Darynda Jones - Second Grave on the Left

“Who?” Mimi asked, her high-pitched whisper traveling down the hall.

Cookie shushed her with a finger over her mouth. I took hold of Mimi’s hand while Cookie took the other and we rushed out of the office toward a back exit I’d spotted on the way in. We weaved around boxes and bags as quietly as we could until we came to the back door. Thankfully, the rain pelting the roof offered us some cover. There was an emergency release on the door, but it would set off an alarm, so I was hesitant to go through it. Then again, maybe an alarm was exactly what we needed.

I led everyone to a darkened corner near the door, and we huddled there as I tried to decide if I wanted to draw that kind of attention.

“Hey, boss,” Angel said, appearing at my side.

I jumped, startling Cookie and Mimi, then scowled at him. “Again? Really?” I whispered.

“What are you doing?”

“Running from bad guys. What else do I do on a regular basis?”

“Who’s she talking to?” Mimi asked.

“Um…” Cookie panicked a moment, then said, “She’s rehearsing for a play.”

“Now?”

“So, I should just leave you to it?” Angel asked with a husky giggle.

I rolled my eyes and turned to Cookie. “Okay,” I whispered, “have your phone ready. You two run through that door and don’t stop for anything. I’ll close it and try to barricade it from the outside.”

“With what?” Cookie asked, her whispery voice squeaking in fear.

“Cook,” I said, wrapping a hand around hers, “have I ever let you down?”

“I’m not worried about you letting me down. I’m worried about you letting you down. These people are cold-blooded killers, Charley.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Mimi said. They were both shaking so bad, I had serious doubts they would make it to safety without collecting at least a couple of fractures from a fall. “Cook, you have to get Mimi out of here. She’s counting on us. You can do this.”

She took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. I’ll do it. But hurry. You’re a much better shot than I am.” She took out a.380 from her bag.

“Holy cow,” I said. I had yet to get my Glock back from the abandoned motel crime scene. Cookie rocked like a rock star. But, judging by the weight of it … “So, do you have bullets to go with it?”

“Oh!” She dug in her bag again and brought out a fully loaded clip. She handed it over with a smile. “Hurry,” she said as I locked the clip into place and chambered a round. The clicking sound echoed loudly, and I cringed. The rain seemed to muffle it a bit, but anyone within a stone’s throw would have heard it and been clued in to the fact that I had a gun.

“Do you know how many there are?” I asked Angel.

“Just one. The mean one from the motel.”

“Evil Murtaugh?” I asked.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug.

“Damn him,” I said, scanning the area. “Damn him to hell.”

“She’s really good,” Mimi said. “Dramatic.”

“Aw.” I turned to her with a smile. “Thank you.”

It was Cookie’s turn to roll her eyes. After an exasperated sigh, she took Mimi’s hand and charged toward the door, slamming into it really hard. Her second attempt was much more productive. When the door opened, as expected, it set off a shrill alarm that reminded me a lot of Mimi’s scream, and as I followed them through it, two things happened simultaneously: Cookie stumbled down the steps outside, and a wicked, wicked knife sliced across my back.

For some odd reason, people wanted to carve me up like a jack-o’-lantern this week, probably because Halloween was just around the corner. As a general rule, knives hurt. I fell forward, stumbling on Mimi, who had stumbled on Cookie, and prayed to God I wouldn’t shoot anyone.

In Cookie’s defense, it was raining wildcats and rabid dogs. As we tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the steps, Angel pushed at the door with all his might — God bless his freaky little gangbanger soul — basically slamming it in Evil Murtaugh’s face. The door hit with a loud thud, and the knife clattered down the steps.

“Woohoo, Angel! That was awesome!” I said, knocking Cookie in the knee with my concussed head. That’d teach her.

“Run!” Angel said, annoyed. He was irritable all of a sudden.

My heart jumped into overdrive as we scrambled to our feet and ran down the alley, where it was darkest. If he happened to have a gun, which I suspected he did, he would be able to pick us off easily if we ran for the street. The lights were too bright to offer any cover. The way I saw it, we could run around the building and hightail it for the café. I prayed Norma had a key to lock the doors. And hopefully that alarm would bring the cavalry.

Cookie’s gaze darted wildly about as she ran. That woman could move pretty darned fast when she had to. But before we got twenty feet, the door swung open and crashed against the brick exterior of the building. Mimi screamed really helpfully. In case someone didn’t hear the earsplitting alarm.

“Run,” I told them as I turned and aimed the gun. Which was much harder than I’d anticipated with rain cascading in rivulets down my face. I fired one shot, and he ducked back into the building, allowing Cookie and Mimi time to get the heck outta Dodge. I quickly joined them.

“What do I do?” Angel asked, reanimating his grasshopper-in-a-skillet routine.

“Whatever you can, sweetheart.” I sprinted ahead and checked out the easement between the shelter and a candy-making factory next door. There were some crates and boxes, but it looked like we could make it through and the obstacles might make decent cover should the need arise.

Unfortunately, the need arose too soon. A shot sounded out, and Mimi fell to the ground with a squeak. She covered her head. I took aim and fired again, but not before he got off two more rounds.

For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And apparently, we both sucked. I aimed for his head and shot the light above it. And I had no idea what the hell he was aiming at, unless he was taking out the windows at the candy-making factory as part of some strategic maneuver to outwit us. Cookie and Mimi were close to a Dumpster and they headed that way for cover. Evil Murtaugh was racing toward us when Angel tripped him. His gun crashed to the ground and went sliding.

“Get his gun!” I yelled to Angel as I bolted across the alley to join Cookie.

He glared at me and threw his arms in the air. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Oh, geez. There were rules?

“Are either of you shot?” I asked breathlessly as I took position behind the trash bin.

“I don’t think so,” Mimi said. “How long do you think it’ll take the cops to get here?”

“Longer than we have,” I said truthfully. Angel had kicked the man’s gun away, but it took him mere moments to track it down and head in our direction.

Now we were stuck behind a Dumpster with nowhere to run. I scrambled past the women to see if there was an opening in the fence bordering us. No such luck. It had to have been ten feet high. And since it was cinder block, I doubted my ability to crash through it without a really long running start. If we could climb onto the Dumpster, we could scale it, but that would mean exposing ourselves to Evil. And he probably had more bullets left than I did.

“I’m sorry, Mimi,” I said. She’d been hiding for a freaking reason, and we led the bad guy right to her. Way to go, Charlotte.

“No, please don’t be sorry.” She started crying and shaking uncontrollably, and my heart clenched in response. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine and mine alone.”