Part 17 (1/2)

But to his credit, he wasn't thinking only about us. Every car around us was in danger.

Lamont jammed the brakes and reached down by the shotgun seat, grabbing a cherry top. There was no time to throw it up on the roof of his car. He quickly plunked it on the dash, flipping it on.

I s.h.i.+elded my eyes as best I could to the blinding flashes of red and blue filling Lamont's car. Even more blinding was the white of the two headlights getting closer and closer. The car was right in our lane and there was nothing between us.

What the h.e.l.l is happening?

”Hold on!” said Lamont.

CHAPTER 52.

I BRACED for the collision. My arms outstretched, the palms of my hands pressed hard against the back of the front seat. Owen was doing the same.

Lamont, white-knuckled, had the steering wheel gripped at ten and two. He was bound to get the worst of it. Is this LeSabre so old it doesn't even have airbags?

I could already hear the crash in my head, the horrible crunch of metal against metal, of gla.s.s shattering, of Newton's First Law being proven at 120 decibels.

But those sounds never came. It was an entirely different one we heard, albeit just as loud.

At the last possible second, the oncoming car came to a halt mere inches from our front grille, the tires screeching as if they were being ripped from their rims. I couldn't just smell the burnt rubber; I could taste it.

”Son of a b.i.t.c.h!” shouted Lamont.

Whatever relief came from not being hit was quickly overtaken by his anger. He couldn't unbuckle his seat belt fast enough to get out of the car and tear this driver a new one.

With the cherry still spinning on the dash, he was barely more than a silhouette as he opened the door and swung his legs out all in one move. The moment his heels reached the asphalt, I could hear a door opening on the other car. Someone was getting out, another silhouette.

But I still recognized him. So did Lamont.

Just not fast enough.

Before Lamont could even reach for his gun, the sound of shots split the air. There were four of them right in a row. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Instinctively, I ducked, but not before seeing Lamont drop to the ground, his hands clutching his chest. He was gasping, wheezing, trying to catch his breath. It was the sound of a man dying.

All at once, I wanted to puke, to mourn him, to click my heels three times and wake up safe in my bed next to Claire. But all I could see was Owen right beside me, completely frozen. He couldn't have been more exposed if he'd had a neon target on his face.

”Get down!” I screamed, grabbing his shoulders.

As I pulled him flat against the backseat, the second wave came, as I'd known it would. There were so many shots I couldn't keep count, one after another riddling the winds.h.i.+eld. I'd expected the sound of shattering gla.s.s, but not like this. Not with bullets flying over us.

d.a.m.n, my kingdom for my duffel ...

I'd left the bag back at the hotel, not wanting to bring what amounted to a small a.r.s.enal into Lamont's precinct. Call me crazy.

But I wasn't that crazy.

I reached down, grabbing the Glock strapped to my right s.h.i.+n. With that and two extra clips, I had just enough for one plan.

”Get ready,” I said.

”For what?” asked Owen.

I flipped the safety. ”We're getting out of here.”

CHAPTER 53.

ALL I knew was that my ears would have to be my eyes.

That flas.h.i.+ng cherry meant I couldn't see out of the car, but it also meant he couldn't see in-he being Gordon's partner. It was him, all right. The gamble was whether it was only him.

That was what I was hearing, though. Shots from only one gun. One gun, which he was currently reloading. The slide and click were unmistakable.

I could almost hear his thoughts, too. He knew I had a weapon. His buddy, Gordon, had a hole in his foot that proved it. Sitting this one out, Gordo?

I sure as h.e.l.l hoped so.

There was no time for any countdown or a moment to steel my nerve. My window was now, and it looked a lot like the s.p.a.ce between the front and back seats. The car was in park and idling, but not for long....

GO!.

I popped up like a deranged, gun-toting Whac-A-Mole, firing blindly through the winds.h.i.+eld and into the other car. As I unloaded half my clip, the only thing I was aiming for was to send Gordon's partner scrambling for cover.

GO!.

I lunged over the seat, s.h.i.+fting into reverse with my gun hand while punching the gas with the other. Steering wasn't exactly a high priority as we took off backward with Owen sneaking peeks out the back window.

”Clear!” he shouted, while I remained on the floor of the front seat.

All the surrounding traffic had backed the h.e.l.l away as soon as they heard the gunfire, more of which was now spraying through what remained of the winds.h.i.+eld. Suffice it to say, Gordon's partner didn't particularly like this latest development. Meanwhile ...

”Thirty feet!” shouted Owen with the update, the distance before we'd hit another car. Or anything else, for that matter.

By now it had stopped raining shards of gla.s.s over my head. We were out of range. Time to get a better view.