Читать книгу Line of Fire - Julie Leto, Julie Leto - Страница 8

F AITH GRUNTED . Adam’s full weight forced her against the brick wall so that the mortar bit through her jacket into her shoulder blades. A bullet sliced the air, then exploded on the limestone just a few feet away. Oh God! If he hadn’t pushed her out of the way, her head might have exploded instead of the stone.

Adam had drawn his gun, a large revolver that gleamed black and dangerous despite the muted sunlight from the shade of the U-shaped courthouse. Except for two people lying on the ground, the plaza had quickly cleared—so far as she could see, with Adam’s massive body curled protectively over hers.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Sniper,” he answered curtly, turning to scan the windows across and above. “From the top of this side of the building.” He stretched his left arm out, as if bracing an invisible shield across her.

Faith’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she smelled it—

Blood. Lots of blood.

“Stay back,” he ordered.

“I’m not moving. You shouldn’t, either. Let the cops on duty handle this. Someone called for backup, right?”

With a slight shake of his head, Adam continued to peer upward. “Don’t know. Don’t move, Counselor, do you understand?”

She growled in frustration. What did he think she’d do, run into the courtyard like a big yellow target?

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

He wasn’t facing her, so he likely didn’t know that she was scared spitless and couldn’t move her legs even if she wanted to. She forced dry gulps of air into her lungs, fighting the instinct to grab Adam when he started to inch away. She fisted her hands at her sides, then flattened against the wall as much as her 36-C breasts would allow, and tried to ignore the ringing in her ears. She had to let him do his job. He was the chief of detectives, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t need her help. Besides, she loved her life and didn’t much fancy losing it to a faceless coward with a rifle, a scope and a deadly vendetta.

Adam extracted his cell phone from his pocket and instantly connected with the dispatcher. “Yube is down. So is…looks like Lorraine Nelson. Shots seemed to come from the top of the south annex.” He requested an ambulance, then paused before speaking again with calm precision. “No, the area is not secure, but the back entrance is likely clear. Can’t tell from here. Have EMT on standby just inside the doors. Evacuate the building. Alert SWAT. Inform Zirinsky that we need an Incident Command System. We’re sitting ducks!”

Adam crouched, moving slowly toward the two bodies. When she saw the blood pooling reddish black against the stark white stone, oozing from the back of George Yube’s head, Faith’s stomach roiled. A gasp lodged in her throat, blocking her airway. She pressed hard against her stomach, forcing her diaphragm to work.

“Is he—?”

“Yes,” Adam answered. “Can’t tell about Lorraine. I don’t see a wound.”

Faith covered her mouth with her hand. Lorraine Nelson was a court stenographer who probably should have retired ten years ago except that she was the best recorder in the entire county system. Faith knew her, had worked with her, had relied on her perfect court records to file at least a half dozen appeals.

Adam inched his foot out ahead of him, but the action was met with the crack of another gunshot.

Faith screamed, but caught the sound in her hand. Her heart slammed against her chest and her ears rattled with the pounding beat so that she didn’t hear what Adam said next.

“What?”

He crab-walked back to her, and once flush to the wall, stood up. “Get back into the building.”

“Isn’t the sniper in the building?” she asked.

The courthouse was in the middle of downtown, shaped like a U, with the main entrance at the inner curve and two annexed wings jutting out from either side. No other buildings in close enough range were taller than the five-story complex, which housed offices for several county services, not all of them related to the court system. The only places from which someone could shoot down into the plaza were the upper floors or roof of one of the two wings, since the main building was topped with a dome. And if the sniper were in the north annex, across from them, they’d be dead by now.

“Probably, but there’s Security just inside the doors. If we can make it back to the lobby, you’ll be safe. You can evacuate with the others.”

“Aren’t we safer right here?” she asked, not certain she wanted to leave Lorraine alone, or abandon Yube’s body. She suddenly remembered that Roma, her assistant, had been walking with them, too. Where was she? “Oh God. Where’s Roma?”

Adam grabbed her arm and met her stare with clear intent. “Roma must have gotten away. Don’t worry about her. Worry about you. But I can’t stop the sniper from here,” he added through clenched teeth.

Lorraine moaned but didn’t move. Had she been shot? What if she woke fully and panicked? If she thrashed or tried to flee, the sniper might shoot again to finish the job.

Faith leaned around Adam. “Lorraine, it’s Faith Lawton. Help is on the way. Please, just stay still.” Then to Adam she said, “I’m out of range here, right? I’ll stay with Lorraine.”

Another shot fired, this one cracking limestone at the other end of the plaza. Two people Faith couldn’t identify had attempted to make a break for the door. Adam blocked Faith with his body again and shouted for the people to remain where they were.

“Damn it! I want you inside!”

Faith could see the rage building on Adam’s face.

“If I can arrange a diversion, you can make a break inside,” he told her.

“I’m not going,” Faith said.

He met her gaze with wide eyes, apparently shocked that she wanted to stay out in the open. “You can’t do anything for Lorraine,” Adam argued. “The paramedics and SWAT are on the way.”

“I’ll stay where I am until they arrive,” she answered calmly. She watched Adam’s expression change from irritation to single-minded determination.

“Stubborn even outside the courtroom, Counselor?”

She smirked at the humor in his voice. “Absolutely.”

A strong vibration pulsed against her hip, right where Adam’s leg was pressing against her waist. She nearly cracked a totally inappropriate joke when he dug into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone.

“Guthrie.”

Faith took the time to pull deep breaths into her lungs in an attempt to achieve a little balance. One minute she wanted to laugh hysterically, the next she wanted to scream. Good God. George was dead! She’d known he was accused of some horrible things, but to be murdered by a sniper on the courthouse plaza? What kind of justice was that?

Vigilante justice. Faith seethed, unable to comprehend the logic of matching evil with more evil. What if, somehow, even the slightest possibility existed that Yube had been innocent of the baby switch thirty-two years ago? No one had any physical proof. Or what if his state of mind had precluded him from discerning right from wrong when he’d attacked Lauren Conway? His appointment with the court-recommended psychiatrist had been scheduled for next week. Faith hadn’t thought too much about that aspect of her defense once she’d discovered the mishandling of the evidence, but she suspected the one-time hospital administrator had recently taken a jump off the deep end.

Faith believed in right and wrong. She’d lived by the tenets of accountability and lawfulness for as long as she could remember. It was hard not to develop a strong set of morals after her father was murdered right in front of her by a man who ended up serving no time for the crime. Unbidden, the coppery smell of death seeped into her nostrils. Willing the memories away, she shook her head and took in deep breaths through her mouth. She’d been so young. Still, her vigilance about living on the straight and narrow had intensified after she’d learned how a drug deal had led to her father’s death. Then, two years later, her mother was sent to prison, leaving Faith alone in a world that didn’t want her.

She had lived in the midst of crime and poverty for her entire childhood, until the state interceded after her mother’s conviction and placed her with the Apalo family, who’d moved to Los Angeles from Hawaii. Shortly after taking Faith in, they’d moved to Courage Bay. The family’s luau-style restaurant was only a few blocks away. Her sister, Kalani, knew about Faith’s emergency hearing today. Had she heard the news of the shooting? Her foster family was probably worried out of their skulls!

Adam disconnected his call, snapping Faith’s thoughts back to the present. Lorraine still hadn’t moved, but Faith thought she saw the woman’s chest rise and fall. She shouted a few more words of encouragement, yelping when two more shots rent the air. This time, the sniper didn’t seem to be aiming at anyone in particular. Again, Adam used his body to shield hers.

The scent of pine trees teased her nostrils. Not the antiseptic odor she associated with household cleaners, but the crisp, green smell of a forest bathed in sunshine and dew. She inhaled, surprised to recognize the hint of sage, the tang of citrus, until she realized she’d rather focus on anything than breathe in the sickly sweet stink of fresh blood.

“He’s shooting from the other end of the plaza, probably from the roof of the north annex. He’s lost his aim. The cops must have tried to move in.”

“Can’t they get him from the inside?”

“That was Max Zirinsky on the phone. He’s setting up an emergency command center at the back entrance. Apparently, the elevators aren’t working. Cut power line. The south annex has been evacuated, but the north annex stairwell from the second to the third floor is blocked.”

“Blocked? By what?”

Sirens whined, loud and harsh. Fire trucks. The firehouse was behind the courthouse and just a block down at Jefferson and Fifth. Suddenly, Faith realized the whistling sound she’d heard earlier wasn’t just ringing in her ears. It was a fire alarm inside the building.

“There’s a fire? And you want to go inside?”

“Max thinks the sniper has a fairly good chance at reaching the front doors if he’s so inclined, but I’ve got to get in. Stay here with Lorraine, but keep out of the line of fire. You could be his target—”

“Me?” she protested, unable to tear her eyes away from Yube’s body. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Adam asked. “The sniper got Yube. I haven’t noticed him stop shooting, have you? That means maybe he’s not done yet.”

Faith bit her lip and crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. Okay, defense attorneys weren’t exactly popular. Maybe some psycho had decided to take out the city’s latest high-profile criminal—and his attorney. The thought made her spine freeze with terror. Panic gurgled like acid in her stomach, but she closed her eyes tightly and said a silent prayer. She was strong, smart and resourceful. She had Adam and, soon, the entire Courage Bay emergency response team looking out for her. For the moment, her location flat against the wall kept her out of the sniper’s sight. She’d be okay.

When she nodded, Adam smiled, his hand gripping her shoulder as if he meant to inject her with his strength.

“Zirinsky is suiting someone up to retrieve you. But I have to go in. They’re having trouble evacuating those above the second floor.”

“It’s late. Who’s still up there?”

“Don’t know. A few judges in chambers. The office of Child Services is on four. The day-care center for county employees on three.”

She nodded, understanding. Adam didn’t have it in him to sit and wait for his colleagues to do all the work, just as she couldn’t leave Lorraine alone with no one to comfort her, no one to remind her to keep still.

“I know CPR,” she told him. “As soon as it’s clear, I can help her.”

He glared at her. “Don’t be a hero, Faith.”

“I could say the same to you, but it’d be too late.”

He rolled his eyes humbly, then flattened himself on the wall and moved as quickly as he could toward the glass doors they’d just exited moments before. She held her breath, knowing that when he rolled away from the wall, the sniper might have a clear shot. Beyond the glass, Faith saw two men in black prepare to open the doors. The moment they did, one tossed a canister into the middle of the plaza and shouted for the bystanders to look away. Faith complied, then heard a loud pop and caught a bright flash in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned back, Adam had dashed inside.

Surprisingly, the sniper didn’t fire, but Faith knew they weren’t out of danger yet. She turned her attention to Lorraine. Tears sprang from her eyes when she heard the older woman moan, this time with anguish.

“Don’t move, Lorraine!” Faith shouted. “I’m near you. Just try to stay still a few minutes longer. Help is on the way.”

Faith closed her eyes for a moment and repeated that last bit of information to herself, hoping beyond hope that she was telling the truth.

A DAM DASHED INTO THE LOBBY of the courthouse, sparing one last glance at Faith through the glass doors before rushing toward Police Chief Max Zirinsky and his assembled emergency team.

He hadn’t expected hysterics from a cool customer like Faith Lawton, and she hadn’t disappointed him. The woman could think on her feet, and he had to trust that she’d be safe until they could catch the maniac who’d popped George Yube. Yeah, Adam thought the guy should have paid for his decades of crime, but vigilantes pissed him off nearly as much as criminals. The cops might not be perfect, but nine times out of ten, they did their jobs and they did them well.

The lobby echoed from the sound of combat boots on the terrazzo floor. Adam glanced around, not surprised to see the large space free of civilians. The SWAT team, headed by Flint Mauro, swarmed into the space, dressed in black and wearing intense expressions. Courage Bay had one of the best SWAT teams in California. They were in good hands.

“How’s the attorney?” Max asked the minute he spotted Adam coming toward him. Though only five years from turning fifty, Max Zirinsky could bench-press his weight with ease. Dark haired with cool green eyes, he was the kind of cop who belonged at the top. Quick with a joke, but deadly serious when it came to fighting crime, Max had the respect of everyone in law enforcement, with the exception, perhaps, of the many criminals he’d locked away.

“She’s cool. Staying put until one of your guys can reach her.”

“What about Mrs. Nelson?”

Adam shook his head. “Not good. Faith’s trained in CPR, but she can’t get near her until we stop the shooter.”

He had noticed Lorraine Nelson’s chest rising and falling, but otherwise had seen very little movement. She wasn’t young. She needed medical attention and she needed it now.

Max clapped Adam on the shoulder. “Ms. Lawton won’t have to put herself in danger. I’m suiting up one of the paramedics in SWAT gear and sending her out with Flint. He’s pulling out a bulletproof shield from the riot gear. Thinks he can angle it and keep them safe until they can determine Mrs. Nelson’s condition.”

Adam nodded, not the least bit surprised that in minutes, Zirinsky had the situation as near to under control as possible. He wondered if the chief was going to send him out of the building while the rest of the team worked this operation. Courage Bay had a crack Incident Command System. With the city on the ocean, surrounded by mountains and sitting on a fault line, the Courage Bay community had to be ready for emergencies. As chief of detectives, Adam wasn’t usually involved unless the emergency was crime-related. Like this one. But snipers were SWAT’s business, not his. At least until the danger passed.

Still, he had a personal interest in not only bringing Faith back inside safely, but also catching the sniper alive and making sure he paid for his crimes. He’d had enough of slippery criminals today. He wanted to make sure this arrest went down by the book—and that was a job for a top cop.

Max engaged his walkie-talkie. “Johnson, where are the blueprints?”

“Prints?” Adam asked.

The voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie answered. “We’re still looking, Chief. Someone misfiled them.”

Max let out a stream of curses from between clenched teeth. “I need the prints, Johnson. There’s got to be another way onto the third floor!”

The walkie-talkie crackled again. This time, the voice belonged to Dan Egan, the fire chief.

“Fire’s out, Max. Smoke is thick, but the fans are working wonders. Send your men up.”

Max grinned, his gaze sharpening at the prospect of catching the shooter. “Two teams are on the way. One for the shooter, the other for evacuation.”

At his signal, the teams stormed the stairwell. Adam’s adrenaline surged through his veins, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. Damn, the SWAT guys couldn’t screw this up. He wanted this sicko caught, not killed, though he’d accept killed if that would keep Lorraine and Faith and anyone else trapped on the ground safe. Still, if Adam were up there, he could try to control the situation.

“Max—” Adam began, but knew the minute he caught the twinkle in his chief’s eyes that he wouldn’t have to finish his question.

“Grab a Kevlar and take the rear position. You supervise the arrest only, got it, Guthrie? I don’t need you down, too.”

Adam dashed to the neat pile of supplies by the door and snatched a bulletproof vest. He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped into the protection, checking his weapon and extra clip before saluting the chief on his way to the action.

Once out of sight, he fisted his hands and let out a low-key “Yes!”

He’d wanted to snare a bad guy today. And he might still get his chance.

F AITH NEARLY JUMPED FOR JOY the minute she saw the SWAT team easing toward her. One held a large black shield with a clear slot to see through. The other carried a medical kit. Thank God! Lorraine, who’d just started coming around, was going to be treated.

“They’re coming, Lorraine,” she said, sounding as encouraging as she felt. “Just hold on. Don’t move. The SWAT guy has a shield. He’ll block you, keep you safe. Can you hear me, Lorraine?”

A low groan was the only response, but that was good enough for Faith. She folded her hands together and repeated another litany of prayers for Lorraine. She’d never felt half so spiritual as she did today. And though she couldn’t do anything for George, if Lorraine lived, she might sleep when night finally fell.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion. Days seemed to elapse before the SWAT team reached Lorraine, months before the paramedic had a diagnosis: heart attack. Lorraine needed immediate medical help, but the paramedic couldn’t administer treatment out in the open.

“Base, this is Mauro,” the man with the shield said into the radio strapped to his shoulder. “We need a gurney. Now!”

No response. Faith’s stomach dropped to her knees.

“Base, this is Mauro!”

His radio wasn’t working. He gestured toward the doors, and in a split second, two more SWAT guys burst out—two shields in front of them, a gurney pulled behind. They didn’t know the precise angle the shooter was aiming from—for all they knew he could still shoot them in the head. Faith held her breath, willing Lorraine’s rescuers to succeed.

As soon as the gurney was secure, the two new SWAT members formed a wall with the shields, two on the ground and one angled to protect from shots from above. The paramedic worked furiously, with the second SWAT guy assisting her in lifting Lorraine onto the cart.

Suddenly, a succession of gunshots rang out from above. Faith screamed and ducked, folding herself into a tiny ball, watching from beneath her arm as bullets slammed into the limestone, random, unfocused, splintering the plaza so that fragments bit at her cheek and hands. The SWAT team scrambled toward the exit, the bulkiest man barking orders in rapid succession. The paramedic seemed completely focused on Lorraine, not realizing that she had stepped out from behind the barricades. A bullet broke through their moving shield and struck the paramedic in the arm. Blood spurted as she yelped in pain, but the leader dragged her over Lorraine’s legs and, pushing the wheeled gurney quickly, managed their escape.

Then all went silent. Deadly silent. The kind of silent that creeps beneath the skin and chills to the bone. No sirens. No gunshots. No voices. Nothing but her own ragged gasps for breath. Faith fought the hyperventilation that would occur if she didn’t pull herself together. She held her breath, counted to ten, blew the air out slowly and then began again until she achieved a halfway decent calm.

George Yube was dead. Lorraine was critical. Now the paramedic had suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, if not worse. Faith blinked tears out of her eyes, trusting that the same police department she’d crucified in the courtroom would find a way to end this nightmare.