Read Online SPY IN THE SADDLE by Dana Marton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dana Marton
Tags: ROMANCE - - SUSPENSE
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no trash, no graffiti, a decent middle-class kind of place. The far wall held a hundred or so mailboxes. Two pink kid bikes stood in a back corner. Didn’t seem like drug-dealer-lair territory.
He could hear footsteps on the floor above him. That would be Wagner most likely. Shep followed, keeping his gun ready. He stole up the stairs silently, hugging the wall.
When knocking sounded from above, a sharp rap on wood, he moved faster. Seemed as if nobody responded, because the knocking continued. Then he could hear some small noise from below. Probably Keith coming in from the back. Was there a back staircase? There should be. A fire escape if nothing else. It’d be nice if they could corner Wagner.
Shep kept moving up. One flight of stairs to go. Just a few more steps. He looked right when he made it up all the way, and saw Wagner raise his rifle as the door he stood in front of inched open.
Shep raised his gun. “Drop your weapon!”
Wagner swung toward him just as the door slammed in his face. He squeezed off a shot at Shep, missed, then started running in the opposite direction down the hallway.
“Drop your weapon!” Shep ran after him.
Wagner squeezed off another shot.
Shep ducked, but he had nothing to duck behind for cover. He kept moving anyway, wishing he had his bulletproof vest. But since they were coming from the bar, dressed as rodeo cowboys, neither Keith nor he had any real protection.
Wagner reached the end of the hallway and turned.
Okay. Shep slowed. Showdown.
But instead of surrendering, the man squeezed off another shot, then slammed through the last door to his left.
Shep ran forward to the spot where the man had disappeared. Emergency fire exit. With any luck, Keith would be coming up and they’d have Wagner trapped between them.
He pushed the door open and inched forward carefully, kept his weapon raised in front, in case Wagner was waiting for him. But he saw no one, and judging from boots slapping on the steps above, Wagner was going to the next floor up in hopes of escaping instead of going down.
Shep ran after him. “Stop right there and throw down your weapon!” He needed to catch up to the bastard before an innocent civilian got in the middle of this.
And then someone did.
He heard screams, ran faster. Saw Wagner at last in the next turn. The man was holding his gun at two teenage girls who’d apparently snuck into the staircase for a smoke. They were fifteen, tops, dressed in summer skirts and flip-flops. They were white with fear, their eyes rapidly filling with tears as they whimpered, their half-smoked cigarettes having fallen at their feet.
Wagner’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to figure out his next step. “You stay back,” he demanded from behind the girls.
“Listen—” Shep didn’t get to finish.
One of the girls panicked and dashed forward, tumbling down the stairs, throwing herself at him, screaming, nearly knocking him off his feet. Her flailing arms knocked his weapon aside as she tried to get behind him to safety.
“Get down!” Shep pushed her out of the way, doing his best to keep her from hurting herself, dammit.
Wagner used the momentary distraction, shoved the other girl down the steps, too, on top of Shep and tore off running once again.
The girls didn’t seem to have any injuries worse than a scraped knee.
Shep called back to them as he ran up the stairs. “Get back into your apartment, lock the door. Call 911 if you need medical help.” Then he turned his full attention to the man running from him and gave chase as if he meant it.
Three more floors before he reached the door to the roof. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Every man on his team trained every single day. He could go a hell of a lot longer than this little sprint.
Once again, he went through the door carefully, gun first, and prepared to duck from fire, but no bullets came.
Chimney and vent stacks broke up the flat, long roof that radiated back the sun’s heat,
He could hear footsteps on the floor above him. That would be Wagner most likely. Shep followed, keeping his gun ready. He stole up the stairs silently, hugging the wall.
When knocking sounded from above, a sharp rap on wood, he moved faster. Seemed as if nobody responded, because the knocking continued. Then he could hear some small noise from below. Probably Keith coming in from the back. Was there a back staircase? There should be. A fire escape if nothing else. It’d be nice if they could corner Wagner.
Shep kept moving up. One flight of stairs to go. Just a few more steps. He looked right when he made it up all the way, and saw Wagner raise his rifle as the door he stood in front of inched open.
Shep raised his gun. “Drop your weapon!”
Wagner swung toward him just as the door slammed in his face. He squeezed off a shot at Shep, missed, then started running in the opposite direction down the hallway.
“Drop your weapon!” Shep ran after him.
Wagner squeezed off another shot.
Shep ducked, but he had nothing to duck behind for cover. He kept moving anyway, wishing he had his bulletproof vest. But since they were coming from the bar, dressed as rodeo cowboys, neither Keith nor he had any real protection.
Wagner reached the end of the hallway and turned.
Okay. Shep slowed. Showdown.
But instead of surrendering, the man squeezed off another shot, then slammed through the last door to his left.
Shep ran forward to the spot where the man had disappeared. Emergency fire exit. With any luck, Keith would be coming up and they’d have Wagner trapped between them.
He pushed the door open and inched forward carefully, kept his weapon raised in front, in case Wagner was waiting for him. But he saw no one, and judging from boots slapping on the steps above, Wagner was going to the next floor up in hopes of escaping instead of going down.
Shep ran after him. “Stop right there and throw down your weapon!” He needed to catch up to the bastard before an innocent civilian got in the middle of this.
And then someone did.
He heard screams, ran faster. Saw Wagner at last in the next turn. The man was holding his gun at two teenage girls who’d apparently snuck into the staircase for a smoke. They were fifteen, tops, dressed in summer skirts and flip-flops. They were white with fear, their eyes rapidly filling with tears as they whimpered, their half-smoked cigarettes having fallen at their feet.
Wagner’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to figure out his next step. “You stay back,” he demanded from behind the girls.
“Listen—” Shep didn’t get to finish.
One of the girls panicked and dashed forward, tumbling down the stairs, throwing herself at him, screaming, nearly knocking him off his feet. Her flailing arms knocked his weapon aside as she tried to get behind him to safety.
“Get down!” Shep pushed her out of the way, doing his best to keep her from hurting herself, dammit.
Wagner used the momentary distraction, shoved the other girl down the steps, too, on top of Shep and tore off running once again.
The girls didn’t seem to have any injuries worse than a scraped knee.
Shep called back to them as he ran up the stairs. “Get back into your apartment, lock the door. Call 911 if you need medical help.” Then he turned his full attention to the man running from him and gave chase as if he meant it.
Three more floors before he reached the door to the roof. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Every man on his team trained every single day. He could go a hell of a lot longer than this little sprint.
Once again, he went through the door carefully, gun first, and prepared to duck from fire, but no bullets came.
Chimney and vent stacks broke up the flat, long roof that radiated back the sun’s heat,
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