“Okay,” Sully agreed. “But get close.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Imitating Driving Miss Daisy.”
Battaglia didn’t bother to reply. He let off the gas and put the car in neutral, allowing it to roll forward at fifteen miles an hour. “It’s like a Stealth Chevrolet,” he whispered to Sully.
Sully smiled absently. “It’d be nice if it came equipped with missiles, because these two are going to bolt as soon as they spot us.”
“One for each of us.”
“And MacLeod gets dealer’s choice on who she wants to chase.”
“Where the hell is Tower?” Battaglia groused. “Is he some kind of chicken or something?”
Sully didn’t answer. He watched as the two men closed the gap between them and MacLeod.
Ten yards.
Now five.
Three.
2208 hours
When the first man reached for her fanny pack, Katie twisted forcefully away. She turned her left side toward him and pulled her Glock.
“Police!” she shouted, pointing the muzzle into the face of the more aggressive of the two. “Don’t move!”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. Surprise flashed across his rugged features.
“Chto?” he asked in a guttural tone.
“Don’t you move!” Katie repeated. “Show me your hands!”
The man’s surprise melted into a cold smile. “Okay, yeah,” he said, raising his hands slowly.
A blur of movement came from his right. Katie jerked her pistol in that direction, but a crushing pain exploded at her elbow. Her gun flew through the air and fell clattering onto the pavement beside her. She cried out and staggered back a step. Before she could recover, the man who’d struck her glided forward, his eyes intense. His leg flashed out, catching her in the upper thigh. A shockwave of pain blasted down to her toes and upward into her chest. Her air left her. She sank to her opposite knee, struggling to keep her hands up.
Without hesitating, both men bounded away.
* * *
“Jesus! I told you!” Sully yelled. “Go, go, GO!”
Battaglia gunned the engine and fired up the headlights at the same time. The two shadowy figures scampered off to the north. As soon as they hit the north curb, they split up and ran in opposite directions.
“I got this one!” Battaglia shouted, pointing at the one running west. He slammed on the brakes, jammed the car into park and leapt from the driver’s seat in foot pursuit.
Sully scrambled out of the passenger seat and sprinted toward where MacLeod knelt, holding her leg.
“Are you okay?” he leaned down and asked her.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. She reached for her gun, picking it up off the asphalt. “Go.”
Another set of headlights flashed on, bathing her in a yellowish glare. Sully glanced up at the lights, then straightened and raced eastbound after the second suspect.
* * *
Tower watched the attack on Katie in horror. For a moment, he froze in place. Then a pair of headlights flooded the scene in front of him and spurred him into action. He started the Toyota’s engine and hit his own headlights.
O’Sullivan was leaning over a kneeling MacLeod. He glanced up in Tower’s direction, then dashed away toward the northeast.
Tower cursed at his own hesitation. He dropped the small truck into gear and tore up to MacLeod’s location. As he arrived, the young officer stood up, clearly favoring one leg.
“Are you hurt?” Tower asked, slamming the truck door and walking toward her.
Katie laughed ruefully. “I think my pride just took a serious beating.”
“How’s your leg?”
Katie tested it gingerly, limping for several steps. She grimaced each time she put weight on her left leg.
“It’ll be fine,” she told him through a pained expression.
Tower brought his portable radio to his mouth. “Ida-409 to Adam-122. Update.”
There was no response.
“Adam-122, an update!” Tower barked into the radio.
Katie reached out and grabbed his wrist. He met her eyes and she shook her head. “Can’t you hear it?”
Tower’s eyes narrowed. “Hear what?”
2209 hours
“Police!” Battaglia yelled with each exhale. “Stop!”
The man in front of him didn’t slow or pause. With each stride, he seemed to pull farther away.
Battaglia renewed his effort, forcing his legs to pump harder and faster.
The suspect seemed to sense his advance and answered with a burst of his own.
You son of a bitch.
“You better quit running!” Battaglia yelled. “If I have to catch you, I’m going to kick your ass!”
Instead of slowing down, the suspect seemed to find an extra gear. He sprinted forward along the sidewalk, slowly widening the gap between them.
Battaglia pushed on, his breathing labored, his lungs burning.
* * *
Sully stretched out his stride, trying to eat up as much ground as possible with each step. The suspect in front of him was shifty, cutting through two yards and over one fence already. He ran in a zig-zag fashion, almost as if he expected Sully to start firing rounds after him.
“Police!” Sully yelled for the third time. “Stop!”
The suspect’s only reaction was to hop over a four-foot chain-link fence and sprint for the alley.
Feeling much lighter in civilian clothes than his usual uniform, which came complete with duty belt and bulletproof vest, Sully vaulted over the fence easily, barely needing to use his hands on the top edge.
The suspect turned back westward once he reached the alley. Sully momentarily lost sight of him behind a garage. Without pause, he sprinted after the dark figure.
* * *
“Hear what?” Tower asked her again.
“You’ve lost your patrol ears,” Katie told him. She limped over to the Gray Ghost and leaned inside the passenger seat, fishing for something. When she removed her hand, Tower immediately recognized what she held.
The portable radio.
Tower frowned. “You mean…”
Katie nodded. “Yeah. They’re out there chasing bad guys in the dark without backup and without a radio.”
2210 hours
“Goddamnit!” Battaglia yelled. “Where the hell did he go?”
He slowed to a walk, trying to listen for sounds of movement in the alley. The only noise that filled his ears was his own deep, ragged breaths.
The suspect had managed to get almost a block between the two of them before cutting into the alley. Battaglia walked down the dirt alley, looking left and right for hiding places, just in case the suspect had gone to ground.
But he knew that isn’t what happened.
Nope, the guy didn’t stop and hide. He just outran your fat, Italian ass.
Battaglia sighed. He wasn’t fat. And the son of a bitch was fast. Carl Lewis fast. Hell, he was The Flash fast.
The residential alley was quiet except for the sounds of his own breathing and the thud of his boots on the hard packed dirt and gravel. He thought about stopping and calling for a K-9 to track the suspect, but he knew it was useless. He didn’t have a radio to call for patrol units to set up a perimeter. Without a hard perimeter to contain the suspect, the K-9 track was useless. Even if the dog caught the scent, the suspect’s head start would never be overcome. He could keep running for an hour and they’d never catch up. And as fast as this guy motored, five minutes was all he needed to be halfway to China.
Battaglia continued his lonely walk down the dark alley.
* * *
The suspect reached the end of the alley and turned south. As he cut to his left, he slipped on a patch of wet grass and tumbled forward onto the sidewalk. Sully heard him grunt in pain. Before the man could scramble to his feet, Sully was on top of him.