Читать книгу The Echo Killing: A gripping debut crime thriller you won’t be able to put down! - Christi Daugherty - Страница 9

The shooting seemed to go on forever. When it finally stopped, the silence left a hollow feeling in Harper’s chest – a curious emptiness.

Her ears ringing, she reached out blindly for Miles.

He wasn’t there.

‘Miles,’ she whispered urgently, hands flailing in the air.

‘I’m alive,’ he hissed from a few feet away. ‘No thanks to you.’

Blinking dust and glass from her eyes, she saw him, crouched by the trunk of the car.

‘You dead, five-o?’ one of the shooters shouted mockingly.

Before Harper could think of an appropriate reply, a cool voice spoke from behind her right shoulder.

‘I am alive and very pissed off,’ it said. ‘Now drop your weapons or I will unload on you.’

Startled, Harper twisted around. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood directly behind her. He had a 9 mm semi-automatic pistol trained on the three suspects.

Luke Walker.

He wore a black T-shirt and jeans. The badge hooked to his belt gleamed. His gun hand was absolutely steady.

‘You really are surrounded,’ he added, motioning with his free hand.

As if on cue, a line of dark-clad undercover cops poured onto the street. Overhead, a police helicopter thundered across the sky, its blinding spotlight turning the night into cold, white day. Amid the sudden deafening confusion, voices shouted rough commands.

The cavalry had arrived at last.

Caught off guard, the three wanted men were pointing their guns wildly in all directions. But it was too late, and even they knew that.

With slow reluctance, the tallest one dropped his gun. The short one gave him a look of disgust.

But seconds later, as the police shouted commands and threats at him, he did the same.

One by one, they knelt on the ground, putting their hands behind their heads.

As the police swarmed them, Miles left the battered Toyota and ran over to get more shots.

Harper stood cautiously. Her legs were a little shaky.

That had been too close for comfort.

As she turned to face him, Luke holstered his weapon.

‘Harper McClain.’ He didn’t sound happy. ‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’

‘Because I’m always this intrepid?’ Harper forced a nonchalance she didn’t feel into her voice.

She’d known Luke since she was an intern at the paper and he was a rookie patrol officer. At twenty, he’d been earnest and thoughtful. They’d both grown up in the same neighborhoods and they were the same age. So, when her editor assigned her to do a ride-along with him, it was almost inevitable they’d hit it off.

They’d spent three hours racing from one fairly minor crime to another with the enthusiasm of ingénues. She’d written an excited article about his life as a new cop. They’d been friends ever since.

So she knew him well enough to know he was genuinely pissed off as he strode toward her, boots crunching on broken glass.

‘Intrepid is not the word I’m thinking of,’ he said, a sharp edge to his voice. ‘Dammit, Harper, since when do you perform citizen’s arrests? You could have gotten yourself killed. You know that, right?’

‘What else was I supposed to do?’ she asked. ‘Backup never showed. Those guys were about to shoot Officer Flashlight over there. I had to do something.’

‘You could have waited for us,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘You could have gone to a safe place and called this in. You could have considered your own safety for one minute. You could have done a lot of things, McClain, if you’d just thought it through.’

Harper flushed.

‘I did think it through,’ she insisted. ‘And I decided I wanted everyone to live. Jesus, Luke. Give it a rest, OK?’

She folded her arms tightly across her torso.

His eyes swept her pale face.

‘Are you OK?’ He took a step toward her, his face softening. ‘I was half a block away when they let rip on you guys. I thought …’

His voice trailed off.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him. ‘They’re crappy shots.’

‘Not that crappy.’

Across the road, the cops were searching the shooters, emptying their pockets onto the dirty pavement. Fat rolls of money, a handful of tiny plastic bags of white powder, a comb, some change.

Harper had begun to piece the night together. Luke worked on the undercover squad – which meant he mostly handled drug-gang cases. She hadn’t seen him in more than a month, which usually meant he was working somewhere deeply unsavory.

‘Luke – did this blow your cover?’ she asked.

She was relieved when he shook his head.

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on these clowns for a few weeks. Had a tip-off they were making a move tonight against a rival group.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m still not sure how you and Miles got caught in the middle.’

‘We heard the call that the killers had been spotted,’ she explained. ‘Came over to see it go down. We didn’t realize it was going to go down right on top of us.’

She gestured as she spoke, and only then noticed that glass had cut her hand at some point. A small trickle of blood traced across her skin. Harper stared at it.

‘Jesus, Luke,’ she said. ‘They actually shot at me. Is this what it’s like to be you?’

‘Every day,’ he said evenly.

She rubbed the blood away. ‘They don’t pay you enough.’

‘Tell me about it.’

He fell silent for a second, then suddenly, said, ‘“You’re surrounded?” God’s sake, Harper. How much TV do you watch?’

‘I didn’t have time to think of a better line,’ she said defensively. ‘What do you say in these circumstances?’

He considered this. ‘I usually go with “Drop the gun or I’ll blow your balls off.”’

She gave a short laugh. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Next time,’ he said, glancing at her.

When he smiled, he looked more like the rookie she’d first met seven years ago. All chiseled jaw and clear blue eyes.

Time and work had done a number on him. His edges had sharpened and all the eager innocence she remembered from back then was gone.

She wondered if he thought the same about her.

In the years that followed the ride-along, their careers had shadowed each other. He’d been promoted to detective the year she became a full-time police reporter. He’d been on a fast-track to sergeant – working homicides at twenty-five.

They’d always had a connection – a holdover from that first night on the road. Whenever she saw him, it was a good night. This wasn’t the first time he’d melted out of the darkness at a crime scene to check on her.

Then, abruptly, eight months ago, everything changed. Luke left Homicide and joined the undercover squad. He’d refused to tell her why.

It didn’t make sense. Undercover was a lateral move – and a tough one. The work was dangerous and hard. When Harper first heard about it, she’d tried to find out why, but he ducked the question, refusing to be pinned down. Still, she could sense something was wrong.

Since then, she’d seen less of him. He disappeared for long stretches of time. He changed his appearance regularly and dramatically – and he kept his distance. On the rare occasions when she did see him, he didn’t seem happy.

‘How’ve you been?’ She shot him a sideways glance.

‘Busy,’ he said, looking away.

Across the road, the three handcuffed men were now on their feet, watching the police with identical expressions of dull disinterest, as if everything were happening to someone else.

By now, crowds of gawkers had appeared on the sidewalk – manifesting as if from thin air. In malevolent silence they watched the police walk the men to the van that would take them to jail.

‘Luke!’

Another undercover cop waved for him to come over.

Luke raised a hand in acknowledgment.

‘Wait here,’ he told Harper.

She watched him go, his stride long and unhurried. Like him, the other cop was in jeans and a plain T-shirt. He wore his badge on a chain around his neck.

The two conferred in low voices, looking at something taken from the suspects. After a minute, the cop left, holding a plastic bag of evidence.

When Luke returned, he stopped on the far side of the car and motioned for Harper.

‘Come here. You need to see something.’

She walked over to join him, her shoes crunching on the glass.

What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

The car was destroyed. All the windows were gone. The spray of bullets had left an uneven pattern of jagged holes in the doors and hood. Some of the gunshot holes were bigger than quarters.

‘I wanted you to see how close you came.’ The humor was gone from his expression. ‘Seriously, Harper, you’ve got to be more careful. One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.’

‘Come on, Luke,’ she said. ‘I was doing my job.’

‘Getting killed is not your job,’ he said sharply. ‘It’s my job.’

Harper stared. Before she could think of a good response, Miles walked up to join them.

‘Our hero,’ he said, holding out his hand to shake Luke’s. ‘Thanks for the rescue, man.’

‘Miles, don’t tell me you agreed to this.’ Luke gestured at the car.

‘As God is my witness, I had no idea she was going to do that,’ Miles said. ‘All I ask is that you don’t arrest her until after she files her story.’

Turning to Harper he tapped his watch. ‘On that note, and as pleasant as this evening has been …’

Harper checked the time. It was ten minutes to twelve.

‘Shit. We’ve got to get back.’

Whirling, she ran towards Miles’ car. At the last minute, she turned back.

Luke still stood by the ruined car, watching her.

‘Thanks for saving my life, Walker,’ she called to him. ‘I owe you one.’

‘Damn straight you do.’

Something in his voice told her he was serious.

Back in the newsroom, Harper wrote the story with Baxter leaning over her shoulder.

‘Change “ran” to “fled”,’ she said, tapping the screen with a short, unvarnished nail.

Harper corrected the line without argument.

‘Good, good, good,’ Baxter murmured, whenever Harper wrote something she liked. She smelled faintly and not unpleasantly of Camel Lights and Chanel Coco.

It was twelve thirty when the article was finally sent to layout. Miles’ stark photo of the three suspects, one with a bandanna disguising his face, gun pointed right at the camera, dominated the front page beneath the headline, Suspected killers arrested in dramatic shootout.

Baxter stretched her arms up, loosening the kinks from her shoulders.

‘Why can’t criminals be more thoughtful about our deadlines?’ she asked.

‘Because they’re assholes?’ Harper suggested.

Barking a laugh, Baxter headed towards the copy room.

‘Go home, Harper. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.’

When she was gone, Harper switched off her computer and tucked her scanner in her bag. But she didn’t get up. She sat in her chair, staring at the computer’s dark screen.

She kept seeing those blank-faced young men pointing their guns at her. Hearing Luke’s voice in her head: ‘One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.’

On some level, she knew he was right. She liked getting close to danger. It drew her.

Tonight she’d been too close. Other people could have been hurt.

She and Miles always took risks but tonight she’d pushed it. Tonight she’d tried to be a hero.

At the other end of the room, Baxter bustled in, interrupting her thoughts.

‘Are you moving in?’ the editor barked. ‘Go home, already.’

Harper straightened.

‘I’m going,’ she said, reaching for the phone. ‘I need to make a call first.’

She waited for Baxter to pick up her bag and head out the door. Then she dialed a familiar number.

‘LIBRARY,’ a voice shouted impatiently.

In the background Harper could hear the normal Tuesday-night chaos at the bar – loud voices, guitars, clattering glasses, laughter.

‘Hey, Bonnie.’ Harper leaned back in her chair.

‘Harpelicious! Where are you? Why isn’t your gorgeous ass making my bar prettier right this very instant?’

Bonnie’s always husky voice was rougher than usual after a night of shouting to be heard above the din.

‘I’m still at work,’ Harper said. ‘I was thinking of coming down.’

‘Come. I’ll make you a mai tai. With extra cherries.’

Harper laughed. Mai tais had been her favorite drink when they were teenagers, sneaking into bars with fake IDs. She hadn’t knowingly consumed one in years.

All of a sudden it sounded wonderful.

‘I’m on my way.’