Deadly Aim

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Someone moaned from behind the counter.

  Eric spotted him first. “Looks like somebody used the poor guy for target practice.” He dropped down and felt for a pulse.

  Angel stared at the older man’s blood-soaked lab coat. “Is he...?”

  “He’s alive. Barely.” Eric got to his feet. “I’ll call it in.”

  The old man gasped and tried to sit up. “Billy...”

  “Take it easy, Mr. Bergman.” Eric knelt beside him and eased him back down. “An ambulance is on the way.”

  Angel peered into the cracked ceiling mirror above their heads, trying to spot movement in the aisles. “Think they’re still here?”

  “I doubt it, but we’d better have a look around just in case.”

  Her gaze locked on the violet blue eyes staring at her through the shattered mirror. A stream of blood ran from a small cut on her forehead down to her eyebrow. Angel looked away, forcing her attention to the bullet-riddled shelves behind the counter.

  They wouldn’t have to do an inventory to tell what was missing. The gang had pulled off a number of burglaries up and down the coast over the last couple of months, most of them pharmacies. Word was they’d moved up from L.A., thinking to find easy pickings in small towns like Sunset Cove. According to Mike, who worked with troubled youths, they’d been recruiting local kids as well.

  She heard a shuffling sound. “Looks like someone decided to hang around.”

  Eric frowned. “Let’s hope it’s a customer or maybe a clerk.”

  “Too early for that. Maybe the scumbags aren’t finished yet. I’ll have a look.”

  “Angel.” Eric grabbed her arm as she moved away from him. “I have to stay with Bergman. As soon as the paramedics get here, I’ll have Nick help me carry him out to them. I’ll get with you as soon as I can. In the meantime, watch your back.”

  “Right.” She swallowed hard. Chasing these guys was the last thing she wanted to do, but backing out wasn’t an option. Though she couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, she heard Eric talking with someone on his radio. She crept down a middle aisle, past the dozens of cold remedies and pain relievers. At the end of the aisle, she leaned forward. The business end of an assault weapon protruded from a cosmetic display four aisles down. She jerked back. Get hold of yourself. You can do this.

  “Police!” she yelled. “Put your weapon on the floor and come out with your hands up.”

  “Don’t shoot,” a small voice squeaked. “I’m comin’ out. Jus’ don’t shoot me.”

  “Put the gun on the floor and slide it toward me.”

  A dark hand, no larger than her own, appeared from behind an end display of baby products. The hand lowered the gun to the floor.

  “Come out where I can see you. Hands on your head.”

  A kid in camouflage fatigues with a black bandana tied around his head stepped clear of the shelving.

  “Billy?” Angel kept her gun trained on the boy. She’d collared him a couple weeks ago for shoplifting a package of gum from the minimart off 22nd Street. Had the gang recruited him? Bergman had said his name. Could Billy have been responsible for all this? It didn’t seem likely.

  “I... put my gun down.” Billy raised his hands.

  “Smart move.” Angel started toward him then stopped.

  A movement to his left caught her eye. He isn’t alone.

  She dove back into the aisle just as two armed men jumped in front of Billy, waving their guns back and forth like twin Rambos. A barrage of bullets pelted the metal shelves and the floor where she’d been standing.

  He’d set her up. She scrunched into a ball and covered her ears. No! Not again.

  The shooting stopped. Angel raised her head, relieved none of the officers had been there to see her cower.

  Eric came up behind her, his gun drawn. “You okay?”

  Angel nodded, stunned and embarrassed by her reaction to the gunfire. “Yeah. Fine.” She looked beyond Eric toward the storefront. “Bergman?”

  “Medics are with him. It’s not looking good.”

  Angel jumped up when the back door to the pharmacy banged shut and shooting erupted in the alley. Angel cringed. Mike and Bo’s handguns were no match for the high-powered automatics these guys were toting. She just hoped they wouldn’t try any heroics.

  “Nick, we need you back here.” Mike’s voice came over the two-way radio on Eric’s belt.

  “Come on, Angel.” Eric headed for the door. “Our guys are going to need all the help they can get.” He spoke into his lapel mike. “We’re coming out.”

  Angel stood behind Eric as he eased open the door. The shooting had stopped. Stepping into the alley, she spotted the three gang members as they disappeared around the corner at the end of the alley with Mike, Bo, and Nick in hot pursuit.

  “Let’s go!” Eric sprinted after them.

  Angel ran a few feet, then hesitated when she noticed an empty squad car blocking the alley—the car her father usually drove. Angel’s stomach lurched. Her father was too old to be running after these guys.

  By the time Angel hit Main Street, she could see no sign of the other officers or the robbery suspects. She was about to turn back when Billy poked his head out of a condemned building not twenty feet from where she stood. She caught a glimpse of the weapon he’d been carrying earlier. Retrieved no doubt when his buddies came to his rescue.

  “Billy.” Angel drew her gun. “Hold it right there.”

  Billy raised his hands as if to comply, then ducked back inside.

  Angel followed him into the abandoned structure. She moved slowly beside the rough concrete wall, her eyes taking a while to adjust to the darkness. Beams of dusty light squeezed in through filthy windows of the once thriving cannery. The air was stifling; the stench of stale smoke and urine almost made her vomit. Apparently, it hadn’t been abandoned by everybody. Were the others hiding in here as well? She scanned the area but saw no one.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Angel turned on her lapel mike and radioed her position. “I just followed one of them into the old cannery.” She hesitated before stepping away from the wall into the open. She would have to go some twenty feet across the grimy concrete floor to get to the stairs. Twenty feet that seemed like a mile. Scanning the area, she saw no one. If she didn’t move fast, he’d get away. Angel ran to the stairs and with her weapon clutched in both hands began to climb. At the fifth step she paused.

  The footsteps had stopped. She dragged in a ragged breath to ease the dread rising in her chest. Was she walking into another trap? Should she go down and wait for backup? No. You can handle this. He’s just a kid. She crouched low and, with the metal railing at her back, moved up three more steps.

  “Billy!” Her stern voice echoed off the walls. “Give yourself up. You know you can’t get away. Maybe we can cut a deal.”

  “No!” Billy yelled, and seconds later he dove past her, slamming her against the railing and nearly propelling her over it.

  Angel grabbed the rail to steady herself and lunged after him. “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Billy paused at the bottom. His frightened gaze fastened on hers. “I didn’t do nothin’.” He stood there motionless for a moment, then raised his gun.

  Aim for body mass. The repetitive voice from her instructors at the police academy jammed into her brain. She’d done it nearly every day on the shooting range.

  No! This isn’t a target. He’s just a kid.

  But he has a gun. It’s either him or me. Angel aimed and fired. A bullet tore into Billy’s shoulder. He twisted and staggered back. His eyes widened.

  Another gunshot splintered the silence. Then another.

  Angel froze. Billy’s gun clattered to the concrete floor with an oddly hollow sound. He moaned and reached for her, then dropped on top of his gun.

  Angel stared at him, then at her own weapon.

  Oh, Angel, a voice in her head cried. What have you done? She holstered her Glock, as if burying it would hide
the truth. Her knees buckled. She grabbed the railing and forced herself to move toward Billy’s limp form.

  When she reached the boy, she radioed in her position using her lapel mike and asked for an ambulance. Pulling off her jacket, she pressed it to his wounds. Blood pumped like a small geyser, and Angel knew she must have hit an artery. The dark burgundy pool beneath him spread to her knees and soaked into her slacks.

  “C’mon, Billy. You’re gonna be okay. Stay with me.”

  In the dim light she studied the boy’s face. Only moments before, Billy had been involved in an armed robbery. Now he looked like a sleeping child.

  “Hang on!” She shook him. “Listen—the sirens. You can hear them. We’ll get you to the hospital.”

  A gurgling sound came from his throat. Blood oozed from his mouth.

  “No!” Angel gasped. A wild hysteria erupted in the pit of her stomach. “You can’t die!”

  God, don’t let him die. Please.

  “Angel?” The voice sounded as if it was coming from a deep well. “You in here?” A bright light streamed into the warehouse, then disappeared again as someone came in and let the heavy door close behind him.

  Nick hunkered down beside her, looking from Billy to Angel and back again. “What happened?”

  Angel concentrated on keeping her voice steady as she explained.

  Eric dropped down beside her and felt Billy’s carotid artery for a pulse. “He’s dead.”

  Angel shook her head. “He can’t be.” She raised her eyes to meet Eric’s. “He wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “Angel...” Nick wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  She shrugged it off. “Don’t.”

  The door jerked open again as the EMTs arrived. Angel felt cold as she let Nick lead her outside, where officers were already securing the scene. She ducked under the yellow tape and sank into the seat of a squad car parked at the curb.

  Nick poured a cup of coffee from the thermos he kept in the backseat. When she didn’t take it, he wrapped her hands around the cup and lifted it to her mouth. “Come on, Angel. Don’t take it so hard. Hey, I know it’s rough. The first time always is. But the kid didn’t give you a choice. It could be you lying in there.”

  Eric crouched down next to the car door. “Nick’s right, partner. It’s part of the job.”

  Angel shook her head, not trusting herself to talk. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d fired at a human-shaped target. One, two, three, four, five shots without blinking. Sometimes during practice, she had tried to imagine what it would be like to shoot a real person, but all the practice in the world couldn’t have prepared her for the real thing. She had just killed another human being. A child. Billy had committed a crime, but he didn’t deserve to die.

  “Did you get any of the others?” Angel asked.

  “We lost them.” Eric folded his arms and leaned against the car. “I stopped looking when I heard the shots.”

  Angel stared into the coffee. She heard Mike and Bo come up, and Eric explained the situation. Both offered their support.

  Then Nick extended his hand toward her. “Uh... it’s just routine, Angel, but you know the drill. I need your duty weapon and magazine.”

  Angel nodded and handed her gun to him. The police would enter her weapon as evidence. The guys in the crime lab would check it against the bullets in the kid’s body. Bullets she had fired. Then internal affairs would investigate, as they always did when an officer used deadly force. And she’d be put on administrative leave. She shuddered and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

  When Nick gave her a replacement, she frowned, wondering how he’d gotten one so fast.

  “It’s mine. I had an extra one in the trunk,” he explained.

  “Thank you.” She shoved it into her holster.

  The replacement was a way of maintaining normalcy by letting her know she had taken appropriate action. Angel only wished she could believe that. If it had been up to her, she’d give the weapon back and...

  No, you have to stop thinking like that. You’re a police officer. Weapons are part of the package.

  Nick, who served not only as sergeant but also as their union rep, hunkered down in front of her. “I called in for a lawyer, Angel. He’ll try to get here today.”

  She nodded. It was all part of a prearranged plan for situations like this. Officers paid their 1.5 percent in union dues and got representation if and when they needed it. And it looked like she was going to need it.

  Nick rested his hand on her knee. “Would you like me to take you back to the station?” he asked. “You might want to get cleaned up. The, uh, lab is going to want your uniform too.” He glanced down at her bloodstained slacks and the jacket she’d bunched up and set on the floor of the car. “And we’re going to need a urine sample—you can take care of that at the station.”

  “I’m heading back that way,” Eric said. “I can take her.”

  Angel shifted her gaze from Nick to Eric. “Thanks,” she said to Nick. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll ride back with Eric.” She needed the familiarity of the patrol car and Eric’s presence.

  “Sure.” Nick patted her knee and stood. “Eric, if you’re leaving, I’ll need to take a look at your weapon as well.”

  “Sure.” Eric took out his weapon and handed it to Nick. “Since when did you get so efficient?”

  “Since I’ve been working with Detective Riley from the Oregon State Police. He’s thorough. And he’ll be handling the investigation. We have a call in to him right now.” Nick checked the magazine and handed the weapon back to Eric. “Thanks.”

  Looking up at Nick, Angel asked, “Are you sure you don’t need me to stick around?”

  He shook his head. “We pretty much know what went down. You can give your statement later. The crime lab guys will go over everything.”

  Crime scene. Detective. Investigation. The words weren’t new to her. She’d used them herself numerous times. But now they felt like knives cutting into whatever reserve she had left. She was going to be investigated. What would Dad think? Her stomach twisted at the thought of facing him. Her father had been a police officer for over forty years.

  Angel frowned. She’d seen his car at the scene, so where was he now and why hadn’t he been with the other officers?

  Her heart thudded as her mind reeled with possibilities. Had he been hurt? Called away?

  “Have any of you seen my dad?”

  None of them had.

  Callen Riley scooped up a load of paint on his brush and, with his left hand gripping the gutter, reached for the far corner of the fascia. Another hour and he’d be finished with the trim.

  A siren pierced the crisp sunny morning and seemed to be coming from downtown Sunset Cove. Not a welcome sound at any time, but especially not now. He tried to ignore it—tried to convince himself it was just a traffic stop. Anything serious and dispatch would page him. Until they did, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He’d been waiting the entire weekend for a clear day so he could work on the exterior of his beach house. This was supposed to be vacation time for him. His supervisor in Portland had insisted he take a few days off to move into his new place. Tomorrow he’d start working officially with the other law enforcement agencies in Lincoln County.

  Tomorrow, not today. Even so, he mentally prepared himself. His weapon, a .40 caliber, was tucked in its holster hanging on a hook in the back of his closet, covered by his official Oregon State Police jacket.

  Standing on the upper rung of his extension ladder, Callen glanced down at his sister as she opened the sliding glass door and backed onto the deck.

  “No, Mutt, stay,” Kathleen ordered. “You can’t come out here. Go see the girls. A white dog and blue paint are not a good mix.”

  Callen’s rambunctious white pup yipped an objection and stuck his black nose out the door. She gently moved him back in with her bare foot, closing off his escape route.

  “Ready for a break?
” Kath set two steaming cups on the low wooden table between two white Adirondack chairs.

  He was, and the coffee smelled great, but he didn’t want to stop painting. Nothing, not even the enticing aroma of his favorite coffee, would deter him. “Not yet, but you go ahead.”

  “Honestly, you’ve been at it since 7:00.” Kath brushed a hand through her red hair and settled onto one of the chairs. “I thought you were moving to the beach to slow down.”

  “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, and I want to get the trim finished.” Callen leaned back to admire the paint job. The blue trim looked almost too bright against the weathered gray siding.

  “You don’t think the blue is too bright?” Kath cocked her head in a scrutinizing pose as she sipped at her steaming drink.

  “Nope. It’ll be fine when it dries.” Even if the paint was too bright, he wouldn’t admit it to Kath. As the older sibling, she had the very irritating habit of pointing out his faults and trying to fix them. Besides, he’d seen the color combination on several houses up the coast and decided he’d use it if and when he ever got his own place at the coast. And now that he had it, he intended to do exactly what he wanted. The three-bedroom house sat on a piece of beachfront property, on a bluff only a few blocks from downtown Sunset Cove. The town was on a beautification kick, and he’d gotten a great deal. Even so, the view had cost him plenty. But it was worth every cent.

  “How’s the kitchen coming?” Callen dipped the brush into the paint can. Kathleen and her girls had come down from Portland on Friday to help him move in. They’d worked all weekend, painting and wallpapering as well as unpacking his kitchen boxes and putting things away. He’d rearrange everything to his liking later, but for now he was happy to get stuff into the cupboards and out of sight.

  “Great. I love it. You did good, Callen. The grapes on the wallpaper trim make it look like an Italian villa. I can’t believe how well it matches the tiles and the pottery you bought.”

  He let the compliment slide off. People, even in his own family, always seemed surprised at his artistic nature. Just because a guy was a cop didn’t mean he couldn’t be creative.