As was prone to happening in his line of work, once outside influences started exerting pressure on a case, where it should go and where it did go were often two very different things.
Not that it was ever easy to accomplish a task and stroke a variety of egos at the same time.
With the sun just beginning its descent to the west, Reed squinted his eyes against the fading light, his focus forward, barely registering the neighborhoods around him as he drove.
Behind him, Billie had taken to pacing the width of the sedan, seeming to feed off his anxiety, letting it build within her.
Completely consumed with his thoughts, he barely noticed the gaggle of cars gathered on the far end of the street. Not until he was just a block away did he lift his gaze enough to see them parked at random intervals, many jutting out into the roadway, making it impossible for traffic to flow in both directions.
Oblivious – or more likely not caring – about how they were parked, the passengers from them were piled onto the small front lawn of the apartment complex, their assembled mass pressing tight against the yellow police tape strewn across the entrance.
“Aw, hell,” Reed whispered, evoking a whine from Billie in the backseat that coincided with the bottom falling out of his stomach.
Settling into a tight ball deep in his solar plexus, Reed felt it begin to roil, a hint of nausea passing through him, replaced a moment later by wanton anger. White hot and vitriolic, it rose straight through his core and on to his face, flushing his cheeks, bringing a sheen of sweat with them.
Every part of him wanted to reach out and flip the lights on his car. To set his siren to wailing before using the megaphone to announce that they were all trespassing on a crime scene.
To call Greene and Gilchrist, McMichaels and Jacobs, Leibowitz, Bradley, and every other uniform he could think of, get them all down to the apartment complex and have them start rounding people up.
Just as fast, he pushed the notion aside, knowing it would cause far more trouble than it was worth, both for him and for the department as a whole.
But damn if it wouldn’t feel good in the meantime.
Casting the idea aside with a quick shake of his head, Reed saw the crowd grow closer, the gap in the street narrowing before him. Shifting his focus to the side, he hooked a right and moved away from the complex, needing to get inside to give the place another look, but wanting to put distance between himself and the throng of reporters.
Right now, they were just catching wind of the story.
Soon enough they would have his name too, would begin backtracking to some of his other more recent high-profile cases.
Would start calling the house at odds hours asking for comments, trying to ambush him as he came out of Wendy’s or a gas station.
Continuing to swing his thumb down at his thigh, each contact grew in frequency and intensity. Keeping his left hand draped over the wheel, he moved away from the complex at an angle, driving at a steady pace, the number of cars parked along the street and the amount of foot traffic on the sidewalks thinning considerably.
With the sun behind him, Billie became nothing more than a silhouette in the backseat, her ears pointed upward in the rearview mirror, a solid black shadow in the center, the world spread wide to either side.
The acrimony he felt for the media continued to linger, pulling sweat to his upper lip and his back as he drove on, the temperature in the car rising.
With it, his heart rate climbed in time, hammering through his temples, drowning out most of the ambient noise of the neighborhood as he went.
Right up to the point that the heavy snap of two gunshots rang out, jerking him from his thoughts, followed just a moment later by the steady cacophony of Billie barking in his ear.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bits of ceramic brick sprayed against Sydney’s Rye’s shoulder, catching the bottom part of her cheek, sending a stinging sensation the length of her jaw. An instant later the sound of the gunshot that had caused it – followed a millisecond after by a second – rang out, the sound emanating through the cool air.
On cue, Blue responded in kind, a deep and thunderous yelp that tore through her head, echoing inside her ears, the sound even louder than the shots had been.
“Quiet!” Rye hissed, dropping into a crouch, her pace increasing as she moved into a full sprint.
As she went, she reached up along her back, tugging at the Beretta folded under the elastic band of her sports bra. Without breaking stride, she extracted it and continued pounding onward, covering a handful of steps before sliding to a stop behind a parked Buick.
Tucked up against the rusted blue exterior, she pressed her body tight to the door, her head rotating to either side, checking for signs of a shooter.
There was no way that Clarance Koob had taken the shot. The man was too savvy, believed too much in self-preservation, to ever open fire on the street like that, especially without a sound suppressor.
And there was no way in hell he would have missed.
Not once, much less twice.
Raising a hand to the side of her face, Rye winced slightly, pulling it back to see her palm streaked with red, shards of brick having broken the skin. Mixed with it was a healthy amount of sweat, her entire face wet despite the temperature outside.
Beside her, Blue was crouched so that his body was hidden behind the car. Every muscle tensed, his entire form was held at attention, aching for the command, a single word to send him charging off after their attacker.
With his jowls peeled back, rows of bright teeth flashed, he too panting hard.
The idea of the jog was to draw them out, though never did she think it would play this way.
So be it.
Either corner of Rye’s lips pulled back as she brought the weapon before her, gripping it in both hands. Continuing to rotate her gaze, she slowed her thinking, pushing aside the initial adrenaline burst, forcing herself to analyze what had happened.
The shots had come from her front side, at an angle that sent shrapnel into her face.
That meant her attacker had been on the far end of the street, lying in wait, and had merely gotten a bit too hasty with his rounds.
She wouldn’t make a similar mistake.
Checking to her left again, making sure that her tail was clear, Rye said, “On three, I’m going right.”
Seeming to understand the warning, to be thinking on the same wavelength, Blue let out a single growl, a signal that he knew what came next, was up for the challenge.
“One...two...”
Rotating on her knee, Rye rose to a standing position, her body from the chest up exposed behind the car. “Three!”
The moment the word left her mouth, Blue was off and running, an enormous blur pounding away from the car. Tongue wagging, saliva dripping, a low and throaty moan rolled out of him as he streaked away.
With the gun extended before her, Rye fanned the opposite side of the street in a quick sweep, spotting what she was looking for twenty yards away.
Short, with a dark complexion, he was most assuredly not Koob. Fitting the look of the second man into the room, his attire and shooting stance made it clear he was far from an amateur. Standing behind a small compact car for cover, most of his body was hidden from view, just his shoulders and head visible.
With his attention aimed at the car in front of the Buick, his mouth sagged open slightly at the sight of Blue, the front barrel of his weapon shifting trajectory just enough to give Rye an opening.
It was all she needed.
The first shot passed through the rear windshield and passenger window of the car, a shower of glass erupted as the round burst through each. On contact, the car’s alarm began to sound out, an unholy blare reverberating off the buildings crowded close on either side.
The next Rye put just an inch to the side, the bullet passing through within the time it took for her to pull the trigger a second time.
Whether either one hit, she had no way
of knowing, only that he disappeared from sight even as the last of the glass spray hung in the air.
A moment later, Blue vanished as well, a deep and angry braying letting her track his progress as he moved behind the cars.
Pulling her weapon back across the hood of the Buick, she returned to her previous spot against the door, sweat soaking through the back of the fleece she wore. The smell of cordite drifted up from the glowing tip of the Beretta, the weapon pointed toward the sky, just inches from her chest.
Years before, she would have been frantic at the thought of Blue out on his own, facing an armed attacker, her not having a visual on him.
Now, the thought didn’t even enter her mind, her focus on the fact that Koob had to be nearby, that she had exposed her position.
Rolling onto her left haunch, she raised her weight up onto a knee, her focus on the faded green station wagon parked ten yards away, on the patch of open ground between her and there.
On the mental calculation of how long it would take her to get there.
She had to keep moving. Provide as small a target as possible.
Never let them get a clear bead on her position.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It took Reed Mattox less than a minute to get on the radio and call in that shots had been fired. As he did so, he mashed his foot on the accelerator, pushing the sedan forward for more than a block, the road curving further away from the apartment complex as he went.
The instant he was done relaying his position and his request for backup, he tossed the mic into the passenger seat, sending the plastic object bouncing through the interior of the car. Pushing his shoulders back into the seat, he raised his hips up into the air, tugging his weapon free, before lowering his bottom back into place, the gun balanced in his lap.
It had been months since he’d last had to draw in any situation, an ugly affair that almost gave him and Billie both frostbite, had resulted in the monotony of the department-mandated counseling thereafter.
In the time since he had done everything possible to keep from having to go through it again, though the thought never entered his mind as he pressed on. Rounding out a final turn in the road, he pushed the ball of his foot as hard as he could against the brake, the sedan lurching beneath him, dropping speed fast.
What had caused the abrupt stop was stretched out before him, a scene unlike anything he’d ever witnessed – or even heard about.
The street was laid out the way many were in The Bottoms, a roadway that was barely wide enough for two lanes of traffic, local residents cutting into it even more so by ignoring posted parking prohibitions. Staggered in an uneven row, they gave the length of the street the look of a maze, forcing drivers to wind their way through.
Not that Reed would be even attempting to drive a foot further.
Smashing the gear shift into park, Reed flipped on the flashers in the front and rear headlights. Instantly, halogen light lit up the buildings to either side, working in even bursts as the flickering passed from one side to the other.
To his left, the back end of a parked Honda Civic had been shot out, fresh glass lying across the pavement, glittering with the passing of his front flashers. From it, the blare of a car alarm could be heard, the sound reverberating through the narrow street.
On the opposite side, a woman was raised behind a blue Buick station wagon, her back to Reed, a gun extended at shoulder length before her.
In his ear, a deep and guttural growl rolled from Billie, a sound angry and primal, the sort of thing he had only heard come from her on a handful of occasions before.
At best.
Feeling sweat rise to his face, Reed flicked his gaze to the dash, seeing the clock, running the math in his head.
Dispatch had said backup was three minutes out and closing.
The woman before him was already up, weapon drawn, clearly honing in on a target.
There would be no waiting, the incident playing out making it impossible for him to even consider.
Reaching out, Reed jerked the handle of the car open and stepped wide, using the door for cover. Extending his hands, he nestled the gun between the crook of the door and the car, his singular focus on the woman.
“Freeze!” he bellowed, raising his voice, the sound of it causing her to visibly stiffen before him. “CPD! Put your weapon do-“
Reed never got the chance to finish, the woman abandoning her stance, shifting to a full sprint.
If she heard who he was or what he ordered, she didn’t give the slightest impression, her focus aimed straight ahead as she tore forward, the gap between them growing fast, making any chance of Reed chasing her down almost impossible.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to try.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There was no way Sydney Rye was going to stop for some local beat cop standing behind her, hands shaking, probably pissing his pants. Not with Blue cleaning up her first victim across the street, with Koob still lurking nearby, no doubt having retreated further into the shadows.
Watching everything, not about to reveal his position or venture a bit closer.
Pausing for just an instant at the sound of the officer’s voice, Rye pushed her right foot back a few inches. Raising her heel, she twisted the ball of her shoe into the sidewalk, gaining purchase.
She shouldn’t have been so foolish, so short sighted, as to focus solely on Koob. It had clouded her senses, removing all sense of judgment, leaving her vulnerable.
Anger, resentment, flashed to the surface as she rocked back slightly, hearing the man behind her go through his standard litany of directives.
As if she gave a damn.
Turning her chin into her left shoulder, feeling the drying blood tug on her skin, she raised her voice just slightly.
“Blue, go!”
The words were barely past her lips as she propelled herself off her back foot, knees and elbows jerking forward, from a standstill to a sprint in less than three strides. Starting in a crouch, she allowed her body to rise to full height, her lungs expanding, drawing in deep breaths.
Gone was any concern of Koob, knowing the man was too self-interested to show himself, no matter how solid a target she now was.
Instead, she worked back through what she could recall from her run, picturing the route she had taken, bringing together every possible escape point.
For almost a block, that sole point of focus sat at the front of her thoughts, her breathing and the slap of her feet against the sidewalk drowned out by the whining of the car alarm behind her.
Right up until it too was overtaken by the vicious gnashing of an animal behind her, large and growing closer.
Fast.
Rye knew in an instant it was not Blue, the sound of a different pitch, containing less menace. In its place was a tone that bordered on official, the cadence equally timed, growing ever closer.
Feeling her brow come together, knowing Blue would never disobey her command to run, Rye chanced a glance over her shoulder, timing it with her stride, barely losing any momentum as she checked her tail.
Twenty yards away and drawing fast was an animal smaller than Blue, but still more than large enough to take her down, its head rising past her waist. Solid black, it had the look of a wolf as it sprinted forward, the lone spot of color the tip of a pink tongue wagging out between its teeth.
One time after another, it brayed at her, matched to every other stride, a man in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt sprinting along behind her, a badge flopping against her chest.
For the first time since the shot slammed into the brick beside her head, Rye felt her adrenaline surge.
No part of her wanted to stop, wanted to go through trying to explain why she was in Columbus, carrying an illegal weapon that she had just used to at minimum shoot at a man, if not outright kill him.
Even less could she stand to become a fugitive.
The man she had no concern with, but the dog there would be zero chance of outrunning. To get
away, she would have to put it down, an offense akin to shooting a cop.
Which would effectively earn her the ire of every law enforcement officer in the city.
And ensure she never had a chance at getting to Koob, or the bastard she knew was paying his bills.
This was a far cry from the way she would have preferred things to go, but she had overplayed her hand. All she could do was go through the motions of her cover story, hope that the back-end protections were still in place, that they would be enough to get her through.
Otherwise, she would have to go to Plan B.
Sydney Rye had never been one for playing nice, for taking on allies, especially those that she had never met, had not fully vetted through the crucible of shared experiences.
But this time, it looked like she might not have a choice.
Not if she wanted to remain free from prison, to have any chance of keeping her promise to Nora.
Halfway down the street, hearing the dog behind her grow closer, Rye broke stride. Easing her pace, she dropped her weapon to the ground – the metal hitting with a clatter – before raising her hands to either side.
There were a number of ways the coming days could play out, almost all of them bad.
Which one would come to pass, she could do nothing but wait to find out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vinson Gerard was livid, pacing the interior of his office. With the windows flung open, cool air filtering through, he could feel the temperature difference as he crossed to the left side of the room, the way it rose precipitously as he passed back to the right.
Only heightening the agitation he felt, pulling sweat to his brow.
To the palm of the hand gripping his silent cell phone.
There was supposed to be news by now. Hirsch had managed to track the online activity of somebody to a small shithole somewhere in the area.
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