Turning away from the window, he saw Val huddled over Hannah, protecting her with her body. The little girl was shaking and crying, curled up beneath Val on the floor. His heart jerked hard at the splashes of crimson on Val’s blouse.
“You’re hit!”
“I’m . . . I’m okay. It’s . . . my arm. I don’t . . . don’t think it’s too bad.”
His heart was hammering, blood rushing as he clamped down on his fear. The wail of sirens in the distance was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
He took another look out the window but saw no sign of the shooter. Belly crawling across the carpet, he settled himself next to Val.
“It’s all right, honey. I’m right here. We need to stop the bleeding.” He smoothed back her long, blond hair. “I’ll buy you a new blouse, I promise.” Grabbing a handful of fabric, he ripped the blouse away, then tore the material into a strip long enough to tie around her arm.
He took the cell phone she still gripped in her hand, the line still open, told the dispatcher to send an ambulance along with the patrol cars already on the way.
Hannah was still curled into Val, still shaking. He kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “It’s all right, sweetheart. The police are coming. They’ll take care of Val, and we’ll all be okay.”
“I’m scared, Daddy.”
“I know, honey. Just stay down on the floor with Val. She needs you to take care of her, okay?”
She nodded. “I will, Daddy.”
“Good girl.” He kissed her forehead, then headed to the back of the house to be sure it was still secure.
He heard the screech of tires as he moved back into the living room, raised his head enough to see two black-and-white police cars slamming to a stop at the curb. Two more pulled up in the street. Doors flew open. Officers poured out, guns drawn, and relief surged through him.
They were safe.
At least for the moment.
He opened the front door with his hands in the air, holding the pistol loosely between his fingers, showing them his weapon. He bent and set the Glock on the ground, then went back to Val to wait for the ambulance. Ethan prayed she’d be okay.
“We’ve got a problem,” the man said into the phone.
“I don’t like problems. What is it?”
“The hit didn’t go down as planned. Our man got away, but it puts Brodie on alert. He won’t give us another opening.”
“Brodie will think the shot was meant for the girl. He’ll be worried about her, not himself. Brodie’s been sniffing around the Internet, setting off all kinds of alarms. I want him stopped before he stumbles onto something.”
“Killing him might just stir things up, make things worse than they are already.”
“The police have moved the Larsen case to a back burner. Brodie’s an ex-cop and a PI. He’s got all sorts of enemies. If he gets killed, it could be anyone. Once we get rid of him, this will be over.”
“What about the girl? He’s been staying with her. She might know something.”
A long pause ensued. “She’s a model. All they think about is their hair and makeup. She won’t be a problem.”
“And if she gets in the way?”
“Then get rid of her, too. Call in some help if you need it, but this time get it done.”
The call ended and he made another, this one to the man who’d been hired to take Brodie out. “You’ve got another chance. Get some men and take care of it. You know who to call.”
“You know I prefer to work alone.”
“Yeah, well, you tried it your way; now you’ll do it mine. And you’d better not blow it. You do, you’ll be the one dodging bullets.” He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair.
He didn’t like this business of murder. But with the money involved, sometimes unpleasant things had to be done. He’d make sure Brodie was taken care of; then things could get back to normal.
