Chapter Twenty-Two

Ilya burst into tears. He raised his hands to his face and pressed stubby fingers into his eyes, as if he could somehow stop the sound of the crazy guy outside by blinding himself.

Sam moved to the back window and, standing to the side, checked the parking lot as he loaded the shotgun.

“I’ve got two SUVs in front, shooters on both leaning against the hoods,” Doc said. “What do you see?”

“Nothing.” Sam bent a bit to the side, scanning the parking lot. “Only thing’s out there is my pickup.”

“Il-ya!” came that voice again.

“It is Beridze,” Ilya whimpered. He was shuddering all over now, as if in full-fledged shock.

“Shall we show your friends I am in earnest?” Suddenly a barrage of gunfire clattered out front.

Sam flinched, but kept his eyes on the back.

Doc swore. “He’s shot out the front window of Tracy’s Antique Shop.”

“She’ll hate that,” Becky muttered. “Just had that window put in last summer.”

“No one’s in town,” Doc said. “They’ve all gone home to sit out the storm.”

Sam glanced at him. “What’re you thinking?”

“We’ve got guns, we’ve got ammo. If they storm the door, we’ll take them down,” Doc said.

Becky silently got up and took down a shotgun and began loading it.

“How many do you see?” Sam asked. His gut was tightening, remembering another place.

“Five, no six.”

Sam was already shaking his head. “We’re outgunned. They’ll wait until we’ve used up our ammunition then come in.”

Doc’s jaw worked. “What’re you saying?”

“We need to leave.”

Doc had been in Vietnam, knew how to talk down drunks with guns and face meth heads high on stupidity. He’d been doing it for over thirty years. “I don’t like it. This’s my goddamned station and my goddamned town.”

“Of course it’s your town,” Sam said. “It’s mine, too. But staying here’s not going to help the town. It’ll only get us killed.”

“You don’t know that,” Doc grunted.

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, holding Doc’s stubborn stare. “I do.”

Doc scowled for a second, then looked away. “What do you have in mind?”

“Switch with me a second.”

Doc came to the back window as Sam went to look out the front. Two SUVs had been skewed across the street, shooters leaning over the hoods, while a single man stood in the center of the street. He glanced up as if he’d felt Sam’s eyes on him.

Jabba Beridze was kind of ordinary looking for a notorious mobster. Slightly shorter than average height, he wore a black ski jacket with no hat, and even though the wind blew viciously against the side of his face he didn’t seem affected. In fact, though there was a delicate pink tint to his cheeks, and what looked like a bruise at his temple, overall he was as pale as death. As if no blood flowed in his veins.

“Still no one back there?” Sam asked Doc, keeping his eye on the Russian mobster.

“No.”

“Okay.” Sam took out the keys to his pickup. “You’ll take Ilya and Becky out the back, get in my truck, drive to my house. May and George are there.” He tossed the keys to Doc.

Doc caught them one-handed. “Now wait just a moment. What’re you going to be doing while we’re running?”

“Making sure you get out alive,” Sam said.

Sam turned from the window, staring first at Ilya then at Becky. Ilya was still curled in the chair. Becky was looking determined despite her pale face. They would die if Sam didn’t get them and Doc out of here.

“Becky, put your coat on.” Sam went to Doc’s desk and pulled open the second drawer down on the right side. “Do you have a lighter?”

“Sam, what—?”

“I need a lighter,” Sam said, taking out Tick’s confiscated firecrackers.

Becky stared at him a beat, then she pulled open a drawer on her own desk and handed him the lighter she kept there for the scented candles she sometimes brought in.

Sam took it from her. “Okay. Doc, you’re going out the back. You first, then Ilya, then Becky. Don’t stop for anything until you’re in the truck. Got it?”

Becky nodded grimly.

“Yeah, I got it, Sam,” Doc growled. “What, exactly, are you doing in the meantime?”

“Going out the front.”

“Sam, God damn it—”

“We don’t have time, Doc.”

Ilya began moaning.

“Come on.” Becky got a hand under Ilya’s arm to help him up.

Tick’s confiscated firecrackers were in three big rolls. Sam quickly laid them out, two under the windows overlooking Main, and one under the back windows. He lit all three fuses, picked up the shotgun, and ran to the stairs.

He heard the first bang halfway down.

Doc was right behind him. Sam didn’t have time to double-check, but he knew the older man would follow his orders.

The firecrackers were exploding all at once now, a series of loud, constant pops. Mingled in with the pops were gunshots and the crash of shattering glass.

Sam ran across the lobby and pumped the shotgun. He cracked the front door, shotgun at his shoulder and fired without bothering to aim.

Behind him, he could hear the back door slamming open.

Beridze was nowhere to be seen. He must’ve already taken cover. Sam pumped the shotgun and took out one of the men behind the SUV to his right.

He pumped the shotgun and swung toward the second man.

Behind him, there was the sound of gunfire and Becky screamed.

No.

Sam fired and wheeled to the back, pumping as he ran.

A shotgun blast.

He’d miscalculated. Again. God damn it, no.

In the back parking lot Becky’s shotgun was smoking. She stood over Doc on the ground as Ilya cowered to the side.

A gunman was running toward them.

Sam shot him in the chest. “Get in my truck.”

Becky swung on him, wild-eyed. “Doc’s shot!”

“I’ve got him.” Sam bent and looped Doc’s arm over his shoulders. The police chief groaned. Blood was creeping down Doc’s right pants leg, but he appeared to be alive, if in shock. Thank God. “Get Ilya.”

Becky blinked and then grabbed Ilya.

Doc still had the truck keys clutched in his fist. Sam pried them loose. He tore open the Silverado’s back door and piled Doc inside. Slamming the door, he swiveled, pulled open the front door, swung into the driver’s seat, and shoved the keys in the ignition.

Gunfire rattled against the tail of the truck, and then Becky was pushing Ilya into the back of the Silverado. “Go!”

Sam revved the engine and set down the plow.

One of the SUVs tore around the corner, skidded, and bounced off the corner of the municipal building, taking a few concrete blocks with it.

Sam rammed the back bumper of the SUV. He bore down on the accelerator and the plow blade scraped with a sickening shriek across the SUV, shoving it aside. The Silverado jumped as it sprang free from the SUV. The big pickup bumped over a concrete barrier, hidden beneath the snow, and for a heart-stopping moment the back wheels spun.

Then they caught, and the Silverado roared down the alley and out of town.

He needed to get Doc to safety, needed to see how bad the gunshot wound was. Needed to return to May and keep her safe.

But first he had to be sure no one was following them.