Seconds to Live(93)

Mac ducked the first wild swing. The bottle came back at his head, number two’s eyes were white-rimmed and wild. He slashed back and forth, the jagged edged of glass sweeping the air in front of Mac’s face.

Mac plucked the KA-BAR from his boot and reverse-gripped his knife.

Hands in front of his face, he dodged the swings and waited. Number two backslashed. Mac leaped forward and blocked the backswing with an upward sweep of the knife. The blade sliced number two’s forearm to the bone. Mac hooked the point of the knife over the man’s wrist, slammed a palm into the back of the man’s elbow, and armbarred him to the ground. Mac pulled the arm, stretching the man out on his belly and pinning him to the pavement.

Still the guy struggled, his feet running in place, the toes of his black trainers scraping for purchase on the blacktop.

Mac checked the status of number one. No worries. The guy was busy trying to plug the gusher in his thigh with both hands.

“Looks like a bleeder,” Mac shouted at him. “If I were you, I’d want to get to a doctor ASAP.”

The big guy’s glare was wide with fear and pain. The man under Mac continued to kick his feet. Mac added a knee in the small of his back. The air rushed out of number two’s lungs and he went still.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Mac enunciated carefully.

“You,” Number two hissed. “You’re worth five grand to Freddie, and he don’t care if you come in a box or a bag.”

Freddie had put out a contract on Mac. He shouldn’t be surprised, but damn, he really hadn’t expected Freddie to go this far.

He called 911. Five minutes later, a patrol vehicle arrived, then an EMT vehicle. The paramedics bandaged the bleeder. The cop handed out handcuffs and took Mac’s statement. A steady stream of quiet radio chatter flowed from the open police car. An ambulance arrived and the thugs were loaded into the back.

The cop’s head swiveled toward his vehicle. “Hold on.”

He ran back and grabbed the mic. Snippets of the quiet conversation made Mac’s belly ice up.

“Shooting in progress. Officer down.”



Stella knelt next to Brody and wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Just go!” He waved.

“No.” Hauling him to his feet, Stella staggered under his weight.

A man in a white coat ran toward them from the pharmacy. “I called nine-one-one.”

He went to Brody’s other side and helped Stella carry him across the street and into the building, where they eased him down on the floor in front of the register. Sirens approached. “I told them you needed an ambulance.”

Weapon in hand, Brody tried to sit up.

Stella shoved him down. “Hold still. You’re leaking.”

Brody stopped fighting her and lay still.

“Did you get a look at him?” Stella kept one eye on the yellow house through the plate glass windows. She suspected their shooter was long gone, but she wasn’t taking chances.

“No.” Pain glazed Brody’s eyes. Blood soaked his pant leg and puddled on the gray linoleum.

Dropping to her knees beside him, she tore open his pant leg. “Can you get me some gauze?” she asked the man.

“Yes.” The man disappeared into an aisle. He returned a few seconds later with boxes of first aid supplies.

“I’m the pharmacist.” He opened a box of gauze pads and tore a package. “Bill.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill. I’m Detective Dane and this is Detective McNamara.” Stella exposed a nasty wound on Brody’s leg. A bullet had struck the meaty part of his calf. Covering the wound, she said, “We’re going to need more of these.”

“Try this.” Bill handed her a roll of gauze and an ace bandage.

“That should work.” She wrapped the wound, pulling the bandage snug but not too tight. “Are you hit anywhere else?” she asked Brody.

He didn’t answer, and his eyes were closed.

“Brody!” Stella felt for his pulse. It beat rapidly against her fingertips, but his face had gone dead-white. His leg wound hadn’t bled that much. “He must have another wound.” She ran her hands up his arms and legs.

“Here.” Bill moved aside Brody’s jacket. Blood soaked his dress shirt. “He must have been hit under the arm. How the hell did that happen?”

“He was below us.” Stella pulled at Brody’s jacket. “Do you have scissors?”

Bill ran to the counter and returned with them. She cut away Brody’s suit and shirt. Lifting his arm, she stacked gauze and applied pressure to the wound. The hole was smaller but more dangerous than the one on his leg.

Two patrol cars parked in front of the pharmacy. Bill went out to signal for the ambulance. Stella leaned into Brody. Blood welled between her fingers.