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“Stink bomb,” he said, “say hello to Sergeant Boxer.”
Chapter 96
I TORE MY eyes away from the terrified little boy, whipped around toward the street, and screamed again, “Hold your fire. For God’s sake, he’s got the child. Hold your fire.”
A blurred shape charged from behind a vehicle and continued in a line parallel to the street and toward the driveway. It was Brady. I watched in horror as he threw a spike strip down in front of Gordon’s car, then took a stance at the head of the vehicle and, holding his gun with both hands, leveled it at the windshield.
Brady yelled to Gordon, “Get out of the car. Get out of the car now.”
Gordon leaned on his horn, then called out to me, “Tell that bozo I have a gun to stinky’s head. At the count of three, I shoot. One.”
My voice was hoarse as I shouted, “Brady, put down your gun. He’ll shoot the boy. He’ll shoot!”
Gordon was a serial killer with a hostage. Procedurally, Brady was in the right and would probably be considered a hero for bringing Gordon down, even if Steven died.
Then Benbow backed me up.
“Brady, lower your weapon.”
Brady hesitated, then did what he was told. I was moved by Benbow’s humanity, even as I prayed he was doing the right thing.
Gordon said, “Lindsay? No guns. No choppers. No one on my tail. Do you copy? Two.”
I called out Gordon’s demands toward the street, and the chopper flew out of range. I heard the squeal of rubber on asphalt, and I turned back to see Gordon’s car shoot out of the driveway. He wheeled around the spike strip and rammed an SUV, knocking it out of the way, then jumped the curb and gunned the car down the street in the direction of the freeway.
Within seconds, this suburban block had been turned into what looked like a combat zone. The wails of sirens came from all directions: the bomb squad, ambulances, and fire rigs all rushed to the scene.
I made my way to the street, where Benbow was ordering air cover on the Honda.
Conklin put me on the phone with Jacobi, and I told him I was all right, but the truth was, I was dazed and breathless from the explosions, and my vision kept fading in and out.
As Conklin and I helped each other to our car, I kept seeing the red, terrified face of that small boy, screaming wordlessly through the car window.
Dizziness swamped me. I bent over and threw up in the grass.
Chapter 97
I WOKE UP in the emergency room, lying in a railed bed inside a curtained-off stall. Joe got up from the chair next to me and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Hello, sweetie. Are you all right? Are you okay?”
“Never better.”
Joe laughed and kissed me.
I squeezed his hand. “How long was I out?”
“Two hours. You needed the sleep.” Joe sat back down, keeping my hand in his.
“How’s Conklin? How’s Brady?”
“Conklin’s got a line of stitches across his forehead. The scar’s going to look good on him. Brady’s a hundred percent okay but pissed off. Says he could’ve taken Gordon out.”
“Or he could’ve gotten me, himself, Conklin, and that baby all killed.”
“You did good, Linds. No one died. Jacobi’s in the waiting room. He hugged me.”
“He did, huh?”
