THE TRUCK! THE RIFLE!My guns!
I run back through the living room and out through the wide-open front door just in time to see the taillights of the pickup disappearing down the road. Passing it in the other direction are two sets of flashing lights—a police car followed by a box-type ambulance, sirens wailing. A few seconds later, the high beams of the patrol car hit me square in the face.
Gina rushes out the front door and stops at my side as the first responders arrive. “Remember,” I tell her, “I’ll handle this.”
“No shit you will.”
The cop jumps out of his vehicle as the ambulance pulls up right behind him. A pair of paramedics, a male and a female, climb down out of the cab and grab their gear.
I meet the cop halfway to the door, shoving my badge in hisface. “John Sampson, DC Metro Police!” I point down the road. “We need an APB on that truck you just passed!”
The paramedics are already pushing past me into the house. The cop looks confused.
“Truck? What truck? We’re responding to a medical emergency.” He points to the house. “Is this your residence?”
I nod to Gina, standing on the front step. “No, it’s hers. She placed the 911.”
The cop walks up to her. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Maine. Gina Maine.”
The female paramedic is back already, poking her head out of the door. She calls out to the cop. “Hey. There’s nobody here. But there’s fresh blood on one of the beds.”
The cop turns to me. “What the hell is going on here? We got a call about a gunshot victim. Where is he?”
I try my best to hold it together. Keeping my tone low and reasonable, I say, “That’s what I’m telling you. He’s gone. He drove off as you were coming in.”
The cop scratches his ear. “Drove off? With a bullet wound?”
Both paramedics are now standing in the doorway, staring at me like I’m crazy. I pull Gina over. “Ms. Maine is a nurse. I brought the victim to her and she gave him emergency treatment. After she called it in, he escaped.”
“Escaped?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in a federal case. The DC bombings.”
“He’s a suspect?”
“The evidence points that way. All I know is, we need to find him.”
The cop turns to Gina. “Did you know you were harboring a fugitive?”
She jerks her thumb at me. “Talk to him.”
“What’s this mystery man’s name?” asks the cop.
“His name is Aiden Phillips,” I say. “He’s a veteran. And he’s got some serious issues.”
“You mean beyond the bullet in his leg?”
I glance at the cop’s name tag: A. F. Neal. “Look, Officer Neal. This case involves DC Metro, CIA, FBI. It’s about national security. And what I need right now is an alert on a gray 2015 Ford Ranger with Delaware plates!”
Neal pushes past the paramedics. “Show me the bed.”
“We’re wasting time here!”
Neal ignores me. The paramedics lead him to the guest bedroom, with me and Gina right behind. We all crowd through the narrow doorway. Neal steps to the far side of the bed and bends down to look at the bloodstains. He presses his shoulder mic. “Unit fifty-five, requesting backup at—”
I grab his arm. “No! You don’t need backup! You need to find Phillips!”
