Rob Thy Neighbor

by David Thurlo

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this

  St. Martin’s Press ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on the author, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  For Aimée

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Tom, Linda, Peter, Peggy, and many others in my extended family, plus all the friends and readers who have encouraged me to continue the work that Aimée and I began so many years ago. Your support has kept me going through some very dark moments, enabling me to smile once again.

  I also want to acknowledge the contributions made by my agent, Peter Rubie, my wonderful editor, Hannah Braaten at St. Martin’s Press, and the skills of a very talented copyeditor who helped smooth out the wrinkles in my storytelling.

  Chapter One

  “I think those steaks are close to done, Charles,” Gina suggested, nodding toward the gas grill with narrowed eyes.

  “Huh?” Charlie replied, raising his voice to be heard over the loud audio from what sounded like a televised movie coming from the town house next door. It was a middle-class neighborhood with small yards, and the source of the noise was less than thirty feet away, across the narrow easement alley.

  Nancy Medina, a tall blond APD police sergeant, and petite dark-haired Gina Sinclair’s life partner, grimaced and glanced toward the four-foot fake adobe wall running along the property line. “I’ve never heard them crank up the sound like that before. Sam and Margaret are usually good neighbors.”

  Blue-eyed Gordon Sweeney, barely taller than Gina but as physically fit as a linebacker in his blue-and-orange Denver Broncos T-shirt and jeans, pushed back his chair from the round redwood picnic table and craned his neck to look over the wall. “Maybe they’re having an argument.”

  Gina shrugged. “What about those steaks, Charlie?”

  Charlie nodded. “They’re done. Just the way we like them. Help me out here, Gordon.” Charlie turned and looked toward the sand-beige stucco-walled house next door. Though that building was larger, the layout appeared to be similar to Gina and Nancy’s place, and he could see into the kitchen through the window. “Damn, their entertainment system must be cranked up to ten.”

  Gordon grabbed a stoneware serving plate and held it out as Charlie stabbed each steak, then placed it atop the big dish. “Sounds like a Terminator movie,” he said, nodding toward the wall. “Lots of explosions and gunfire. Definitely not a chick flick.”

  “The two steaks on top are the raw ones, right?” Gordon asked as he swung the plate around toward the table. Nancy moved the potato salad bowl aside, creating some space.

  “Huh?” Charlie grinned, then nodded as Gina caught his attention. “Yeah, nice and juicy, made to order for the Hobbits.”

  “I consider us the connoisseurs, right, Gina?” Gordon said, taking his seat again beside Gina, a thirtyish attorney with short chocolate hair and delicate features. Today she was wearing a sleeveless top and linen slacks that accented her exotic looks.

  Charlie, tall for a Navajo and clad in jeans and a UNM Lobos T-shirt, loved to give his old army special ops buddy and current business partner a hard time about his height. He glanced over at Nancy who, despite her tough job, had the stature and shape of a fashion model, further enhanced by the pale blue slacks and yellow polo shirt that fit her perfectly.

  She scowled. “Careful with the trash talk, Charlie, or Gina will make you wash the dishes all by yourself.”

  Charlie sat down and, using the big fork, placed a steaming hot slab of prime beef onto each of their plates. “Then I’m shutting up and digging in.”

  Suddenly a woman screamed. The cry came from across the alley.

  Nancy turned to look at Gina, who shook her head. “That wasn’t the movie.”

  “Maybe we should go over there and check,” Gordon concluded.

  The slam of a door being thrown open, then running footsteps, caused them all to look toward the wall. The gate in the alley opened next.

  Blam!

  A bullet whined overhead. Charlie turned as the sound of broken glass indicated that one of the windows on the French doors behind him had been struck. He jumped up and raced to the wall as footsteps approached from across the alley.

  Two arms came up onto the wall, one of them streaming with blood, just as a woman’s head appeared. She was trying to climb over, terror in her eyes.

  “What the hell?” Charlie yelled, reaching for the woman’s upper arms.

  “Help me!” she screamed, bleeding from a cut on her forehead.

  Charlie lifted the injured woman up onto the wall, recognizing Margaret Randal, whom he’d met on a previous visit. Behind her, holding the open kitchen door of the Randal home, a young man wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt with a disheveled black knit cap in his hand was pointing a pistol in their direction. They were sitting ducks. “Shooter!” Charlie yelled.

  The man with the gun hesitated. Charlie quickly yanked the woman over the wall just as the gun was fired. A chunk of the cinder-block wall broke off from the bullet strike, stinging his face and neck with rock-hard fragments. He let himself fall back, using his body weight to pull the woman down, out of the line of fire. Charlie landed on the thin grass, Margaret sprawled atop him.

  He rolled over, holding on tightly to Mrs. Randal and covering her with his body. She looked up at him with frightened hazel eyes. “They’re taking Sam. Three men…”

  Gina dropped down on her knees beside Margaret. “I’ve got her, Charlie. Calling 911,” she added, punching out the numbers on her cell phone.

  He heard one of the French doors open as Nancy raced into the house, probably for her service weapon.

  Charlie jumped to his feet and grabbed his steak knife. “Gordon!” he yelled, looking around, but his pal had already climbed over the wall. Charlie placed the handle of the steak knife in his teeth like some crazed movie pirate and leaped up and over the barrier, the palms of his hands providing all the grip he needed. He was in combat again.

  He landed on the hard gravel in the alley with spring in his step. Ahead, beyond the open gate in the Randals’ fence, he saw his blond Irish pal enter the back door of the town home, crouched low, knife in his right hand.

  “Never take a knife to a gunfight,” Charlie muttered to himself as he raced to join Gordon. Without any hesitation at all his buddy was about to take on maybe three armed men with a five-inch steak knife. They’d been in similar situations, but with much bigger knives—and body armor. If ever they needed their hand-to-hand combat skills, this was the time. Their close-quarters training would help even the odds—maybe.

  Once inside the Randal house, Charlie realized that the interior wasn’t the same as in Gina and Nancy’s place. The layout was more traditional, and he was in the kitchen, separate from the living room and formal dining area. To his right was a hallway, leading into the interior, but it was perpendicular to his approach, and all he could see from this angle was the kitchen access.

  The din coming from the TV in the next room was so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, even the walls shook. A gun went off, the walls shook again, then there was a loud t
hud. Gordon came into view as he bounced off one side of the hall and staggered back. He leaped forward with a yell and disappeared back into the fray. Charlie ran to help.

  Halfway down the fifteen-foot-long hall, his buddy was trading blows and kicks with a man a head taller. From the blue hoodie Charlie suspected it was the same guy who’d fired the gunshots earlier, but now he had the ski mask part of his cap in place. There was a pistol on the carpet behind the attacker, so Gordon had disarmed him. It was hand to hand, with flying feet included.

  The shooter was better fighting with hands and feet than with a handgun, clearly, or Gordon would have taken him out by now. Or maybe Gordon had been hit. Charlie noted a steak knife on the carpet, out of reach.

  Charlie was blocked off. He couldn’t advance without getting in the way, and Gordon’s opponent was using the narrow space very effectively. Behind the shooter in the living room Charlie could see a second attacker in a black hoodie and ski mask, trying to haul Sam off the carpet onto his feet. Randal, average height and weight, in his late fifties but fit, was putting up a fight despite having his hands taped together at the wrists. He was kicking and yelling, refusing to stand and even trying to head-butt his attacker.

  “Help!” Sam’s assailant yelled as his victim suddenly relaxed, falling away to the floor and evading grasping arms.

  Immediately a third attacker in a long-sleeved gray sweatshirt and ski mask appeared from around the far corner of the hall, carrying a cloth grocery bag. He aimed a pistol toward Gordon.

  Charlie threw his steak knife at the man’s head, forcing the shooter to duck just as he fired. The bullet impacted the wall beside Gordon, who was already dodging away from his attackers. This gave the man engaging in the martial arts standoff with Gordon a chance to make a dive for the pistol on the carpet.

  “Get back!” Charlie yelled, yanking a framed photo off the wall and throwing it at the attackers.

  “Hit the floor, boys!” Gina yelled angrily from somewhere behind Charlie. As Charlie dove to the carpet he saw two pistols swinging around toward him.

  Gina fired a shot, barely missing the perp trying to grab Sam. The bullet hit the big-screen TV, and suddenly the shattered machine was quiet, except for some electronic snaps and crackling sparks. She ducked back around the kitchen corner as the intruders fired two shots in her direction.

  “Forget Randal, let’s go!” one of the men shouted, firing another shot toward the kitchen. Charlie grabbed Gordon and yanked him out of the hall and around the corner just as the bullet flew by.

  Charlie heard the door open in the living room and the sound of running footsteps. Jumping to his feet, he looked over at Gina, who was behind the kitchen island, pointing her SIG .380 toward the hall with shaking hands.

  “Take it,” she whispered, sliding the small pistol across the hard stone surface.

  Charlie picked up the weapon. “They’re outside!” Sam yelled from the living room.

  “Where’s Nancy?” Charlie asked, moving quickly, Gordon right behind him, steak knife back in hand.

  “She circled the block and is coming around the front—I think!” Gina yelled back. “She needs help!”

  Charlie reached the front door just as Sam scrambled to his feet. “Stay here,” Charlie ordered, heading outside.

  “Margaret?” Sam asked.

  “Safe,” Gordon answered as he ran past the man, just a few steps behind Charlie.

  Charlie raced down the narrow sidewalk toward the street, looking for movement in both directions. Hearing running footsteps, he turned and saw Nancy coming around the corner about a hundred feet to his right, carrying her service weapon.

  “There they are!” she yelled, pointing up the street.

  Looking left past Gordon, who’d come up beside him now, Charlie saw a faded gray Chevy van parked across the street three houses down.

  The masked driver stuck out his arm and fired two shots in their direction.

  Gordon dove to the grass. Charlie dropped to one knee, raised his pistol, but spotted a jogger coming down the street just beyond the van. “Get off the street!” he warned as the van pulled out, accelerating with squealing tires. The runner swerved for the sidewalk, diving onto the grass beyond just as the van raced past. Gordon, who’d jumped up and was giving chase, stopped and checked out the jogger, helping the young woman to her feet.

  Nancy lowered her weapon as the van reached the end of the block and skidded around the next corner, disappearing from sight. “Everyone here okay?” she yelled, jogging over to join him. “Gina? I heard gunshots coming from the house.”

  “We’re fine, even Sam, I think,” Charlie responded, thumbing Gina’s pistol on safety and slipping it inside his jeans pocket. “What about Margaret?”

  “I called 911. A bullet sliced a groove down her forearm. I left her conscious and pressing a towel against the wound,” Nancy answered. “Somebody needs to…”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Gordon offered, jogging back to join them. “I’ll go over the wall. It’s quicker than circling the block.” He turned and raced toward the Randals’ open front door, where Gina now stood, looking out into the street.

  “How’s Sam?” Nancy asked as she and Charlie came up the sidewalk. “And you?” she added, giving Gina a quick hug.

  “I’m still shaking,” Gina replied.

  They stepped into the living room, where Sam was down on his knees, unplugging the television cord from the wall socket despite the fact that his wrists were still taped together. He looked up. “It was still sparking, and the lights were flickering. I was afraid it might start a fire,” he mumbled, then struggled to his feet. “Where’s Margaret? Is she okay?”

  “Gordon is going to take care of her until the EMTs arrive,” Nancy explained, reaching over and touching his shoulder. “A bullet grazed her arm, and she’s got a cut on her forehead.”

  “Help me get this tape off. She needs me.” Sam’s voice rose an octave.

  “You have to stay here and tell the officers what happened,” Nancy said, blocking his way. “Gina?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go help Gordon with the first aid,” Gina offered. “But I’m going around the block instead of across the alley. That wall is a bitch to climb.”

  “I can toss you over, girl,” Charlie offered with a grin, handing her the SIG before taking out his pocket knife to cut away the tape on Sam’s hands. “You were a cheerleader in high school, remember, always at the top of the pyramid. Tumbling was one of your gigs.”

  “I’m retired now,” she replied, checking to verify the pistol safety was on. “See you in a while,” Gina added, then slipped by Sam and hurried out the front door.

  A few minutes later, the EMTs’ white and blue unit raced down the street past the Randal house, siren wailing, then turned the corner, circling around to Gina and Nancy’s house.

  “I’ve gotta be with Margaret,” Sam insisted, standing to look out the window.

  Nancy, who had a phone to her ear, shook her head and reached out, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder again. “Only if you need the EMTs to check you out. Did they rough you up?”

  He shook his head. “They just wrestled me to the carpet. I don’t need a medic.”

  “Then let them take care of her. You’ll have to wait until the officers have taken your statement anyway. Gordon and Gina have already stopped the bleeding, and Margaret is alert and talking to them. Here she is, talk to her yourself,” she added, handing him the phone. Sam sat down again.

  Nancy turned to Charlie. “You need to take Gina to the emergency room to be with Margaret so she’ll see a friendly face and be able to feel safe again. Here’s a squad car now, Sam.” She nodded toward the window as a police cruiser pulled up.

  “I’ll take the shortcut across the alley,” Charlie said, then turned to Sam. “Hang in there, okay?”

  “Yeah. And thanks for all you did. You and … Gordon,” Sam said, then turned away and spoke into the phone again. “I love you,” he said to h
is wife, “and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  Gina looked up as Charlie dropped down off the wall onto her lawn. Margaret had been moved over into the shade beneath the roof overhang and had her head on a pillow taken from the sofa inside. The wound on her right forearm had been covered with a large first-aid-kit trauma pad, and Gina was using a cotton ball and antiseptic to clean up a small gouge in Margaret’s forehead that was still bleeding.

  Margaret had her eyes closed but held a cell phone to her ear.

  “Got the bleeding on her arm under control,” Gina whispered. “Gordon is—”

  “Here with the medics,” Gordon said, stepping out the open French door. “Watch the broken glass, people.” He motioned toward Margaret with an outstretched hand, giving two EMTs in blue and white uniforms room to pass.

  “Me too. Talk to you soon,” Margaret said, then opened her eyes and handed the cell phone to Gina, who moved away so the medics could set down their cases of medical supplies and get to work.

  Gina and Charlie stepped over to the picnic table, and she sat down, brushing away a fly from her cold steak. “Sorry about lunch,” she said softly.

  “Nobody can ever say you don’t throw an exciting barbecue, cutie,” Charlie replied with a grin, then looked down at the pistol sitting beside Gina’s plate.

  “You haven’t called me cutie since high school, Charles,” Gina said, rolling her eyes.

  “Missed hearing it?”

  “You still think I’m cute?”

  “Naw. Now you’re beautiful.”

  “You guys talking about me again?” Gordon said, coming over to the table.

  They laughed; then Gina sighed and stood. “While the medics are getting Margaret ready to transport, can I get you guys to help me move the food back into the kitchen? No sense in creating a temptation for the neighborhood cats.”

  “Yeah, I say let them eat … mice?” Gordon said, grabbing two plates.

  “Suppose the potato salad is still any good?” Charlie asked, looking at the big covered bowl.