Deadly Aim (2 page)

Eric glanced at his watch, then lifted his blue gaze to Angel’s and winked. “Throw in one of those cinnamon rolls with the cream cheese frosting, and you got a deal.”

“You’re on.” Angel flashed him a grin and unfastened her seat belt. Before she could open the door, the radio crackled and a dispatch operator broke through.

“Two-eleven in progress, Bergman’s Pharmacy, Fifth and Washington.”

A robbery. In unison, they groaned and whipped back into their seats and fastened their belts. Angel flipped on the siren
as Eric responded to the call. He peeled out of their parking place and headed north.

Traffic was light in Sunset Cove on that Sunday morning. Most of the town’s eleven thousand citizens were either in church, at home reading their morning papers, or making their way to the beach. At the moment, Angel would’ve given anything to be jogging along the shoreline rather than racing to a robbery.

A familiar uneasiness seeped into her veins, and her heart raced with anticipation as it often did when she and Eric responded to a call. What would they find this time?

She’d moved back to the Oregon coast a little over a year ago to escape the crime-ridden streets of Bay City, Florida, a suburb south of Fort Myers. She’d grown up in Sunset Cove, but like a lot of kids, she couldn’t wait to leave home. Her first move took her to Portland State, where she earned a degree in criminal justice. She then moved to Florida, and after three years and a lot of heartache she’d come back. But even in the short time she’d been gone, her hometown had changed dramatically; it wasn’t at all the sleepy beach town she’d left. The crime rate—especially drug-related crimes—had tripled from what it had been.

“You okay?” Eric asked.

She tossed him a questioning look. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged. “You look a little nervous.”

Angel shook her head. “I’m fine.” She looked out the passenger side window and swallowed back the lump in her throat.
Four years on the street. You should be used to it by now
. No matter how many times she told herself that, the anxiety she felt en route to a crime scene never seemed to fade. Angel had heard other officers talk about the fight or flight response. An odd mix of excitement and fear pumped the body full of adrenaline. Then the body went into autopilot mode, taking whatever steps were needed to ensure its safety and the safety of others. It was a normal reaction, even for police officers. Still, she didn’t like to show it, or accept it—not around fellow officers, especially her father.

Angel tried to focus on the storefronts that stretched along the five-block area nostalgically referred to as “Old Town.” Most of the downtown area had been built in the early 1900s. The place had
become run-down, but in recent years remodeling and updating had helped restore it to its former glory, as had the city’s beautification projects. Gardens, window boxes, and hanging planters invited tourists and shoppers to browse, and the crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths were just coming into bloom.

The town was quiet now; the shops didn’t open until 10:00. Maybe the call had been a mistake—or a prank. Eric pulled up in front of Bergman’s Pharmacy and slammed on the brakes. The store was situated at the end of the street—an old brick building that separated the newly refurbished and the ready-to-be-demolished.

Angel cut the siren, then released her seat belt and opened the door. The rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons shattered the fragile spring morning. The store window exploded, spraying shards of glass onto the sidewalk and street.

“Get down!” Eric yelled.

The world shifted into slow motion. Everything except her heart, which rammed into overdrive. She raised her arm and ducked back into the car to escape the storm of crystal shards. A bullet thunked into a hanging basket overhead. The basket creaked as it swayed, straining the three chains that suspended it. Terror pinned Angel against the seat, jerking her back to the shooting at the Bay City day care. For what seemed an eternity, she couldn’t move. She forced herself to breathe and tried talking herself out of the panic.

Don’t think about it. You’re okay. They didn’t hit you. You can do this
.

Eric bolted out of the car. Using his open door as a shield, he called for backup. Angel knew that before long the street would be swarming with flashing lights. But in the meantime, they were faced with an active shooting situation. They would have to go in—and soon.

Angel crawled across the seat over the console and slid out the driver’s side. She hunkered down beside Eric. “Great way to spend a Sunday morning.” She hoped her voice didn’t reveal the panic still pumping through her veins.

“Humph.” Eric leveled a steady gaze on her, then reached out to touch her forehead.

She flinched. “What are you doing?”

“You’re bleeding. Looks like you caught a piece of glass.”

“Must not be too bad. It doesn’t hurt.” At least it hadn’t until he’d mentioned it.

Eric retrieved a tissue from the box behind the driver’s seat and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She dabbed at the wound and stuck the tissue in her pocket, not bothering to look at it.

Sirens broke the stillness, and while Eric tried to call the store owner, two squad cars pulled up, blocking the street. One was a county sheriff’s vehicle, the other police.

“What have we got?” Nick Caldwell, a fellow officer and friend, exited his car and positioned himself beside Angel. Nick was tall, probably six foot four, thin but muscular. He was six years her senior and had been her oldest brother’s best friend. When they were kids Nick had practically lived at the Delaney house.

Bo Williams, the deputy sheriff and ex-linebacker with the University of Oregon Ducks, joined them. Bo still looked the part of a football player—six feet tall, heavyset, with wide shoulders and a mean expression.

“A war zone,” Angel answered. “Automatic weapons. We’ll need to get in there. Someone inside made the 911 call. There may be victims.”

“Can’t establish contact with the store,” Eric clipped his cell phone to his belt. “No one is answering.”

Mike Rawlings, another officer with the Sunset Cove police department, tore up on his bike and jumped off, taking cover with the others. Angel filled him in.

“Let’s move. Eric, you and I can go in the front. Mike and Bo, cover the alley. Nick, direct things out here—set up the perimeters and contact the Oregon State Police for air support. We could use more officers. We may need them.”

“You giving the orders now?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

“I’ll let you know.” Nick’s face cracked in a patronizing smile.

“Hey, I got a problem with it, Delaney.” Mike frowned. “Why don’t you stay out here? I’ll go in with Eric.”

Angel bristled. The comment carried a silent message.
Let the men handle it
.

“Ease off, Mike,” Nick said.

Mike looked like he was about to argue the point, but he didn’t. He and Bo separated and took off down the street to cover the alley. Staying low, Eric sprinted across the sidewalk. Glass crunched under his feet.

Angel followed a few steps behind. Her heart hammered as the panic set in again. Weapons drawn, she and Eric flung open the front door and stepped inside.

Silence. An uneasy silence that affected her more intensely than the gunfire and the shattered window.

Eric moved forward.

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.