Backfire

She batted her eyelashes at him, very effective, since she was so damned pretty. “Your best shot is I’ll be dazzled by your multicolored karate belt. Turn right here, we’re nearly there.”

When Harry pulled his Shelby into the Hunt driveway a few minutes later, he couldn’t help it, he gawked. “Some digs.”

“It’s got about the best views in Sea Cliff—the ocean, Marin Headlands, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Looks like all the news people have left. So has the SFPD. I don’t like this; someone should be here.” She pulled out her cell, punched in Carney Maynard’s number, and then she dropped her cell and pointed. “Hey, that’s Emma—she screamed!”

Eve was out of the car before Harry could turn off the motor, her Glock 22 in her hand, her long strides eating up ground.

Molly jerked open the front door, saw them, and thought she’d collapse in relief. “A man, he was staring in the window at us! He ran over toward Mr. Sproole’s backyard!”

Eve shouted, “I’ll take care of it. Get back inside, Molly!”

Eve saw a man running, a blur of black. And he was carrying something black—a gun? He had jumped the fence into the neighbor’s backyard. Harry started to yell for her to wait up, but he didn’t waste his breath. He watched her leap the stone fence smooth and high, like a hurdler. He ran after them.

“Federal agents! Stop!” Eve shouted.

But the man didn’t stop. He ran straight for the fence at the back of the neighbor’s yard, vaulted over it, and disappeared.

Eve didn’t hesitate. She jumped that fence, too, right after him.

A scratchy old voice yelled from the yard, “Be careful or you’re dead!” He turned to see Harry running toward the fence after them. “Hey, fellow, there’s a snaking little trail down to the water, but it isn’t safe. Who’s the guy she’s chasing? You’re all federal agents? Is that the guy who shot Judge Hunt?”

Harry waved off the old man and jumped the fence, stumbled on some loose rocks beyond it, and nearly fell on his face. He windmilled his arms, and managed to gain purchase. He looked down—at least sixty feet to the beach—not a beach, only a thin strip of dirty sand covered with a mess of black rocks and huge boulders.

Below him, Eve was tacking back and forth down the side of the cliff, shortcutting the windy little path. She stumbled once, and Harry’s heart seized. She caught herself, but she had to drop her Glock to do it and stopped to pick it up before she started down again. Harry saw the man had reached the beach and looked up to see Eve coming toward him. He scooped up a rock to hurl at her, thought better of it, and ran. Eve yelled back at Harry, “Call it in! I’m going to get him!”

She would catch him, Harry didn’t have a single doubt, even though she was a good twenty yards behind him. Harry dialed 911. The SFPD would get here faster than the FBI.

He watched Eve jump onto the strip of dirty sand and rocks and sprint after the man. Was that a gun in his hand? Then why hadn’t he shot her instead of picking up a rock? Surely the guy could tell, even from this distance, that she was moving way faster, gaining on him quickly. The putz looked like he was going to drop, he was breathing so hard. In that moment, Harry felt kind of sorry for the guy. He had no clue what was in store for him in about twenty seconds.

Eve felt the wind sharp and cold off the water, and was happy to see the guy in front of her was flagging big-time. She shouted, “Stop it right now, or I’ll shoot you in the leg. Do you hear me?”

The guy looked back at her, faltered, slowed, and finally stopped. He bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“Well, now, isn’t this easier?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he managed to say between breaths.

Eve jogged up to him, her Glock pointed at his chest, and threw him to the ground. She went down on her haunches beside him and ripped a camera from his hand. “That was for making me chase you, you brainless moron. Do you realize it looked like you had a gun? And, oh, my, would you look at this—it’s a really expensive camera you’re carrying.”

Harry was grinning when he climbed back over the fence and saw the old man again, a golfer’s cap on his head, a newspaper spread open on his lap, stretched out on a red-and-green striped chaise longue.

Harry said, “She’s trying to prove she’s tougher than I am.”

“I gotta say she proved it, since you’re not screaming she’s dead. That fence is there to keep idiots from flying off the edge, but that first idiot headed to it like a homing pigeon. Didn’t even see me, he was moving so fast. You said you’re federal agents?”