Bzzzz.He pulled his cell phone from his pocket at the same time he heard O’Toole calling for an ambulance. Sam’s number showed on his screen and he quickly thumbed on the device.
“You in position?” he asked without preamble.
“Affirmative.” Sam’s voice had taken on the calm, concise tone that told Fisher Sam had slowed his breathing and his heartrate and was in sniper-mode. “But the sonofabitch isn’t on the roof anymore. I can’t see— Wait.”
Fisher did exactly that as O’Toole gave harried instructions to the 9-1-1 operator and Britt hissed at Agent Douglas to, “Stop moving, you dumb shit. You’re just making yourself bleed faster.”
“He’s one block west and moving fast.” Sam’s voice came through the phone. “Do I take the shot?”
Fisher wanted to give the affirmative. That rat bastard had come here, to theirhome, to kill Eliza. But this wasn’t a battlefield. The culprit was no longer actively shooting at them. And Sam wasn’t a cop with a license to kill.
There were laws when it came to this sort of thing.
“Hold,” he instructed as he turned to O’Toole. “The shooter is on the run. Sam has him in his sights but can’t take a shot unless you give him the green light.”
O’Toole didn’t hesitate. “Do it. I’ll take any heat that comes his way.”
Fisher had liked her before, liked her smart, no-nonsense way of handling things. But now he respected her on top of liking her.
“End him, Sam,” he relayed into the phone. “Take the shot.”
Boom!
The familiar roar of Sam’s sniper rifle sounded from above and Fisher held his breath waiting on confirmation of the kill.
It never came. Instead he heard shuffling as Sam picked his cell phone back up and relayed, “Missed. He bent down just as I pulled the trigger. He jumped into a white sedan. He’s two blocks west and continuing west quickly. I don’t dare take another shot. Too many buildings in the way and he’s moving too fast.”
“Fuck!” Fisher shoved his weapon back into his waistband and gave O’Toole the bad news. “Negative contact with the shooter. He’s in a car and headed west.” He walked over and punched the button on the wall that would roll up the second garage door. “I’m going after him.”
“Wait! What?” O’Toole shouted but Fisher was already running toward Mardi Gras.
The purple, green, and gold chopper had been painted to remind him of his favorite time of the year when his mother had made king cake and his little town had thrown parades where all the citizens decked themselves out in shiny beads. But he felt no affinity for the machine now, other than it was what he needed to catch the sonofabitch who’d dared come for Eliza.
This ends now,he thought grimly as he hit the button that had Mardi Gras’s engine rumbling to deep-throated life.
25
O’Hare International Airport
“That man has no quit in him,” Yang snarled as he took the exit at high speeds. He nearly lost control of the wheel and only managed to keep the vehicle on four wheels through grit and determination.
Bishop had been on speakerphone when he had seen the massive motorcycle appear in his rearview mirror. And even though he did not have a close relationship with fear—they had parted ways long ago, because fear equaled death in his line of work—he could not deny the jolt of…concernhe had experienced knowing one of the Black Knights had tracked him.
In the ten minutes since then, he had remainedconcerned.It had been an intense game of cat and mouse and tactical driving that had put all his training to the test. He had been on the median once. Had managed not to sideswipe a semi-truck trailer by the width of a hair. And had tried three times to run the black-clad rider off the road to no avail.
The man had stuck to the back of the bike with the tenacity of a tick clinging to a stray dog.
“The jet is fueled and waiting on the tarmac,” Bishop yelled through the phone’s speaker as it rattled in the cupholder. “Get there and get in the air. If they catch you, I won’t be able to?—”
“This man does not want tocatchme,” Yang snarled, his usually steady heart pounding like a war drum as the airport’s perimeter loomed closer. The only thing that separated him from freedom and safety was the chain-link fence surrounding the area. “He wants tokillme!”
He knew it as surely as he knew his name was not Yang. As surely as he knew this was going to be a very close thing.
There it is!
The sleek-looking jet was parked precisely where Bishop said it would be. And the heat rippling around its engines in the cool morning air proved it was primed and ready to lift off into that big, beautiful sky.
There would be no driving around to the private entrance. It was now or never.
