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He smiled. And Gibson did not like that smile.
Francine stepped up to Beckett and kneed him in the crotch.
“Hope the reunion was memorable,” she said as the man dropped to his knees, moaning.
The next moment a series of gunshots were fired from the open doorway. Two slugs hit one of the uniformed officers, and he collapsed to the floor. Another round hit Sullivan in the shoulder and he went down, too. The other officer fired back at the doorway.
Gibson pulled her pistol from her ankle holster, but Beckett had already recovered. He grabbed Francine and his gun, and pulled her out of the wine cellar. Gibson heard a click.
She raced to the door and found that it was locked.
“Francine!”
Gibson looked around, and saw that the cop who’d been shot was dead. His colleague was bending over Sullivan, who was panting heavily and holding his arm.
She ran over to him. “How bad?”
“In and out, but it’s bleeding like a bitch. Who fired those shots?”
“Beckett obviously didn’t come alone.”
Gibson said to the officer, “Tourniquet his arm, and call an ambulance and more backup.”
She ran over to the door, and fired two shots into the lock, then kicked at the door and it popped free.
She did a turkey peek to see if they were waiting to gun down anyone who came out of the cellar. With the coast clear, Gibson ran after them.
She was now back in Jersey City cop mode, running down another suspect.
Only this one had a hostage.
CHAPTER81
GIBSON COULD HEAR THE SOUNDSof footsteps pounding away in front of her, though she didn’t know how close; they had a decent head start.
She silently berated herself for allowing this to happen. She knew it was likely thattwopeople had written the phrase on the wall in the secret room. At first, she thought it might have been Francine and her brother. Next, it might have been Rochelle and Doug. But when that was disproved and she had figured Beckett as the killer of Harry Langhorne, she should have remembered the second hand that had contributed to the message. That oversight had cost one cop his life and Sullivan a gunshot wound.
And maybe Francine her life.
But who was the other person?
She reached the main floor and peered around a corner. She no longer heard the sounds of footsteps.
“Look out, Mickey!” screamed Francine.
Gibson ducked down. Two shots slammed into the wall where Gibson’s head had been moments before.
She heard a thud and Francine screamed in pain.
Gibson couldn’t fire back because she might hit the woman.
When she heard them run off again, Gibson followed. She broke into a sprint when she heard one of the huge front doors slam against the wall.
The storm was still raging outside. She had no idea how long it would take for the police or an ambulance to get here. But if Beckett got away with Francine? Gibson knew they would find only her body, if they even managed that.
She stepped off the front steps when she saw the headlights of Beckett’s truck pop on as the engine fired up. Next to it was another vehicle. That must be the ride for whoever was working with Beckett.
Gibson ran forward, knelt down, took careful aim, and shot out the two front tires, and then popped two rounds into the radiator.
