Sweet Talk by Julie Garwood Page B

there’s a restraining order, but that means nothing to them.”
    “Why did you hold up three fingers?”
    “That’s the number of times he said my name. It’s a code the kids and I have. If he says my name once, I know he’s in trouble. The more times he says it, the more dangerous the situation. I never know who might be there with him listening or coaxing him when he’s talking to me.”
    “Have you ever been called when it wasn’t an emergency?”
    “No, never,” she said emphatically. “These kids understand real danger, and they wouldn’t exaggerate. There’s too much at stake to cry wolf.”
    The neighborhood they drove into was in the heart of gang territory. A few of the owners of the cookie-cutter houses had at one time tried to keep up maintenance, but the vast majority had let their homes go to seed. Half of them had already been abandoned and condemned. Grayson drove past a house that was falling apart. One side of the porch had collapsed, and the front lawn had been turned into a junkyard. There was a rusted-out washing machine and a stripped-down motorcycle blocking the broken sidewalk. It was impossible to tell if there was any grass because every inch of the yard was layered with trash. The air smelled of mildew, rotting garbage, and despair.
    Three blocks west was the Purdy house. Grayson slammed on the brakes, threw the car in park, and said, “Stay in the car, Olivia.” His voice was calm, almost soothing.
    He pulled his tie off and tossed it on the seat as he got out of the car. His jacket followed. Opening the trunk, he reached for his bulletproof vest and slipped it on. He was adjusting the Velcro straps when Ronan arrived. He took the corner on two wheels and came to a hard stop inches from Grayson’s car. Grabbing his vest, he walked over to Grayson, saw Olivia, and nodded to her.
    “How many inside?”
    “Four adults, but there could be more.”
    They could hear sirens wailing in the distance. “Are we waiting for additional backup?”
    “No, there’s a boy inside. We can’t wait.”
    Grayson bent down to look at Olivia and once again ordered her to stay inside the car.
    “Be careful,” she said. “I’ve been to court with these people. They’re . . . sadistic.”
    His nod indicated he’d heard her. He pulled his gun free, and with Ronan at his side headed to the house.
    The streetlights were dim, but Olivia could see that the Purdy house should have been condemned years ago. At least half of the shingles were missing from the sagging roof, and the aluminum siding had been torn off both sides. The wood on the front porch looked as though it had been torched, and there were holes in the porch floor. In the shadows, she could just make out Grayson kicking in the front door.
    Olivia didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her chest started to hurt. Two shots were fired in rapid succession, then another and another. A man came running around the side of the house. He had a gun in his hand and was glancing over his shoulder. He appeared to be young, in his late teens. Dressed in a filthy tank top and jeans, he had a crazed look in his eyes.
    He headed to the street but didn’t make it. Ronan came at him from one direction, and Grayson from the other. The man fired wild, and a second later they had him facedown in the dirt.
    Two squad cars arrived. The policemen ran to Grayson, and after he filled them in, they rushed into the house.
    Where was Tyler? Was he safe? He knew to hide, but would he come out for the FBI or the police?
    Olivia glanced in the rearview mirror and saw three men she was pretty sure were gang members. They were half a block away and were walking toward her. One of them picked up a board from the gutter, but an older man in the middle of the three shook his head, and the board was immediately tossed back into the street. Were the three simply curious to know what was going on, or were they wanting a fight?
    The police brought out two of the