘Every day,’ he said evenly.
She rubbed the blood away. ‘They don’t pay you enough.’
‘Tell me about it.’
He fell silent for a second, then suddenly, said, ‘“You’re surrounded?” God’s sake, Harper. How much TV do you watch?’
‘I didn’t have time to think of a better line,’ she said defensively. ‘What do you say in these circumstances?’
He considered this. ‘I usually go with “Drop the gun or I’ll blow your balls off.”’
She gave a short laugh. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Next time,’ he said, glancing at her.
When he smiled, he looked more like the rookie she’d first met seven years ago. All chiseled jaw and clear blue eyes.
Time and work had done a number on him. His edges had sharpened and all the eager innocence she remembered from back then was gone.
She wondered if he thought the same about her.
In the years that followed the ride-along, their careers had shadowed each other. He’d been promoted to detective the year she became a full-time police reporter. He’d been on a fast-track to sergeant – working homicides at twenty-five.
They’d always had a connection – a holdover from that first night on the road. Whenever she saw him, it was a good night. This wasn’t the first time he’d melted out of the darkness at a crime scene to check on her.
Then, abruptly, eight months ago, everything changed. Luke left Homicide and joined the undercover squad. He’d refused to tell her why.
It didn’t make sense. Undercover was a lateral move – and a tough one. The work was dangerous and hard. When Harper first heard about it, she’d tried to find out why, but he ducked the question, refusing to be pinned down. Still, she could sense something was wrong.
Since then, she’d seen less of him. He disappeared for long stretches of time. He changed his appearance regularly and dramatically – and he kept his distance. On the rare occasions when she did see him, he didn’t seem happy.
‘How’ve you been?’ She shot him a sideways glance.
‘Busy,’ he said, looking away.
Across the road, the three handcuffed men were now on their feet, watching the police with identical expressions of dull disinterest, as if everything were happening to someone else.
By now, crowds of gawkers had appeared on the sidewalk – manifesting as if from thin air. In malevolent silence they watched the police walk the men to the van that would take them to jail.
‘Luke!’
Another undercover cop waved for him to come over.
Luke raised a hand in acknowledgment.
‘Wait here,’ he told Harper.
She watched him go, his stride long and unhurried. Like him, the other cop was in jeans and a plain T-shirt. He wore his badge on a chain around his neck.
The two conferred in low voices, looking at something taken from the suspects. After a minute, the cop left, holding a plastic bag of evidence.
When Luke returned, he stopped on the far side of the car and motioned for Harper.
‘Come here. You need to see something.’
She walked over to join him, her shoes crunching on the glass.
What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
The car was destroyed. All the windows were gone. The spray of bullets had left an uneven pattern of jagged holes in the doors and hood. Some of the gunshot holes were bigger than quarters.
‘I wanted you to see how close you came.’ The humor was gone from his expression. ‘Seriously, Harper, you’ve got to be more careful. One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.’
‘Come on, Luke,’ she said. ‘I was doing my job.’
‘Getting killed is not your job,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s my job.’
Harper stared. Before she could think of a good response, Miles walked up to join them.
‘Our hero,’ he said, holding out his hand to shake Luke’s. ‘Thanks for the rescue, man.’
‘Miles, don’t tell me you agreed to this.’ Luke gestured at the car.
‘As God is my witness, I had no idea she was going to do that,’ Miles said. ‘All I ask is that you don’t arrest her until after she files her story.’
Turni
ng to Harper he tapped his watch. ‘On that note, and as pleasant as this evening has been …’
Harper checked the time. It was ten minutes to twelve.
‘Shit. We’ve got to get back.’
Whirling, she ran towards Miles’ car. At the last minute, she turned back.
Luke still stood by the ruined car, watching her.
‘Thanks for saving my life, Walker,’ she called to him. ‘I owe you one.’
‘Damn straight you do.’
Something in his voice told her he was serious.
Back in the newsroom, Harper wrote the story with Baxter leaning over her shoulder.
‘Change “ran” to “fled”,’ she said, tapping the screen with a short, unvarnished nail.
Harper corrected the line without argument.
‘Good, good, good,’ Baxter murmured, whenever Harper wrote something she liked. She smelled faintly and not unpleasantly of Camel Lights and Chanel Coco.
It was twelve thirty when the article was finally sent to layout. Miles’ stark photo of the three suspects, one with a bandanna disguising his face, gun pointed right at the camera, dominated the front page beneath the headline, Suspected killers arrested in dramatic shootout.
Baxter stretched her arms up, loosening the kinks from her shoulders.
‘Why can’t criminals be more thoughtful about our deadlines?’ she asked.
‘Because they’re assholes?’ Harper suggested.
Barking a laugh, Baxter headed towards the copy room.
‘Go home, Harper. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.’
When she was gone, Harper switched off her computer and tucked her scanner in her bag. But she didn’t get up. She sat in her chair, staring at the computer’s dark screen.
She kept seeing those blank-faced young men pointing their guns at her. Hearing Luke’s voice in her head: ‘One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.’
On some level, she knew he was right. She liked getting close to danger. It drew her.
Tonight she’d been too close. Other people could have been hurt.
She and Miles always took risks but tonight she’d pushed it. Tonight she’d tried to be a hero.
At the other end of the room, Baxter bustled in, interrupting her thoughts.
The Echo Killing Page 3
