Moving Target (39 page)

Breaking glass, Bert’s terrified scream, and the reek of gasoline all exploded out of the kitchen at once. Erik started for Bert at a run, only to be hauled up hard by Niall and thrown toward Serena.

“Get her out of here!” Niall snarled. “Don’t go out the front, he’ll be waiting!”

Before the words left his mouth, another burst of burning gasoline hit the floor and exploded into fire, but this bomb came through the side window and into the living room, setting fire to everything between them and the front door. More missiles rained down and exploded, vomiting flames everywhere. The fuel wasn’t gasoline. Not exactly. It was napalm, sticking to everything it touched, and burning, burning, burning.

The kitchen was a sheet of fire. Bert’s screams rose above even the violence of flame.

“Hallway!” Erik yelled.

Serena was already running toward the soothing darkness and into the mess that was Bert’s bedroom. She spotted the French doors and raced to them. They were locked. After giving the handle a yank, she reached for a chair to smash the glass. Erik beat her to it, grabbed the heavy wooden chair, and swung it hard. Glass and wood burst outward.

Bert’s screams ended beneath the explosive violence of another firebomb.

Gun drawn, Niall leaped through the smashed doorway and swept the backyard. There was nothing but shadows that changed as flames leaped and another bomb exploded.

“Alley!” Niall growled to Serena.

“But, Erik—”

Niall jerked Serena through the opening and shoved her toward the alley before he turned back to look for his friend.

Erik was already running back into the bedroom, his face a mask of soot and rage. Niall didn’t need to ask about Bert. The stench of more than jellied gasoline was rising into the night.

“Out,” Niall said tersely.

The two men caught up with Serena as she scrambled over the sagging fence and dropped into the alley. The instant Erik landed in the narrow lane, Niall grabbed Erik’s jacket and yanked it off his body. His shirt came next. Then his cap. The clothing fell to the ground and smoldered sullenly.

“Any on your pants?” Niall demanded in a low voice.

“Not that I know of,” Erik said, rubbing his shoulder where his shirt had almost burned through.

“You’d know. Napalm is bad cess. Any ID in your shirt or jacket?” As he spoke, Niall stripped off his own jacket and gave it to Erik.

“No. Serena, are you—”

“She’s fine. She had the sense to put that barbwire scarf over her hair.” Niall kicked the burning clothes aside. “You first. Serena in the middle. Move.”

Erik headed down the alley toward his car, shoving his arms through the jacket sleeves as he went. As soon as his left hand was free he pulled his gun from the holster at the small of his back and flipped off the safety. He moved through the alley quickly but not carelessly. He watched every shadow.

There were no lights in the alley. None were needed. The raging orange flames provided more than enough illumination. Some of the neighbors in back and on either side of the burning house had abandoned TVs or parties and raced for garden hoses. They were already sending streams of cold, chlorinated water over cedar shake roofs and crispy lawns and wooden slat fences.

Some of the party folks weren’t that smart. They trotted closer to the fire, gawking and hooting as though it was just part of the evening’s entertainment.

Niall and Erik searched the faces of the milling people. There was no one who looked furtive or familiar. No one just standing apart with a grin of sexual ecstasy on his face.

A soft, terrifying whump came from the burning house. Fire blossomed and spat flaming seeds in all directions. A woman screamed as eucalyptus trees burst into flames.

“Get out!” Niall shouted at the people standing back down the alley, much too close to the fire. They were staring, shocked, at the inferno their neighbor’s house had become. “Run!” he yelled.

Some people listened. Others stayed, only to run when there was a second explosion. For a few of them, it was too late. Flaming debris rained down on them, sticking to their clothes and flesh. They stumbled away into the darkness, screaming.

Erik hoped someone would help them. He couldn’t, not without putting Serena at risk. That he wouldn’t do.

Shouts came from all up and down the street, but no one really noticed the three people in the alley. Holding his gun down along his left leg so he wouldn’t panic the partygoers, Erik cut between two houses to the street. His vehicle was only thirty feet away. Right-handed, he pulled the key from his jeans and released the locks.

“Get in and shut the door fast,” he said to Serena without looking at her. He was looking everywhere else, searching for the pale glint of a gun or the flashing arc of a bottle of burning napalm dropping down out of the night.

As soon as she was inside the car, Niall emerged from the shadows between the houses. He held his gun down along his right leg and mingled with the curious people who were running out of every house on the block and staring toward the faint glow two blocks down. If anyone noticed his shoulder harness against his dark shirt, or the dark gun against his black pants, no one reacted.

Erik stood near the driver’s door, watching shadows and people. He wasn’t worried about being conspicuous; the houses up and down the block were gushing people. Most of them carried drinks or exotic cigarettes in their hands. Some of them noshed on canapés and chips while they peered down the street.

“In,” Niall said tersely when he reached Erik’s car.

Erik flipped on the safety, holstered his gun, and slid behind the wheel.

Niall took a last look around before he got quickly into the backseat. He didn’t holster his gun. “Go. No lights. Open the windows. Serena, get down on the floor.”

“But—“ she began.

“Do it,” Niall snarled. “I need a clear field of fire.”

She slid off the seat and crammed as much of herself into the footwell as she could while Erik started the car and opened all the windows so Niall could shoot out if he had to.

“Are you going to call it in?” Erik asked Niall.

“I already did, so don’t dawdle, boyo. The fire department around here is close by. Not that it will do Bert any good. He’s toast.”

Moving slowly despite the adrenaline storm lighting up his blood, Erik drove away from the burning bungalow, pulled out onto the narrow road, and headed out as though he had nothing more urgent on his mind than finding the next party. Only a few of the people seemed to understand what all the excitement was about down at the end of the next block.

Erik wanted to get out before everyone caught on.

“Lights coming on,” he said.

“Can I sit up now?” Serena asked.

Niall grunted.

She took that as an assent and clambered back into the seat.

Erik flipped on the headlights.

A few blocks later, the sound of a siren punched through the night, coming closer with every second. At least two other sirens lifted and cried from other directions, closing in fast.

Erik looked ahead, swore, glanced right and left, and said tightly, “Hang on.”

He spun the wheel hard to the left, diving headfirst between two parked cars. The front wheels bumped up over the curb and dug in eagerly, eating lawn until the rear wheels were out of the narrow traffic lane. He killed the lights and waited.

Siren screaming, a paramedic truck rocketed down the only open space, which was the center of the street between parked cars. Before Erik could back out, more lights and sirens warned of approaching emergency vehicles. He gauged the distance, added up the time it would take him to back out and straighten up, and decided that he would stay out of the way of whatever was turning onto the narrow residential road.

A few seconds later, a brush truck bristling with fire axes and brush cutters lumbered by, lights spinning in blinding array. On its heels was a ladder truck that came within inches of trashing parked cars on both sides of the road.

Erik’s eyes met Niall’s in the rearview mirror. Neither man said anything, but both of them kept looking around for anyone who might be racing away from rather than toward the source of all the excitement. Other than doors opening up and down the street to see what the fuss was all about, there weren’t any people outside. Any vehicle that might have been trying to get out this way would have been stopped by the oncoming fire trucks.

Back toward Bert’s bungalow, flames climbed up eucalyptus trees in a graceful, devouring fountain. From where Serena sat, she couldn’t tell how many other houses were involved.

“Hope those boys are good at their work,” Erik said, his voice rough with adrenaline. “It’s been a dry winter.” But he was looking at the vehicle’s navigation computer rather than the fire. Grids flashed as he tried alternate routes out.

“Yeah,” Niall said. “That rain we got wasn’t enough to wet down the underbrush and wood shingles. Get going, boyo. They’ll be putting up roadblocks.”

“No shit.”

A final glance at the computer confirmed that there were a lot of tiny lanes and the occasional barely passable alley ahead. None of them led where Erik wanted to go unless he got through one of two possible intersections before the cops closed them down.

He backed out and drove like he had a light bar and sirens until he got to the first intersection.

Too late.

A sheriff’s patrol car was already laying out flares. Erik could wait like a good citizen for permission to cross, or he could try another route.

He turned and went back two blocks and over one until he reached a narrow lane that was more a fire access road joining two old subdivisions than it was a road for civilian vehicles. Just to discourage the public, railroad ties had been thrown over both ends of the lane.

Erik pulled the gear lever into low range and bounced over the railroad ties. When he was back on the street, he switched back to all-wheel drive and raced for the second intersection. He got there just as a patrol car did.

The SUV slid through the intersection before the cop got out of his car.

“One down. One more to go,” Erik said, glancing at the nav computer.

Other sirens called in the night, but they weren’t close enough yet for him to worry about.

A block away, a police car’s flashing lights approached the next intersection from the opposite side. Without hesitating, Erik floored the gas pedal. The big engine gave a happy roar. The Mercedes shot forward like a rocket off a launch pad. They were through the intersection and into a driveway, lights out, before the patrol car reached them. The lady cop gave Erik a hard look as she drove by, but there were more urgent things for her to do than yell at a macho driver.

The cop raced a half block to the intersection, squealed to a stop, jumped out, and began laying down flares to divert traffic from the fire.

Erik backed out and gunned away from the blockade, back to the anonymity of L.A.’s urban jungle.

Niall laughed. “Like I keep saying, you’re wasted as a Fuzzy.”

All Erik said was “If she got my license plate, you’re paying the ticket.”

D
ana glanced up from her desk as Erik, Niall, and Serena came into her office. Her nose twitched and she grimaced. “Smells like someone had a gasoline spritzer.”

“Napalm, actually,” Niall said. “Not commercial grade—soap flakes, gasoline, and a flare for a fuse—but it got the job done just fine.”

Dana shot to her feet. Her dark eyes went over Niall, searching for injuries.

“Check your Fuzzy,” he said, hooking a thumb in Erik’s direction. “He didn’t get in out of the petrol rain fast enough.”

“I thought that looked like Niall’s jacket,” she said, glancing at Erik. “Anything permanent besides clothing?”

“No. Just singed here and there.”

She gave him a probing look, accepted his assessment, and turned back to her partner. “Shall I expect official inquiries?”

“Don’t think so. Erik got us out before the official types got in place. They’ll be too busy scratching their balls over the homemade bombs to worry about us.”

“Excellent. I’d hate to call in any more favors.” She looked at Erik. “Dead end?”

“Very dead,” he said flatly. “Bert died before he could tell us where he first purchased one of the written-over pages of the Book of the Learned.”

Dana’s eyes narrowed. She sat down again. Her hands began playing an imaginary flute. After twenty seconds her fingers abruptly stilled. “Let’s reassess what we have, what we don’t have, and where we might get it. Quickly.”

“Before it starts raining gasoline?” Erik asked sardonically.

“Precisely.” She picked up a telephone and punched in a number. “Michael, how are you? You know the guests in room nine?” She waited. Then her eyebrows rose. “Yes, the ones with the starving feline. Has anyone requested a room close to theirs?” Her eyes narrowed. “Who? Are they in yet? Good. When she arrives, put her at the opposite end of the building and start painting all the rooms around nine. No, I don’t care what color. Just make it look good.”

Dana hung up before she started swearing in German.

Niall winced. “What is it?”

“Cleary Warrick Montclair is moving into the Retreat for an indefinite stay. Son and lover—excuse me, security adviser—are with her.”

“How did they know we would be at the Retreat?” Erik asked her.

“The connection between the Retreat and Rarities Unlimited isn’t a secret.” Dana sighed and swore. “Bloody hell. I guess I should have returned more of Cleary’s calls. That female would try the patience of a stone. She should see someone about her attachment to her father. It’s more suitable to a girl of five than a woman over fifty.”

“Haven’t you told her I won’t sell my pages?” Serena asked.

“Many times.”

“Then why is she coming here?”

“She doesn’t believe me. She wants to talk to you herself. I told her it was out of the question. She didn’t believe that, either.”

Serena’s chin came up and her eyes narrowed. “She will. I never want to deal with her or her father again.”