Ellie made a high-pitched yelp. He turned to see her standing frozen behind him, soaking wet, both hands over her mouth in a full-on freak-out. Peter pulled her close, then put his hand on the back of her head and shoved her over the body and through the open driver’s door into the passenger seat. As he climbed in behind her, the Nissan’s rear side window spiderwebbed with acrunch. The shooter had found them.
Peter threw the little car in drive and hit the gas. They lurched into motion.Crunch crunchsounded from the rear windshield.
“Get down, get down.” The girl bent double in her seat. “No, on thefloor.” She’d have more protection there. As she folded herself into the footwell, he looked over his shoulder and saw a man in a wide-brimmed hat and a black windbreaker squared up on the blacktop, still firing. How many rounds could this asshole possibly have?
Peter cranked the car to the left, heading for the exit now with a line of vehicles between them and the shooter. In one spot was a tan Toyota pickup with a camo-painted fiberglass cap on the back, exhaust puffing from its tailpipe. Nobody inside. An older body style. Peter took his foot off the gas.
It was the killer’s truck. It had to be. Nobody left their car running in a place like this. But how the hell had he found them? The only people who knew about the motel were cops. Durant and the two patrolmen who’d escorted them there. Maybe they’d said something over the radio or put the location in a report? Peter didn’t want to believe police were connected to KT’s death, but he had to consider the possibility.
Or maybe the killer had followed them from Queen Anne. He could keep following them now. No matter where they went, the runty little pizza car would be no match for the powerful Toyota truck, no matter how many miles it was carrying. They’d be dead in ten minutes.
Thunk thunk. Pistol rounds in sheet metal. Or they could be dead right here. Peter goosed the gas as he turned in his seat, scanning for the shooter, found him standing in the lane where the pizza car had been parked, hat hiding his eyes, firing accurately through the line of vehicles.
Enough of this shit. Peter stomped the gas. “Keep your head down.” He came to the end of the lane, but instead of turning right onto Aurora, he turned left and circled back around the line of cars to where they’d been just a moment before.
The gunman stood in the lane and watched them come.Crunch. Around punched through the windshield high and to the right, spitting shards. Standing his ground, the shooter adjusted his aim. Peter bent low and angled the car as if trying to get past him.Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Calm, deliberate shots. Peter did not like this guy. Glass fragments fell in his hair and down his neck. He had the accelerator all the way to the floor.
Then he raised his head enough to peek over the dashboard and turned the wheel to the left. The shooter had backed away toward the parked cars, but not far enough. Peter hit him going thirty-five, throwing him up on the hood, then stood on the brake to let the guy roll forward onto the pavement. Then he hit the gas again and didn’t brake until he felt the body thump under the front and rear wheels.
He threw it in reverse and looked down at the dashboard for the image from the backup camera. Twenty yards back, the guy was somehow trying to make it to his knees. He still had the gun in his hand. The hat, which he’d probably worn to hide his face from any security cameras, was gone.
Eyes on the screen, Peter goosed the engine and accelerated until he hit him again, keeping his foot down until he felt the double thump.
If that didn’t do the job, the fucker was unkillable.
10
Ellie was crying softly, pretzeled up in the footwell. He put his hand on her wet head. “Wait here. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Avoiding the broken glass in his bare feet, he got out and walked over to where the man lay on the blacktop. His limbs were torn open and bent the wrong way. His chest was partly crushed. His forehead had a large dent in it. The gun was five yards away. Peter knelt and put his hand on the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. He was a middle-aged white guy. Peter was struck again how killers looked like anyone else.
Peter already had his phone and wallet. He returned to the idling pizza car. It was shredded. He opened Ellie’s door. “It’s over, kiddo. Time to go.” She looked at him, eyes unfocused, face pale as death. She didn’t move. “Come on, Ellie. I’ve got you.” He took her arm and coaxed her out enough to pick her up in his arms.
She wrapped herself around him like an octopus, burying her face in his neck. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.” She was so small and thin. The lightness of her body, the fragility of it, terrified him. As if she was barely there at all.
He carried her over to the killer’s idling pickup and put her in the passenger seat. He buckled her in, then walked around the hood and climbed behind the wheel and drove away.
Driving barefoot, he covered three or four miles very quickly, weaving through traffic and blowing past stoplights, checking his rearview the whole time. His feet were cold and his head was killing him. He wished he’d taken a pizza, then felt like an asshole. But he was alive. And starving. And Ellie had to be starving, too. Although she sure wasn’t talking. Instead she sat shivering and wet with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face turned away. That was worse than screaming.
This was all Peter’s fault. He’d told her and KT that they’d be safe with him. And he’d fucked it up. Maybe worse than he’d ever fucked up anything in his life. And that was saying something.
He finally saw a sign for Dunn Lumber and pulled into the parking lot beside a half dozen other vehicles. Then he found Durant’s card in his wallet and pulled out his phone.
“Captain Durant here.”
“A man came to the hotel.” Peter put a big hand on Ellie’s back. He tried to keep his voice even, but he didn’t do a very good job. “He killed KT and a pizza delivery guy. The cop who was supposed to keep watch was already gone.”
Ellie’s shoulders heaved with silent sobs. Durant cursed. “What about the girl?”
“She’s with me. I took the killer’s truck. He’s dead in the motel parking lot. We’re in the wind.”
“Okay,” Durant said. “Let me make some calls. Are you north or south? We have a precinct in Northgate, at 103rd and College, and another in Belltown, Eighth and Virginia.”
“When you have the scene under control, call me and I’ll come back and give a statement. I also need my things and Ellie’s. Then we’re gone.”
“Mr. Ash, you can’t just leave. People are dead. You killed a man. There will be an inquest.”
“Are you kidding? You told me it was over, that it was just one guy with mental health issues. This new asshole had a suppressor on his pistol. He waited until the cruiser left. He definitely had some kind of training. Whoever sent him, they have resources. Also, the only people who knew we were at that motel were cops.”
