The space between houses was maybe four feet wide. They ran down the narrow concrete walkway through knee-high ferns wet with rain. He passed a hose hanging from a hook and threw it down in a tangle. He did the same with the wheelbarrow leaning up against the wooden siding, anything to slow the other man and buy KT and Ellie some distance.
Then into the narrow back yard like a miniature nature preserve with small trees and shrubs and mounded garden beds filled with still-green leafy plants, the whole thing enclosed by a six-foot cedar fence. Ellie had already opened the rear gate beside the two-car garage. It was directly behind the side yard with a clear line of sight.
Then the shooter put his gun arm around the front of the house and pulled the trigger blindly.BANG BANG BANG BANG. Peter ducked behind the back corner, protected by the house’s hundred-year-old framing. The guy wasn’t likely to hit them without aiming, but even a broken clock was right twice a day.
When the gunfire stopped, Peter raised the pistol and aimed just above the gate, at chest level. Also in his sights, in the house on the other side of the street, was a man staring at him from a second-story balcony like he was watching an action movie on TV. If the would-be killer went to open the gate and Peter fired on him, he might well kill the wrong man.
He couldn’t pull the trigger in this shooting gallery. He turned to sprint toward the back gate. “Go,” he shouted.
Ellie pulled her mother into the alley and out of sight, her voice floating behind her, high and frantic. “Mom, c’mon, please.”
Running, Peter heard the other man firing again, now more deliberately, thirty yards away.BANG. BANG. BANG. He waited for the burning brand of a pistol round in his shoulder or butt or legs. None came.
Then he was through, slamming the gate behind him. There were splintered holes in the fence. “Time to move.”
Katelyn leaned against the side of the garage, bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “I need a minute.”
Ellie’s eyes were wide, her pale face rigid with fear. “What do we do?”
Two houses down, on the other side of the alley, a man was in the parking place beside his one-car garage, getting into a red Audi sedan.Peter hauled ass for the car, calling over his shoulder, “This way. Get her moving.”
The Audi backed up into the alley. It was long and low, the engine growling. Peter knocked on the window. The driver startled, staring at him. “What the hell?” His voice was muffled coming through the glass.
“I need your car,” Peter said. “Open up.”
The driver gave him a scornful look. “I’m not giving you my car, bro. It’s custom. Get a job.” He was younger than Peter in a very expensive hard-shell jacket and what looked like recent hair plugs.
Peter held up the pistol. “Open the door or I’ll break your window. Then I’ll break your face.”
“Shit, okay, don’t hurt me.” The driver put up his hands and began to climb out of the low-slung car. Peter looked past him and was glad to see the key fob in a cup holder. They wouldn’t get far without it.
Ellie came up, towing her panting mother, whose face was bright red. Behind them, the sound of gunshots. Obviously the gunman had brought a few extra magazines.
Peter found the unlock button and opened the rear door. KT climbed inside, with Ellie right behind her. Two houses back, the gunman banged the gate open. The Audi owner looked at him stupidly.
“Ellie, climb into the front,” Peter said. “Now.”
She began to move. Peter grabbed the Audi owner and bent him over and shoved him into the back seat and slammed the door. The man was a dickhead, but he didn’t deserve to die.
The gunman turned at the sound, his pistol rising. Peter slid behind the wheel, his battered chest aching from the motion, then slammed the shifter into drive and punched the gas.
The Audi leapt forward like a jackrabbit, tires grabbing the wet concrete. The car smelled brand-new, the dashboard pristine. The odometer had nineteen miles on it. The alley ended and he was going too fast for the turn; the car slid sideways and banged off a parked carbut kept moving forward, the Audi’s owner shouting his outrage. Another half block and Peter stood on the brakes and threw it in park. He turned to KT. “Can you drive?”
“I think so.” She was still breathing hard.
He got out, taking the pistol from his waistband again. “Come around and get in. Get off Queen Anne, keep driving until you hear from me. June gave me your number.”
KT came around the front of the Audi. Ellie stared at him, eyes wide with fear. He could see the pulse in her neck. She said, “Where are you going?”
Peter gave her a soft smile and backed away to give Katelyn room to get in. “Eleanor, your job is to call 911. Tell them shots fired, shooter is a man in a red baseball cap, and this intersection. Got it?”
She nodded.
KT wedged herself behind the wheel and fixed him with a stare at once grateful, terrified, and determined. “Peter, I…Thank you.”
He nodded. “My pleasure, ma’am. Now go.”
Then she hit the gas and the car flew away and Peter stood alone on the street in the driving rain like a time-tarnished statue from a long-forgotten war. Skin hot despite the rain soaking through his fleece, the .45 hanging heavy in his left hand like an extension of his arm.
