open and the uniformed man followed inside. His service revolver was out, but it was aimed along the vestibule.
‘Look out,’ Imogen yelled.
The trooper’s eyes went wide, his head coming up, but the gun was a fraction slower.
Rickard fired and blood blossomed on the trooper’s shirt.
The trooper went down on his backside, then spun on the floor, gripping at his gut. Screaming in agony.
Instantly, Rickard forced Imogen down the stairs. There was another cop outside, the fat one. Have to get by him, Rickard knew, before reinforcements can arrive. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck inside the house with a cordon of armed cops all round. He’d been in worse predicaments, but he could do without the inconvenience.
The gut-shot cop wasn’t a concern. He wasn’t going to die immediately, but that was a good thing. His screams of agony would help confuse and dismay his buddy outside and would ultimately slow down any pursuit as any further troopers responding to the scene would see their fallen comrade as their first priority.
Rickard snatched the cop’s revolver off the floor and jammed it into his belt. Then, looping an arm round Imogen’s throat, he moved into the doorway.
The second trooper had retreated to the far side of his cruiser and was leaning over the bonnet, his gun trained on them.
‘Police,’ he yelled. ‘Put down the gun.’
Rickard ignored the challenge and pushed Imogen forwards, down the steps and across the yard. The cop could shoot, but he’d hit Imogen first.
‘Drop your weapon!’ The cop’s words were a loud screech.
Crash through their defences, cut them down. Rickard came on, forcing the trooper to stand up and back away.
Staring into the man’s eyes, Rickard saw that he was jammed firmly between running for his life and doing his duty. While he was stuck there, he wasn’t doing either. Rickard shot him in his huge belly. Twice for good measure.
The cop went down, and his screams matched those of his fallen companion. Imogen joined in, and now it was the surf and the seagulls that had to take a back seat.
Dispassionately, Rickard pulled Imogen away from the sorely wounded man and marched her across to where he’d left the FedEx truck. It was good for carrying an unconscious woman, but too distinctive to avoid detection for long.
‘Give me your keys.’
Imogen’s Suburban was parked next to the house.
When she wasn’t forthcoming, Rickard smacked the butt of his gun on the nape of her neck and she sprawled at his feet.
Leaving her where she lay, he went back inside the house, stepping over the trooper in the vestibule to get to a stand where Imogen had left her purse. A bunch of keys were disgorged from the bag and he swept them into his palm.
He was inside no more than ten seconds, but the scene in the yard had changed. Imogen had crawled a small distance away, and was now on her hands and knees, shaking her head like a dog with a flea in its ear. But more importantly, the overweight cop had managed to claw himself inside his cruiser. White-faced and oozing perspiration, he was shouting into the radio mike.
Rickard glanced between the two of them, then stalked towards the police car. He lifted his gun, aiming it through the window.
‘You should have just kept screaming until I was gone,’ Rickard said. ‘Maybe you would have lived.’
He fired twice, shattering the window and the man. This time there was no screaming.
Rickard leaned in the car, groping for the dead cop’s utility belt. He drew the man’s handcuffs from their holder.
Imogen was now on her feet and was taking her first confused steps away from him. Rickard raced after her, caught hold of her neck again and hustled her towards the Suburban.
‘We have unfinished business, bitch.’
Chapter 12
‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Bryce Lang said to me from the other side of the sedan. He was driving now, while I scrunched down in my seat with a baseball cap on my head and dark
‘Look out,’ Imogen yelled.
The trooper’s eyes went wide, his head coming up, but the gun was a fraction slower.
Rickard fired and blood blossomed on the trooper’s shirt.
The trooper went down on his backside, then spun on the floor, gripping at his gut. Screaming in agony.
Instantly, Rickard forced Imogen down the stairs. There was another cop outside, the fat one. Have to get by him, Rickard knew, before reinforcements can arrive. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck inside the house with a cordon of armed cops all round. He’d been in worse predicaments, but he could do without the inconvenience.
The gut-shot cop wasn’t a concern. He wasn’t going to die immediately, but that was a good thing. His screams of agony would help confuse and dismay his buddy outside and would ultimately slow down any pursuit as any further troopers responding to the scene would see their fallen comrade as their first priority.
Rickard snatched the cop’s revolver off the floor and jammed it into his belt. Then, looping an arm round Imogen’s throat, he moved into the doorway.
The second trooper had retreated to the far side of his cruiser and was leaning over the bonnet, his gun trained on them.
‘Police,’ he yelled. ‘Put down the gun.’
Rickard ignored the challenge and pushed Imogen forwards, down the steps and across the yard. The cop could shoot, but he’d hit Imogen first.
‘Drop your weapon!’ The cop’s words were a loud screech.
Crash through their defences, cut them down. Rickard came on, forcing the trooper to stand up and back away.
Staring into the man’s eyes, Rickard saw that he was jammed firmly between running for his life and doing his duty. While he was stuck there, he wasn’t doing either. Rickard shot him in his huge belly. Twice for good measure.
The cop went down, and his screams matched those of his fallen companion. Imogen joined in, and now it was the surf and the seagulls that had to take a back seat.
Dispassionately, Rickard pulled Imogen away from the sorely wounded man and marched her across to where he’d left the FedEx truck. It was good for carrying an unconscious woman, but too distinctive to avoid detection for long.
‘Give me your keys.’
Imogen’s Suburban was parked next to the house.
When she wasn’t forthcoming, Rickard smacked the butt of his gun on the nape of her neck and she sprawled at his feet.
Leaving her where she lay, he went back inside the house, stepping over the trooper in the vestibule to get to a stand where Imogen had left her purse. A bunch of keys were disgorged from the bag and he swept them into his palm.
He was inside no more than ten seconds, but the scene in the yard had changed. Imogen had crawled a small distance away, and was now on her hands and knees, shaking her head like a dog with a flea in its ear. But more importantly, the overweight cop had managed to claw himself inside his cruiser. White-faced and oozing perspiration, he was shouting into the radio mike.
Rickard glanced between the two of them, then stalked towards the police car. He lifted his gun, aiming it through the window.
‘You should have just kept screaming until I was gone,’ Rickard said. ‘Maybe you would have lived.’
He fired twice, shattering the window and the man. This time there was no screaming.
Rickard leaned in the car, groping for the dead cop’s utility belt. He drew the man’s handcuffs from their holder.
Imogen was now on her feet and was taking her first confused steps away from him. Rickard raced after her, caught hold of her neck again and hustled her towards the Suburban.
‘We have unfinished business, bitch.’
Chapter 12
‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Bryce Lang said to me from the other side of the sedan. He was driving now, while I scrunched down in my seat with a baseball cap on my head and dark
Similar Books
