when we were cops—footwork and asking the right people the right questions. We should start with the people who knew the victim best.”
“At least when we were cops, the suspects didn’t generally shoot at us until we were closer.”
They reached their gate and Sid pressed the remote control to turn on the electric motor to open the gate. He pulled forward into the driveway and pressed the button again to close the gate behind them. He began to drive up the long driveway toward the house.
“We’ve got a lot to look at,” Ronnie said. “We need to talk to—”
The car gave a sudden violent lurch and dropped abruptly. The undercarriage hit the pavement with a spine-jarring jolt and a loud bang. The front of the car was angled downward into the ground, caught there.
Sid said, “It’s a deadfall. Stay low and get ready to run for the house.” He freed himself of his seat belt, took out his pistol, and switched off the dome light. Then he flung his door open and slipped out.
Ronnie had started to open her door when the first shot came. The round pounded the door and Ronnie pulled the door shut again. She slithered over the console between the two front seats and into the backseat while bullets smashedthrough the side windows above her head, spraying her with glittering bits of glass. She pushed out through the opposite door onto the driveway beside Sid.
Sid aimed his pistol over the hood of the car at the two spots where he had seen muzzle flashes, fired four rounds, and then ducked down. “It’s coming from the yard over by the porch.”
During a bad case three years ago the Abels had equipped their new Volvo with half-inch steel plates inside the door panels to protect them from small arms rounds piercing the doors. Now they could hear bullets punching through the outer sheets of painted metal and ricocheting off the steel plates to rattle in the space between.
Ronnie hit 9-1-1 on her phone and said, “This is Veronica Abel at 13551 Vista Matilija in Van Nuys. We’re under fire in our driveway from unknown attackers.” She ended the call, and then lay across the driver’s seat to reach the remote control, and pressed the button to reopen the gate to the street.
Sid said, “Is that to let the shooters leave or the cops come in?”
“I’m not particular.”
The firing began again. Three shots came from the right side by the garden, and then two more from twenty feet to the left of it, punching through the rear window and spraying glass into the backseat.
Sid fired at the flashes, aiming by resting his arm on the car door. Ronnie crawled along the side of the car to the trunk, and lay on her belly to look for targets from beneath the car.
The next time the shooting began, the muzzle flashes came from different places. One shooter had moved up the lawn toward the house, and the other was firing while trying tomake a run along the hedge. Ronnie fired six rounds at the darker spot in the dark yard that she judged to be one of the shooters, and then two more into what she hoped was the other, then scrambled to hide behind the armored door.
Both shooters fired now, their rounds punching through the far side of the car, across the inside of the trunk, and then pounding against the inner wall, by then mushroomed or fragmented so they didn’t penetrate. Other rounds punctured both rear tires, so the car sat down hard and closed most of the space Ronnie had used as a window for her line of fire.
Ronnie sat with her back to the rear wheel and saw that lights had come on in the upper windows of nearby houses. “It looks like we woke the neighbors.”
“It’s about time.” Sid glanced at the lighted windows across the street as he reached to his shoulder holster pouch and to ok out a loaded magazine. “Do you have a spare magazine?”
“Three of them.” She reached to the passenger seat and pulled out her purse by the strap. “Want one?”
“No. Just be ready to reload.”
“Are you thinking
“At least when we were cops, the suspects didn’t generally shoot at us until we were closer.”
They reached their gate and Sid pressed the remote control to turn on the electric motor to open the gate. He pulled forward into the driveway and pressed the button again to close the gate behind them. He began to drive up the long driveway toward the house.
“We’ve got a lot to look at,” Ronnie said. “We need to talk to—”
The car gave a sudden violent lurch and dropped abruptly. The undercarriage hit the pavement with a spine-jarring jolt and a loud bang. The front of the car was angled downward into the ground, caught there.
Sid said, “It’s a deadfall. Stay low and get ready to run for the house.” He freed himself of his seat belt, took out his pistol, and switched off the dome light. Then he flung his door open and slipped out.
Ronnie had started to open her door when the first shot came. The round pounded the door and Ronnie pulled the door shut again. She slithered over the console between the two front seats and into the backseat while bullets smashedthrough the side windows above her head, spraying her with glittering bits of glass. She pushed out through the opposite door onto the driveway beside Sid.
Sid aimed his pistol over the hood of the car at the two spots where he had seen muzzle flashes, fired four rounds, and then ducked down. “It’s coming from the yard over by the porch.”
During a bad case three years ago the Abels had equipped their new Volvo with half-inch steel plates inside the door panels to protect them from small arms rounds piercing the doors. Now they could hear bullets punching through the outer sheets of painted metal and ricocheting off the steel plates to rattle in the space between.
Ronnie hit 9-1-1 on her phone and said, “This is Veronica Abel at 13551 Vista Matilija in Van Nuys. We’re under fire in our driveway from unknown attackers.” She ended the call, and then lay across the driver’s seat to reach the remote control, and pressed the button to reopen the gate to the street.
Sid said, “Is that to let the shooters leave or the cops come in?”
“I’m not particular.”
The firing began again. Three shots came from the right side by the garden, and then two more from twenty feet to the left of it, punching through the rear window and spraying glass into the backseat.
Sid fired at the flashes, aiming by resting his arm on the car door. Ronnie crawled along the side of the car to the trunk, and lay on her belly to look for targets from beneath the car.
The next time the shooting began, the muzzle flashes came from different places. One shooter had moved up the lawn toward the house, and the other was firing while trying tomake a run along the hedge. Ronnie fired six rounds at the darker spot in the dark yard that she judged to be one of the shooters, and then two more into what she hoped was the other, then scrambled to hide behind the armored door.
Both shooters fired now, their rounds punching through the far side of the car, across the inside of the trunk, and then pounding against the inner wall, by then mushroomed or fragmented so they didn’t penetrate. Other rounds punctured both rear tires, so the car sat down hard and closed most of the space Ronnie had used as a window for her line of fire.
Ronnie sat with her back to the rear wheel and saw that lights had come on in the upper windows of nearby houses. “It looks like we woke the neighbors.”
“It’s about time.” Sid glanced at the lighted windows across the street as he reached to his shoulder holster pouch and to ok out a loaded magazine. “Do you have a spare magazine?”
“Three of them.” She reached to the passenger seat and pulled out her purse by the strap. “Want one?”
“No. Just be ready to reload.”
“Are you thinking
Similar Books
