Maggie K. Black - The Littlest Target

A shout came from behind them. Jones was running toward them, weapon drawn. Gerry yanked a gun from his belt.

“Daisy!” he shouted. “Go! I’ll hold him off!”

She yanked the back door open and buckled Fitz inside, then she climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The car purred beneath her. She glanced at the GPS. It told her she was facing a ten-and-a-half-hour drive to Sault Sainte Marie across northern Ontario.

A hail of bullets sounded in the darkness. She put the car in Reverse and glanced in the rearview mirror. Her eyes fell on Fitz’s startled face through his tiny car seat mirror. One hand clutched the yellow sail of his new toy boat. “Don’t worry, Fitz. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Just as soon as she figured out how to do that.

Lord, I don’t know where this place is that I’m going or what it is I’m doing. I wish for once, there was someone, somewhere, I could count on not to throw my entire life into chaos. All I know right now is that I need to run.

More bullets sounded, mixed with shattering glass. She gunned the car backward, spun on the driveway and drove off into darkness. She followed the tiny blue line on the GPS, as the Pearce country estate exploded in a ball of fire and flames behind her.

* * *

“At least one body has been recovered from the remains of an apparent gas explosion around six thirty last night at the home of computer developer Gerald Pearce, outside Montreal. Fire crews remain on the scene hours after the explosion, battling to keep flames from spreading to the surrounding trees. Despite the rain being forecast, skies remain clear as a column of smoke and flame—”

Max Henry leaned across the cab of the rapid-response emergency vehicle and switched the radio off. His eyes darted to the clock. Was it after midnight already?

It had been three hours since he’d left University of Ottawa, where he’d given a talk to students on why they should consider careers as rural community and wilderness paramedics. He’d stuck around for an extra couple of hours to listen in on a talk from the air-ambulance pilots. They’d teased him about the fact that although he’d learned to fly, he’d never got around to getting his license, which meant he was always stuck in the back of the helicopters.

Now the night fell deep and heavy around him as he drove through the narrow, winding rural roads that would lead him through the Ontario woodlands back home to Huntsville.

The story about the Pearce mansion fire had been at the top of the news ever since he’d got in the vehicle. He’d heard of the Pearces of course. Probably most people had. Not that he knew much about them beyond seeing the pictures of their small but lavish wedding splashed all over news a few months back. Newly wealthy, reportedly brilliant and quite conventionally attractive, Anna Pearce had made quite a few glossy magazine covers since then. But Max didn’t care about the gossip. Instead, every time the news story played, he couldn’t help but map the emergency-response scenario out in his mind. A rapid-response unit like his would’ve got there first, he guessed. Followed almost immediately by police, who would secure the scene. Then ambulances and fire trucks and eventually news crews.

Silence filled the truck, punctuated only by the drone of the engine beneath him. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and tried to figure out how long it would be until a good radio music station would be in range. The temptation to turn the emergency scanners on niggled at him like an itch he couldn’t reach between his shoulder blades.

He ran his hand over the back of his neck, feeling the telltale curl that told him that his dark shaggy hair was overdue for another haircut. He chuckled. He might technically be off shift, but when he left the conference, he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his uniform into civvies.

There’s supposed to be more to life than work, Max. A voice floated in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like his dad’s new favorite topic. You don’t want to look up from work one day and realize you haven’t actually lived.

But why not? He argued back against the voice. And what qualified as living? Time off? A family? A white picket fence? A beautiful wife? A life spent speeding to accident scenes and leaping out of helicopters to save countless lives was hardly a waste.

Besides, it was all Trent’s fault for putting these thoughts in their folks’ heads. For as long as he could remember, the four Henry brothers had an unspoken pact to remain bachelors for life. Jacob, Nick and Max had all stuck to the deal.

Then his detective brother had the audacity to bring fellow detective Chloe home at Christmas. The next thing they knew, the couple’s engagement cover story was the real deal—sweet romance and all.

Something rumbled behind him. His green eyes narrowed as he looked in the rearview mirror. The sports car behind him was gaining on him too quickly.

His lips set in a grim line and for a moment, he felt tempted to switch on his emergency lights just to slow them down. There was nothing worse than a reckless driver. Usually just the sight of an emergency vehicle on the road would be enough to make even the worst driver reduce speed. But either the sports car driver hadn’t seen him or was in too big of a hurry to care. He nudged his truck over to the side of the road.

The sports car passed. Max turned and his eyes met the driver’s for barely an instant. Then she sped away and was gone, leaving the afterimage of the brief glimpse he’d got of her in the glow of the dashboard lights seared on his mind.

It had been a woman. She’d been in her early twenties, he guessed, with long blond hair, huge eyes, a slender frame and a tight grip on the steering wheel. Questions as to what her story was filled his mind as he watched her taillights speed away ahead of him. She had looked terrified and determined, and there’d been something captivating about her that he couldn’t put into words.

Then the telltale flicker of blue and white lights flashed in his rearview mirror. A sedan sped up behind him now—dark, plain and unmarked except for the LED flights flashing through the windshield. Well, whoever she was, she wouldn’t get far with that unmarked police car on her tail.

He slowed his rapid-response vehicle to let the police car pass. It didn’t even signal. Instead, it whipped around so close it would’ve clipped him if Max hadn’t swerved.

A prayer for God’s mercy thudded in Max’s rib cage. A police officer should know better than to drive like that. Yet he watched, helpless and almost incredulous, as the unmarked car sped toward the blonde in the sports car. It nudged closer and closer to her, until it was tailgating dangerously. Cop or not, anyone driving that dangerously at speeds like that was flirting with disaster.

Then it happened, with a crunch of metal and a screech of tires. The unmarked police vehicle clipped the sports car. Max’s heart lurched as he watched the blonde’s vehicle spin. She was going to crash, right there in front of him, and all he could do was pray and try to steer his way clear.

He yanked the wheel hard to the right, pressing down on the brake as much as he dared without risking locking the brakes. Gravel sprayed beneath his tires. Trees spun past the windshield. From somewhere beyond him, he heard an agonizing screech of metal reverberating through the morning air. The sports car had smashed into something.

God, keep me from crashing into her!

The rapid-response truck slammed to a stop and he felt the back corner hit a rock with the kind of crunch that had him guessing he’d be looking at a new bumper and a little bit of bodywork when he got back home.

He looked up through the windshield. The sports car wasn’t as well-off. The front end was embedded in a thick pine tree and the airbag had deployed. He just hoped the driver was all right.