“She’s heading in,” squawked the radio.
Sully rolled off the top of Battaglia’s sprawled form and scrambled to his feet. The radio lay on the wet grass nearby. He snatched it up, wiping away the dew.
“Copy,” he transmitted, then turned to Battaglia. The dark-haired officer climbed to his feet, rolling his head on his shoulders, testing his neck. Sully heard popping noises.
“You okay?”
“I think so,” Battaglia grunted. “Just a little whiplash.”
“Then help me pick this up. She’s going under the bridge.”
“I heard the radio,” Battaglia said. He grabbed the front corner of the golf cart. “I’m not deaf.”
Sully slid the radio into his jacket pocket. “No, but you’re apparently legally blind.” He put his hands underneath the rear corner and squatted down. “On three?”
“Just like Lethal Weapon.”
Sully counted three and the two officers heaved the golf cart, righting it.
“Let’s go!” Sully hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Hey!” Battaglia protested.
“You had your chance, Crash.”
Battaglia scowled but stepped around the front of the cart and into the passenger seat. “Go!” he told Sully.
Sully punched it.
2139 hours
The soft rubber soles of her shoes thudded on the asphalt path. The dull echo bounced around the underpass, ricocheting off of the rock wall and dying on the wide expanse of river water to her right.
Katie stared straight ahead, but she scanned the area to her left with her peripheral vision. Her ears strained to pick up any stray noise, any indication of an attacker.
Her body leaned forward, wanting to move faster. Her legs wanted to sprint. She forced herself into the hunched, submissive posture she’d used before. A moment of focus allowed her to rein in her feet.
To her left, she sensed motion.
A fraction of a second later, she heard the clattering of stones, upset at the top of the wall and tumbling down.
She tore her pistol from her purse and whipped it in the direction of the noise. In an instant, she put the front sights on the blur of motion and pressed the trigger.
* * *
Sully slammed on the brakes. The golf cart slid on the slick, wet grass. The downward slope of the Lilac Bowl forced both officers to lean back hard to avoid tipping the cart over again. As it was, the rear end of the square vehicle spun forward as they came to a stop, leaving them stopped askew.
“You see her?” Sully asked.
Battaglia shook his head. “She must still be under the-”
KA-BLAM!
The sharp report of gunfire echoed up the hillside, followed by the sharp zing of a ricochet.
Sully punched the accelerator while Battaglia jerked his gun from its holster. They blasted down the grassy hillside, slipping and sliding crazily on the wet turf.
* * *
“Holy shit!”
Tower heard the gunshot simultaneously through the wire transmitter and as it echoed up to the top of the clock tower.
He clicked the mike. “Shots fired! Under the bridge! Get down there!”
There was no reply.
“Maybe she smoked the creep,” Hiero said.
Tower snatched his Glock from the shoulder holster underneath his left arm. He took a step towards the long, narrow flight of stairs, then glanced back at Hiero. The SWAT sniper knelt calmly in a solid, supported stance, his eye pressed to the scope.
“Go,” Hiero said. “I’ll cover from here.”
Tower bolted for the stairs with a curse. The route to and from the top of the clock tower was more like a leaning ladder than a staircase. Reluctantly, he slid his pistol back into his shoulder holster and snapped it in place. Before he put the radio in his jacket pocket, he pressed the transmit button again.
“Adam-122, are you there?”
No answer.
Tower paused, the only sound his own labored breathing.
He pushed the button again. “Adam-122, do you copy?”
Nothing.
Tower cursed again, slipped the radio in his jacket pocket and began climbing down the steep stairs.
2140 hours
In the darkness, under the overpass, the smell of cordite hung in the air. Katie’s ears hummed from the after-effects of the gunshot. She stood stock-still, staring in the direction she’d fired.
Then she heard motion to her right.
Approaching feet.
She wheeled toward the sound, her gun at the ready.
* * *
Battaglia squinted, but it didn’t help his vision any. All he could make out was one standing shadow. He scanned left and right for targets, but saw none.
Sully caught up to him and passed him by.
“Katie?” he called.
Battaglia moved with him, his gun in the low ready position.
* * *
Katie lowered her gun as soon as she recognized Sully and Batts.
“Jesus,” she breathed. She’d never been happier to see the twins before.
“Where is he?” Battaglia asked, his gun sweeping the dark area atop the rock wall. “Did he get away?”
“No,” Katie said, and hung her head.
“What is it?” Sully asked.
Katie put her pistol back inside the purse and secured the clasp. Hesitantly, she said, “I think I just shot a rat.”
“Seriously?” Battaglia asked, flashing his light along the rock wall. “A rat?”
“I think so,” Katie said, her voice wavering.
“You shot a rat?” Battaglia marveled.
“Shut up, Batts,” Sully said. He put his hand on Katie’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Katie swallowed and nodded. As the adrenaline and fear dripped away, she felt a sense of shame seeping in. Sully’s warm hand on her shoulder did little to comfort her, even when he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
Battaglia’s sweeping flashlight beam came to a stop at the base of the wall. “Found it.”
Katie looked at the small brown form under the cone of light. Her feeling of shame and embarrassment stopped seeping and started gushing.
“Jesus, MacLeod,” Battaglia said in amazement. “You ten-ringed the little fucker.”
2141 hours
“Code 4,” squawked Tower’s radio just as he burst from the base of the clock tower and sprinted toward the underpass. He slowed to a mild run, and pulled up to a stop once he saw the three shadowy figures underneath the bridge.
“What happened?” he asked, his breath labored.
No one answered.
“What happened?” he repeated, this time with a little more urgency.
“Uh…” Battaglia said.
Sully stepped forward and explained.
Tower listened, his lips pressed together. His first reaction was a surge of frustration, but it was his second reaction that won the day.
He burst into laughter.
Katie, Sully and Battaglia did not join in. The three patrol officers stood watching him while he laughed for several long moments. Apparently, they’d had their chance to laugh already. He didn’t care. He thought it was funny.
“Well,” he said, “At least it was a bulls-eye shot. I imagine that Sergeant Morgan would be proud of you, MacLeod.”
None of the officers replied.
Tower wiped his forehead again, his laughter fading into a light chuckle. Sergeant Morgan, the grizzled range master, was famous for his oft-repeated words of advice such as ‘focus on the front sight’ and ‘you can’t miss fast enough.’ He warned every officer and detective that they never knew when they could end up in a gunfight. Somehow, Tower found his pearls of wisdom hilarious when applied to this particular moment.
“Glad you’re amused, chucklehead,” Sully finally broke in. “But now what do we do?”
Tower paused. “Do?”
The patrol officers exchanged glances.
“Asshole,” muttered Battaglia.
Tower shot him a glare, but before he could answer, Katie responded.
“We have to call a sergeant. It’s an A.D.”
Tower frowned, his mind whirring. An accidental discharge was a serious matter. The last officer that had one was suspended for a week. Of course, it had been his second incident, but still…