Page 29 of Lone Wolf

“We called it in.”

More commotion below as officers streamed into the foyer.

“Follow me upstairs,” Evan said.

Jeong hastened his pace up the stairs behind him. The third-floor catwalk held a spray of blood and a lump of human matter. Evan crouched over it.

“Oh, God.” Jeong’s curled forefinger rose to his lips, pressed to his septum. “Is that a…”

Evan scooped up the hunk of human ear, stuffed it in his cargo pocket, and stepped out onto the balcony.

“You can’t touch that,” Jeong said, moving behind him. “That’s evidence.”

Evan leaned over the railing. Nothing below but a puddle of curtain and a plastic trash can dented and toppled from a falling ninja.

Jeong moved next to him and peered over. “What are you looking for?”

“I need to check the roof. Wait here. Tell backup to hold the front.”

Evan hoisted himself to balance atop the balcony railing, bracing himself with one hand against the overhang. Grabbing the lip above with both hands, he pulled himself up, his belly scraping along the graveled flat roof.

“Wait!” Jeong called up after him. “What’s your badge number?”

Wind whipping at him, Evan ran across the joined rooftops of the row of town houses. Between them and the neighboring apartment building was a gap of ten feet and a drop of the same.

He had enough momentum for the leap, but the brief flight still spiked his heart rate. Already sailing, no time to think, chill air blasting his eyes and mouth, asphalt shingles flying up at him jaggedly and faster than he would have liked. Bending his knees so as not to jam the joints, he struck hard but left his feet immediately, rolling onto his side and then ridiculously up over his shoulders in a way that would have been more graceful a few years ago.

He sprinted for the far side, where handrails to a fire-escape ladder looped up over the building’s edge. A grab and a swing, clambering down, his hands squeaking painfully down the side rails, he slid-fell until asphalt smashed into the tread of his boots. Flashing lights, radio squalls, and siren bleeps issued around the corner from the front of the building.

Getting his legs back under him, he wobbled a few steps in the other direction, darting into the alley. It was blissfully empty.

He’d run less than ten meters when a garage gate rattled open in the building across from the town houses. A black Chevy Suburban reared up the ramp, scraping a wall and spewing sparks. High and menacing on oversize tires, it clipped a row of trash cans, veering toward Evan, a wall of horsepowered metal.

There were two people in the SUV. The driver was hidden behind windshield reflection, but Evan caught a glimpse of the face of the woman in the passenger seat, balaclava hood shoved atop her blood-smeared head. Her eyes locked on to his, a brief, searing moment of acknowledgment.

The driver completed the turn, filling the alley wall-to-wall, barreling at him.

He had nowhere to go.

16

The Wrath of God

Evan was in a sheer stretch of alley, the truck accelerating. No fire escape to grab hold of. No curb to fling himself behind. No manhole to disappear into.

If he ran forward he’d pancake into the Suburban’s grille. If he ran backward he’d be bulldozed before reaching the intersecting street.

The SUV was twenty meters out now, picking up speed.

The driver wore a mesh-back military-green trucker cap with a yellow army star, his teeth a clenched line in an unkempt beard. Despite the starburst of blood at her right ear and temple, the woman in the passenger seat looked as calm as ever.

Now fifteen meters.

Muscles tensed, Evan debated leaping onto the hood, but the truck was sufficiently lifted that there’d be no toppling up and over. His mind spun, grabbing for options that weren’t there. It struck him that he might very well die here frozen on his feet like a petrified deer.

Ten meters and quickening.

The Suburban shoved a wall of air before it, gusting against Evan’s cheeks, riffling his hair, the V-8 engine growling.