Jeffery Deaver - Edge

THE NUMBNESS VANISHED from Joanne’s face and she scrabbled forward on her knees, grabbing her sister and sliding her farther into the foyer, away from the windows.

The younger woman had dropped her forwarded mail in a white spill on the floor. Her camera too had fallen and she cried out, reaching desperately for it.

“Leave it!” Joanne muttered, restraining her.

Ryan had his weapon out now and was crouching.

I still didn’t draw because there was no target yet and I was busy flinging my computer into my shoulder bag. Besides, as the shepherd, I tend to let people with more tactical experience handle the firepower.

Two or three more shots into the living room. The slugs slammed into a lamp, a picture frame, the wall. The gunshots were soft, the sound of shattering glass loud.

Freddy was on the phone, calling his agents out front but getting no response.

Were they dead?

“Garcia!” I called. The young agent had instinctively gone to the side windows overlooking the trees, covering our flank. “What do you see?”

“Clear,” he shouted. “Only incoming’s from the front.”

I gestured everyone farther back into the dim hall and then slipped into a small guest bathroom in the front and glanced through a window. A silver Ford had slammed into the rear of the agents’ vehicle, knocking it forward ten feet or so. The men, without their seat belts on, had been thrown back then forward and were slumped in the front seat. I couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive.

The Ford was immobilized but the driver, who’d been belted in and protected by the airbag, was firing a pistol at us through the open window. I couldn’t see the face clearly. He was hunkered down and taking careful aim. I stepped out of the bathroom to find Ryan Kessler taking a deep breath and then bursting forward, breaking the window next to the front door with his pistol barrel, like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. He was aiming toward the car.

“No!” I shouted, grabbing him and pulling him back.

“What’re you doing?” the cop cried. “I’ve got a target!”

“Wait,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Garcia, monitor the side yard. Stay on it.”

“Roger that.”

“Freddy, the back?” I called to the senior agent, who was in the kitchen.

“Clear so far.”

Two more shots slammed into the living room.

Maree screamed again.

Ryan said, “Out the back! We can flank him. Why didn’t you let me shoot, Corte?”

Maree started crawling toward the back kitchen door, sobbing, her flippancy turned to raw panic. “I’m scared, Jesus, I’m scared.”

“Get back,” I said to her, grabbing her shoulder to stop her once more.

Joanne had gone catatonic again, staring at the broken glass, saying nothing. Eyes unfocused. I wondered if we’d have to carry her, as sometimes happened.

I said calmly, “Nobody go anywhere.”

Freddy took a call. “Corte! Five minutes ago, somebody called in two shooters at George Mason University. Ten students down. All of Fairfax County Tactical is on the way. I’m trying to get a team here but there’s nobody available for us.”

“A school shooting? No, no, it’s fake. Loving called it in… Garcia?”

“Clear on the flank still.”

“Okay, we’re moving. Out the front.”

“He’s out there!” Ryan cried.

“No, he’s not,” I said. “The couple behind you, the Knoxes-what do they drive?”

“A Lexus and a Ford.” He glanced out quickly, ducked back. “That’s their car! He killed them! Oh, shit.”

“God, no… no,” Joanne whispered, clutching her sister, who was sobbing, her own arms around her camera, which she’d retrieved and was cradling like a baby.

“It’s Teddy Knox in the car, not Loving,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked. “He’s a hostage?”

“No, he’s the one shooting.”

“Teddy wouldn’t do that. Even if Loving forced him to.”

“Loving is forcing him. He’s threatened his wife, who’s back in the house. But Teddy’s not supposed to hit anybody. He’s just shooting at random, to drive us out the back. That’s where Loving’s waiting for us. In their house, or maybe the bushes. He’ll have a partner. He wouldn’t try an open assault alone. We go out the front. Freddy, you and Garcia stay in the house and cover the side yard, the one with the trees, and the back. Ryan, when we go, you cover the field on the other side. Don’t shoot unless you see somebody engaging with a weapon. We’re going to be getting neighbors on the street any minute. I don’t want collateral damage.”

Ryan hesitated, looking toward the front of the house. He was debating: follow my orders or not?

Joanne said, “Do what he says, Ry! Let’s do what he says. Please!”

“Go to my SUV fast but not so fast you hurt yourself falling. Okay?”

“Hurt ourselves falling?” Ryan blurted, at my bizarre concern.

The delay from a twisted ankle could kill us all.

“What if Loving’s in the car, the backseat?” Freddy asked.

“Wouldn’t be logical,” I called, then turned to Ryan. “The side yard? Loving could be prone and crawling up. You saw his picture. If you can confirm it’s him, try for a nonlethal shot. We need to know who hired him.”

“I can park one in his shoulder or ankle,” Ryan said.

“Good. Better to aim low. Avoid the femoral. I want him stopped but not bled out.”

“Got it.”

I hit the button on the key fob that started and unlocked the Nissan, then opened the front door to the house a few inches, drew a target on the driver of the silver Ford, which was sitting half on the parking strip, half in the street. He was in a baseball cap and sunglasses, tears running down his cheeks. He appeared to be mouthing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” A black pistol was secured to his hand with duct tape. The slide was back; he’d run out of ammunition.

“Teddy!” Joanne called.

Miserable, the man shook his head. Thinking of his wife, the edge, at home-with Loving holding a gun on her, or so he thought. Loving had likely killed her the moment her husband pulled out of the driveway. The lifter’s plan was good. It was what I would’ve done had I been in Loving’s position, limited personnel attempting to snatch a principal who was an armed cop, with several other law enforcers inside, in daylight, no less.

I looked around and ushered Ryan, Joanne and Maree out. We moved steadily toward the Armada, about twenty-five feet away.

Though I was convinced that Loving and any backup were waiting behind the house I checked the garage first. It was clear. We continued on.

Like a hungry wolf, Ryan kept his eye on the far side yard, weapon up and finger outside the trigger of his revolver.

We arrived at the Armada and I got everybody inside and locked the doors.

Maree was still crying and shivering, Joanne was blinking, her eyes wide, and Ryan was scanning for prone soldiers crawling up on our flank.

“Seat belts!” I called. “It’ll be rough for a few minutes.”

I skidded in a wide circle through the yard that Ryan had been guarding, then over a neighbor’s lawn and into the street, redlining the big vehicle up to sixty, sitting forward and watching carefully for pedestrians, bicyclists and backing-out cars.

I wasn’t surprised that I heard no gunshots from either the hostiles or from Freddy and Garcia. The lifter and any associates would have noted the plan didn’t work and would get away as fast as they could. Had Loving not called in the fake school shooting announcement, we’d have had more than enough Fairfax County Police in the area to set up roadblocks and interdict them but that wasn’t going to happen now.