Tracie Tanner Thrillers Box Set

by Allan Leverone

  Then things went from bad to worse. A bullet ricocheted off something metallic with a loud, unmistakable ping. A second shot followed almost immediately, this one embedding itself into the wreckage behind them.

  It had missed by inches.

  They were in big trouble.

  6

  She shoved Kiley to the side and he went down behind the utility shed like a sack of potatoes. She expected him to scream or shout or at least let out a curse or two, but to her surprise—and relief—he remained completely silent.

  She dropped to a crouch and duckwalked behind the shed, stopping next to Kiley, then reached down to release her Beretta from its ankle holster. Her hands were as wet and bloody as before and it took two tries to yank open the leather strap and get a grip on the weapon. Then it was in her hand and she realized she had no idea what to do next.

  Probably the only reason she and Kiley weren’t dead already was that their attacker had not anticipated a nighttime gunfight, and so had failed to bring night vision equipment along on his deadly mission. In the darkness, Tracie and Kiley had been more or less invisible against the darkened background of the ruined house. Once they separated from the wreckage their outlines had become identifiable.

  But the longer they stayed here, the more likely their death became. The bomber had stuck around much longer than was prudent, probably because he had spotted Tracie approaching the house just before the detonation. It was clear he had no intention of leaving until he finished what he had started.

  “We need to get to my car,” Kiley whispered as another gunshot sounded. Tracie couldn’t tell where the bullet struck, and she wondered whether their attacker knew they had taken shelter behind the shed. If he hadn’t figured it out yet, he would soon.

  Even worse, Tracie had no idea where the shots were coming from, or even how many attackers were out there. She guessed there was only one, but wasn’t willing to bet their lives on it.

  “No good,” she said. “The first thing they would have done is disable both our vehicles, and that’s assuming either one was drivable in the first place after that explosion.”

  She lifted her weapon and pointed it straight up, squeezing off a shot, wanting to let their enemy know he wasn’t the only one with a weapon. “That should discourage him from being in any hurry to approach us, but it won’t hold him off for long. He knows roughly were we are, and we have no idea—yet—where he is. If we stay here we’re going to die. We’ll have to make a run for the forest and try to lose him in the undergrowth.”

  “Run? I haven’t run anywhere in thirty years, and that was when I had two usable feet.”

  She reached for Kiley’s hand. Found it and squeezed tightly. “Then we’ll make a hobble for the forest.”

  “My barn!” he said suddenly.

  “You have a barn?”

  “Yes, it’s a couple of hundred yards straight back behind the house.”

  Tracie leaned around the side of the shed and squeezed off another round, thinking hard. “Does it have a phone?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s a barn. No phone. Nothing like that.”

  “Then that’s no good, either. Even if we make it, we’ll be no better off there than we are here. Eventually it’ll occur to the guy to set fire to the thing and wait for us to come out. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

  “But it has something we can use. Something even better than a phone.”

  “What would be better than a phone?”

  “How does a car sound?”

  “You have a second car in your barn?”

  “Damn right.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Unless the guy disabled that one as well.”

  Tracie felt a glimmer of hope. “I don’t think so. Even if he knows you have a car in there, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to take it out. He’s under as much stress as we are, and remember, he was planning a quick in-and-out: blow up your house, watch the fireworks, drive away. He didn’t expect me to come along and muck up his plans. I’ll bet a second car is the farthest thing from his mind right now.”

  “Then let’s get going, if you think that’s our best chance.”

  She fired another shot, conscious of the fact that her spare magazine was inside her Toyota but not wanting to give their attacker the opportunity to simply waltz up and put a bullet in each of their heads.

  “Can you move?” she whispered.

  “I thought you’d never ask. Let’s get the hell out of here while we’re still breathing.”

  They struggled to their feet and Tracie said, “Stay as low as you can. I think our best bet is to circle around and approach the barn from the side, just in case I’m wrong about this guy not considering the possibility that we’ll go there. I’d hate to walk straight into his arms. We’re going to move as quietly as we can and hope he doesn’t see us, but if we run into trouble, I’ll hold him off, and you’re going to have to try to make it to the barn by yourself, do you understand?”

  Tracie climbed to her feet and then helped Kiley up. He stood next to her and placed his injured foot on the ground gingerly. Put a little weight on it and gasped in pain. “I understand, but I sure hope that doesn’t happen. It’s not much of a plan.”

  “Agreed, but it’s better than waiting here for our boy to drop another bomb on our heads.”

  “Good point.”

  “Now, let’s keep quiet and concentrate on staying alive.”

  ***

  They stuck to what was left of the house as long as they could, counting on the hulking wreckage to keep their bodies as camouflaged as possible. The wind-whipped rain felt like needles pelting Tracie’s face, and her clothes had long since become saturated and heavy with rainwater.

  But the upside of the weather conditions was that the howling wind and driving rain more than covered any noise they may have been making as they moved. Kiley was managing to put at least a little weight on his injured foot, and they made decent progress, although they were still moving much too slowly for her liking.

  The clearing in which Kiley’s home had been built wasn’t much bigger than the structure itself, so they were forced to cross only fifteen or twenty feet of open space before disappearing into the cover of the forest. They pushed through the underbrush until about eight feet of it separated them from their attacker. Then they turned south. Their progress slowed ever further as they were forced to contend with trees, brush, and the uneven forest floor.

  But they were still alive. And unless their attacker had seen them slip into the heavily forested area, their chances of getting shot—for now, at least—had just lowered considerably.

  So far, so good. Ten minutes ago, Tracie wouldn’t have put much better than even odds on them making it this far.

  The rain continued to fall, and Tracie felt herself begin to shiver. The night was warm, tropical almost, yet it was nearly impossible to retain body heat while trudging through a downpour with thoroughly sodden clothing, even though the process of working through the tangled mess of the forest was physically taxing.

  Tracie thought about Edison Kiley’s age, and the fact he was already injured, and hoped the exertion wouldn’t be too much for him. How much could one eighty-year-old man take?

  She reached back for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Decided to risk a few words of encouragement. It would be the first time either one of them had spoken since breaking cover. She wasn’t too concerned about speaking; the shooter would have had to be right next to them to hear anything over the roar of the storm.

  “How are you doing? Would you like to rest for a couple of minutes?”

  “Nah,” came the reply. The old man was breathing heavily and limping badly but he was keeping up with her, and they continued to make steady progress southward.

  Tracie thought the shooting had stopped, although she couldn’t be sure with the wind whipping and the trees rustling and moaning. Had their attacker managed to check out the area behind the shed yet? Had their disappearance been discove
red?

  If it hadn’t been, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before it was. She knew it was imperative they put some distance between themselves and the shooter, and the longer it took to do so, the less likely they were to survive. The sense of safety and security from their current position was deceptive, because it wouldn’t matter unless they got to shelter soon.

  And the shooter would know that.

  And there was only one place where they could go.

  “How much farther?” Tracie whispered.

  For a moment, Kiley didn’t answer and she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her. Then he cleared his throat and she realized he was considering the question.

  “We should be about there. Maybe we could begin moving toward the clearing again?”

  It wasn’t something Tracie wanted to do, but putting it off wasn’t going to help them. So she reached for his hand again and they started off, angling their course slightly.

  Moments later, they had reached the edge of the undergrowth and Tracie peered through. A massive dark blob, outlined against the slightly lighter background of the forest on the other side of the clearing, told her Kiley’s estimate had been right on. The barn was directly in front of them.

  Tracie leaned over and placed her lips against the old man’s ear. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said as softly as she could manage while still making sure he could hear her over the shrieking of the storm. “I’m going to go first. If the shooter’s ready for us and he sees me, I’ll draw his fire. If that happens, you melt back into the forest and start hiking for civilization. But if I can make it to the side of the barn without drawing anyone’s attention, you walk across the clearing and I’ll cover you. If any shooting starts, I should be able to locate the shooter pretty easily and I’ll take him out. Stay as low as you can, and once you start moving, don’t stop for anything. Do you understand?”

  She felt him nod his head. Left unsaid was her certainty that an injured eighty-year-old wasn’t going to get far if he had to try hiking through the forest in a storm like this, especially while being chased by a man with a gun. A scientist didn’t get to be head of R&D for a company like National Circuit without having plenty of smarts, and Tracie knew Kiley was as well aware of that fact as she was.

  He didn’t say a word, though. He nodded again and this time, he reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. He bent to her ear and said, “I’ve got it. Good luck. I’d say your name but it occurs to me I have no idea who you are.”

  “We’ll do formal introductions later. For now, I’ve got places to go.” Then she slipped through the thin screen of forestation, wind-driven rain pelting her face. She bent as low as she could manage and took off running, sprinting in a direct line toward the side of the barn.

  She ran with her Beretta at the ready, holding it in a two-handed grip, sweeping the weapon from side to side, leading it with her eyes. She’d had plenty of experience in cat-and-mouse hunts, but normally she was the one playing the role of the cat. Being the mouse was an unexpected—and unpleasant—feeling.

  Between the rain and the near-total darkness, seeing anything clearly was impossible, and making out more than the vague outlines of shapes was almost as difficult. Windblown trees became strangers turning to point weapons at her, and twice she almost squeezed off a shot before realizing nobody was there.

  In ten seconds she had reached the barn, with its massive, high walls, and some of the severity of the storm instantly disappeared. She realized it was unlikely Kiley would be able to see her well enough to know exactly when she had made it, so she turned in his direction and peered into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything and realized he may have already broken cover.

  She dropped into a shooter’s crouch, leaning against the wall for support. Tried to slow her breathing in case she had to squeeze off a shot.

  She concentrated hard but still could see nothing. Wondered how long it would take Kiley to traverse the open area. Wondered whether he could even make it.

  Given the conditions, it seemed unlikely the shooter would see either of them unless he happened to run into them. Maybe she should retrace her steps and try to find and help the old man.

  She took a step away from the barn.

  Took another.

  Cursed to herself and stared into the blackness, willing herself to see. Failing.

  She took a third step and then, out of the corner of her eye, saw a muzzle flash at the same time she heard the sharp report of a gunshot. Its crack split the night and then was carried away on the howling wind.

  And then Kiley was there. He was limping badly, moving slowly, but still on his feet. He stumbled into her and they nearly fell in a heap. Tracie backpedaled, her feet slipping on the wet field grass, trying desperately not to fall. She planted her feet and regained her balance and grabbed Kiley by the elbow, pulling him as quickly as possible against the shelter of the barn.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Aside from my foot feeling like it’s been caught in a meat grinder and my body feeling like I’ve just run the Boston Marathon, sure. Never better.”

  Tracie realized he hadn’t seen the flash and had no idea he’d just been shot at. “The guy knows we’re here. We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before he finds us. We have to go, now.”

  “What are you talking about? He knows we’re here? How?”

  She grabbed him by the elbow and got in his face. “Focus, Edison, or we’re going to die. We need to get inside this building. Where’s the door?”

  “Well, the big main door is behind us, facing the house, but there’s a normal-sized access door in the rear of the barn as well.”

  “We’re not going toward the house, that’s where the shot came from, so take us to the back door.”

  Kiley hesitated just a moment and then headed off, keeping his body pressed as closely as possible to the barn.

  Quick learner, Tracie thought, and then followed behind, moving sideways, covering the area behind them with her weapon. Kiley was really struggling, and she began to get a sick feeling that their attacker would be on them before they could get inside.

  They reached the corner without incident, and Kiley fumbled around in his pocket. He pulled out a small set of keys and selected one. Tried to slide it into a lock built into the doorknob, but the combination of darkness, rain and his badly shaking hands stymied him.

  He stabbed at the lock once, twice, and finally slid the key home on the third attempt. He twisted the knob and the door opened noiselessly inward. They stepped inside and Tracie closed the door behind them as quietly as she could. There was no way their attacker would hear it unless she slammed it as hard as she could, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  By now she was shivering badly and knew Kiley must be as well, but there was no time to savor the sudden relief from the wind and the downpour. “Where’s the car?” she said.

  “Up near the front door.”

  “Take us there.”

  Kiley grabbed her hand and led her forward. She wanted to ask about electricity—it would be much faster going if they could turn on a set of lights—but asking the question would be pointless because blazing electric lights would almost certainly get them killed.

  Despite his injury and the total lack of illumination, Kiley moved with the easy familiarity of a man who had been working inside his barn for years, probably decades. He wound them around unseen obstacles, only once stumbling into something, and in less than a minute he stopped limping forward and said, “Here we are. Now what?”

  “Now we ride the hell out of here. Hopefully we can catch this guy by surprise and be long gone before he can recover.”

  7

  “There’s a problem,” Kiley said. “It didn’t occur to me until now, but I only have one key for this car and it’s inside the house, probably buried under a ton of rubble.”

  “Dammit. We’ll have to smash out a window and climb through.”

  “No, that’s not what
I mean. The car’s unlocked. We can get in, but we have no way to start the engine.”

  “I’ll get the engine running, don’t worry about that.”

  She reached a hand out and her knuckles rapped against heavy sheet metal with a clunk. Felt around for a handle and found nothing. “Where’s the door?” she whispered.

  “The interior light is going to go on the minute we open the door. Aren’t you concerned about tipping the shooter off to our location?”

  “Of course I’m concerned about it. But there’s no other way. I have to see to be able to hot-wire the ignition and besides, your attacker would have to be an idiot not to have figured out where we are after seeing you approach the barn from the woods. And we know he saw you, because he shot at you. We need speed now, not stealth.”

  Glass shattered from somewhere behind them in the dark, putting an exclamation point on her statement. “Here he comes,” Tracie said. “Open that door now if you want to live.”

  A second later a light flashed on and Kiley climbed into a meticulously maintained Chevrolet Impala, vintage early-to-mid 1960s. The finish gleamed in the weak light and the interior was spotless, with red and white leather seats, a leather-wrapped steering wheel and not a speck of dust on the dashboard or a grain of sand on the carpeted floor.

  Tracie slipped into the driver’s side, shoving Kiley across the bench seat in front of her. She folded her small body into the foot well and began frantically examining the tangle of wires under the dash.

  The sounds of the storm were much louder now that a window had been broken out, but from over the shrieks and moans of wind-whipped rain came the unmistakable pop of a gunshot and the almost-instantaneous ping of a slug ricocheting off the Impala’s body.

  Tracie ducked instinctively, despite being under the dashboard. She hissed at Kiley, “Get horizontal! Lie down in the seat behind the protection of the metal!”