Stay (9 page)

David jumped. He hadn't even heard his wife come into the kitchen.

She pinned him with a hard look. “Stop it, okay?”

“Stop what?”

“You're stalking around like the grim reaper or something,” she said. “Brent keeps asking if you're angry at him.”

“What? No, of course not. Look I…” He exhaled. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Ease up, okay? Don't be so nervous.”

“Right. Easing up.”

“I'm serious.”

“I know.”

“Good. Now take out the garbage.”

David saluted. “Yes, ma'am.”

He took the trash bag around the side of the house. He waved at the cop across the street, leaning against his vehicle, smoking a cigarette. The cop waved back halfheartedly. The police that Roy had put on watch duty had gone through a lot of cigarettes and a lot of cups of coffee. Roy had mentioned he'd owed some of his boys some easy duty.

Doesn't get any easier than this
.

David dropped the trash into the can, snugged the lid back on. Amy was right. He was acting like an ass. Yes, he needed to be alert and ready, but he could do it without freaking out his family.

Amy might understand the danger, but he owed it to his kids to act like the father they expected and depended on. It was unfair to make them feel anxious when they didn't even know why.

The sound of car doors slamming rapidly.

He turned to look as the squad car across the street cranked its engine. A split-second later the second squad car did the same. Both vehicles pulled away fast, squealing tires as they vanished around the corner at high speed.

David watched them go.

Okay. That's bad
.

Maybe they'd been called away, some emergency around the corner. He stood with hands in pockets and waited for the sound of sirens.

A bird chirped.

Distantly, a little dog yapped.

A breeze rustled the leaves.

One of the cop's cigarette butts still smoldered in the street.

Okay, plan B. He'd go into the house and get Roy's number from Amy, give the guy a call. There was probably a simple explanation and—

A black sedan rounded the corner and glided almost silently down the street. It parked in the same spot the police car had just vacated. David turned his head, saw a black van coming just as slowly from the other direction.

He started walking back to the front door, forcing himself not to hurry.

He paused at the row of hedges under his house's front windows and picked out some vines and dead leaves. While he did that, he watched the sedan and the van in the window's reflection. Nobody got out of either vehicle.

David knelt and pulled a few weeds before standing and stretching and going back into the house. He closed the door behind him, turned immediately to look at the vehicles through the peephole.

So far, they were just sitting there.

David made his decision in a split second.

He met Amy in the living room. “I need you to pack a bag for you and the kids and meet me in the garage in three minutes.”

She frowned. “Is there something you'd like to explain—”

“Do it now, please.”

Amy searched his face for a brief moment before turning and running up the stairs. “Brent! Anna! Get your shoes on. Now!”

David dashed down the hall and yanked open the door across from the kitchen, flew down the narrow stairs to their small basement. He went to his knees and pulled a footlocker from between the washer and the far wall. He quickly worked the combination and swung the lid open. There was a small, olive drab duffel bag within. He unzipped it and checked the contents.

David hadn't expected to need the guns when he'd locked them away upon returning home. They were tools he didn't need. The military had sidelined him. The duffel bag was filled with all the grim debris of a life that was slowly fading into memory.

A Navy Seal had put him onto the Sig Sauer P226 a couple of years ago, and he'd requisitioned a pair. They'd served him well in the field. He checked to make sure the pistols, shoulder holsters, ammo, extra magazines, knives, leather blackjack, and mace were all there. So was the little .380 automatic with the ankle holster. A light Windbreaker he could slip on to conceal the weapons. He zipped the bag and headed back up the stairs.

He closed the basement door behind him and heard the door leading into the garage open and close, the shuffle of feet and Amy's voice shushing the children who didn't understand what was happening.

David moved to join them, then froze, head cocked, listening. A low rattle. The back door. The knob turning.

David backed around the corner and waited. Whoever it was would have to come through the kitchen and past him. He debated briefly dashing for the garage, but even as he turned that idea over in his mind the back door opened, hinges he'd purposely never oiled creaking loudly. That decided it. David would have to deal with the intruder to cover his escape.

He tried to remember if he'd locked the front door. If they came from both directions at once—

A hand came slowly from the kitchen into the hall, holding a snub nose revolver.

David latched on to the wrist and dug his thumb into a cluster of nerve endings. A hoarse grunt and the man's hand opened, dropping the revolver. David kicked it away as he pulled hard on the wrist, yanking him out of the kitchen and into David's fist.

David cracked him hard on the nose, flattening it, blood and snot shooting from both nostrils. The guy howled. He was beefy and dark, black hair in a widow's peak, three days stubble on his jaw. He wore a blue suit without a tie, red shirt.

The guy recovered quickly, wiping his nose and bull rushing at David, head down.

An animal growl accompanied the charge.

David sidestepped and caught the man around the throat in a headlock under his arm, but the momentum still slammed him back into the wall behind him, plaster cracking. The guy tried to stand up, but David hung on, keeping him hunched over. The intruder couldn't get an angle to punch but tried anyway, flailing weakly at David's back. David pushed off the wall and slammed the guy's tailbone back into the kitchen doorframe with a sharp crack. He yelled in pain and doubled his efforts to twist out of the headlock.

David heard the garage door open.

He clamped down tighter on the headlock and pulled the man, back into the kitchen.

“You … mother … fucker,” the guy grunted, voice a rough croak.

David smashed his face against the dishwasher to shut him up. He stuck his head around the corner and looked back down the hall at Brent approaching.

David forced his voice calm. “Don't come into the kitchen, okay, buddy? I spilled something.” The guy struggled, and David squeezed tighter.

“We're all in the car,” Brent said. “Mommy said to tell you to hurry up.”

“Okay. Go back to the car.”

“Well, come on,” Brent insisted. “You know Mom doesn't like waiting.”

“I know, buddy,” David told him. “We're going on a fun trip, okay? I just need to fix something first.”

Brent nodded, turned, and jogged back to the garage.

David let go of the guy suddenly and he staggered back. He hadn't been expecting to be turned loose, stumbled. David didn't give him time to orient himself and kicked him in the balls. Hard. The guy went purple and fell to his knees.

David shifted to stand behind him, took his chin in one hand, the side of his head with the other. A sharp twist and a
crack
and the man went stiff a split second before going limp and collapsing dead to the tile floor.

David scooped up the duffel from the hallway floor and ran for the garage.

 

CHAPTER TEN

David climbed into the Escalade, handed the duffel to Amy, and buckled in.

“Please open that and load the guns.”

Her eyes widened. “David, please tell me—”

“There are already rounds in the magazines. Just put the magazines in the pistols like I've shown you at the range.”

Her hands shook as she unzipped the duffel. She reached in and brought out one of the 9 mm Sig Sauers, fumbled it to the floor at her feet.

“Calmly.” David cranked the ignition. “Take a breath.”

She did, picked up the gun, and smacked in the magazine with a decisive click. She handed the pistol to David.

David felt the weight, the cool metal in his hand. He held it a second longer than he need to before putting it in his lap.

David turned to look at Brent and Anna in the backseat. Anna was buckled into her car seat. There was a stack of books between them for the ride. Amy had packed them, obviously not sure how long they'd be wherever they were going. Brent was just starting the first Harry Potter.

David smiled at his son and daughter. They were smart kids and would see through a fake smile, which would only make them nervous, the opposite effect he was going for, so he did his best to make it sincere. “We're going to take a really fast car ride, so don't be scared, okay. Daddy's a very good driver.”

“Cool!” Brent said.

“You can drive as fast as you want, Daddy,” Anna said, “because I've been on a roller coaster before.”

“Fair enough.”

He thumbed the button to roll down the driver's side window. David touched the gun in his lap, feeling the cold metal again, mentally orienting himself, reminding himself of the weight and heft, what it would feel like when he squeezed the trigger.

Amy reached for the garage door opener in the cup holder between the seats.

“Don't,” David said.

Amy jerked her hand back.

David shifted the SUV into gear.

And slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

Amy screamed.

The Escalade slammed through the garage door, sending pieces flying in every direction. Two men coming up the driveway went bug-eyed for a split second before leaping out of the way. They looked to be cut from the same cloth as the guy David had killed in the kitchen, lethal and experienced thugs, but primitive bruisers, not like the slick professional David had fought in Amy's office.

In his peripheral vision, David saw a third man on the lawn raising a gun. There was the sharp crack of pistol fire and something tinged off the Escalade's hood.

David stuck the Sig Sauer out the window and squeezed off three quick shots. He wasn't trying to hit anything. He was just trying to keep them down while he got away.

He was still accelerating when he hit the street, jerking the wheel for a sharp left turn, tires screaming on asphalt. Another gunshot from behind, and David braced himself for the jarring clamor of broken glass but it never came.

“Kids, please duck your heads down.
Now
.”

They obeyed him instantly, eyes wild and childish, little faces shocked to silence.

David stuck his arm out the window again and emptied the pistol. He didn't bother to see if he hit anything, tossed the pistol into Amy's lap. “Reload.”

She fumbled into the duffel for another magazine.

David slammed the SUV into reverse and stomped the gas. The Escalade flew back and smashed the front of the black sedan with a metallic crunch and the tinkle of broken head- and taillights.

Anna screamed.

David shifted into drive, pulled the SUV ahead forty feet, then shifted back to reverse and sped backward at full speed. When he struck the sedan this time he pushed it up over the curb and smashed it up against a tree. Steam shot out from under its hood.

“David!” Amy handed him the pistol.

He took it, turned just in time to see the man on the lawn leveling his weapon.

David held his breath, sighted, squeezed the trigger.

The shot caught the man high on the chest, and he spun away in a spray of blood. When he sprawled across the grass this time, he wouldn't be getting up.

The sound of car doors slamming jerked David's eyes to the rearview mirror. The van cranked its engine and pulled away from the curb, tires squealing.

David punched it, and the Escalade shot forward. The van flew up right on the SUV's bumper, engine roaring.

David ran the stop sign at the corner, turned hard right onto a cross street. The van followed.

The vibration of the Escalade's engine hummed from David's tailbone up through his spine as he pressed the accelerator flat.

Amy gripped the oh-shit handle over the window. “David!”

“Hang on!”

David took the next left. One of the Escalade's hubcaps popped off and rolled away.

“Daddy, you're going too fast!”

“It's okay, Anna. Just like the roller coaster, remember?”

“The roller coaster is on a track!” Anna yelled.

“Well, that's a good point, but—”

Another sedan veered in sharply from a cross street and side-slammed the Escalade on the passenger side. David felt the impact in his teeth. Amy screamed and flinched away as the window glass shattered and rained over her.

The two vehicles raced down the narrow residential street side by side, engines redlining.

Another glance in the rearview mirror showed the van coming up fast, its side door sliding open. A man leaned out with a small submachine gun, some sort of compact H&K maybe. David couldn't be sure from this distance.

David slammed one way into the adjacent sedan before yanking the wheel back the other way just as the man behind him opened fire. The little machine gun chugged and spat fire, digging up chunks of asphalt down the center of the road.

Picket fences cracked and splintered as David motored across lawns. David tried to look ahead and at all of the Escalade's mirrors at the same time. He wrestled the vehicle back toward the road, obliterating a mailbox along the way with a metallic
pop
. The SUV lurched and bounced back into the road, smacking into the sedan again with a loud crunch.

A car coming from a cross street slammed on the brakes just in time to let the battling vehicles pass by. It fishtailed around, slamming into the curb.