Point Blank

Claus yelled, “There’s a guy leaning out the passenger window. Watch out, Penny!” Penny had already pulled back in. They heard six rapid rounds, and the sound of two bullets pinging against their right fender and the front grill. Penny hung herself out the window again, fired another five rounds quickly. “We’ve got to get closer, Sheriff. I can’t see well enough to hit a tire.”

He was doing eighty in a near blizzard, and pressed the accelerator to ninety. He heard Claus shouting to Penny and firing his Glock out the driver’s-side rear window to give her cover or at least to distract the guys in the truck.

Penny fired again after Emory fed her more rounds, slowly this time so she wouldn’t drop them with her cold hands.

There was a ferocious roar. The flash he’d seen earlier flared up like a night beacon, a huge circle of blinding white reflected blue in the thick, spearing snow. Dix heard Penny cry out, saw Emory jerk her back in. A bullet had hit her just as the truck blew. The world froze, shrank to a pinpoint in the next second as he watched flames whip up through the thick swirling snow, orange as the prisoner overalls in the Loudoun County lockup, rip twenty, thirty feet into the sky, red and orange, thick black plumes of smoke rising all around them.

Dix was already pressing on the brake when the truck exploded in a deafening roar that sounded like the thunder of drums. They drove right through the fireball with debris flying at them. A slice of black metal scraped along the top of the cruiser, without breaking through the roof. A foot lower and it could have killed all of them.

Dix kept pressing the brake, trying to hold it steady until the cruiser slid into a slow skid. Dix prayed as he lifted his foot off the brake and steered into the skid, and slowly, finally, straightened the cruiser again.

“Sheriff! Ohmigod!”

Dix thought his heart would stop. A flaming tire was rolling toward them at a manic speed. Dix spun the wheel to the right and the tire crashed into their rear end, slammed them forward, then sharply to the left.

“Everyone, hang on!”

They ripped through the guardrail still moving fast and plowed into a field filled with snow. Small bits of ash rained down around them.

The cruiser came to a stop ten feet from the guardrail on fairly level ground, luckily well away from the thick stand of oak trees on the side of the road. A snowbank a good four feet deep stopped them dead.

Penny was slumped in the front seat, Claus’s arms holding her back from the windshield. Her head was bleeding.

Dix felt a moment of dizziness, shook it off. He pulled off Penny’s wool cap and pressed it hard against the wound at the side of her head. “Let’s get her to the road. The cruiser’s done. Claus, call nine-one-one.”

They pulled Penny carefully from the front seat and Emory carried her back to the highway as tenderly as he carried his baby daughter.

They saw sparks flying from a live wire that suddenly leaped toward them, coiling and uncoiling wildly. The wire suddenly snapped at Claus, nearly got his leg before he jumped back. They watched the wire finally settle into the snow, sparks still leaping out of the end of it.

Dix said, “Everyone okay?”

“Just shook up a bit, Sheriff,” Emory said as he leaned over Penny, checking her pupils. “But Penny, her head’s still bleeding and she’s unconscious. I don’t like how she looks at all.”

Claus cocked his head. “I hear sirens. We’ll have help real soon.” He looked at the flaming truck. “Nope, it sure don’t look good for the bad guys.”

CHAPTER 9

MADONNA WATCHED THE sheriff hug his boys against him. They had been terrified for him, but they were boys and they were trying as hard as they could not to show it. They were silent, but they clutched their father so hard he must have had trouble breathing. She knew they weren’t talking because they were afraid if they did, they’d cry. As for her, she felt helpless, useless as a eunuch on his wedding night, and hated it.

Dix spoke quietly to his sons, telling them he was very proud of them, and he thanked them for watching over Madonna, which made her smile for a moment.

Finally, Rob pulled away. He stared up at his father. “There’s blood on your face.”

“It’s not mine, don’t worry.”

“You scared the shit out of us!” Rob drew back his fist and slammed it against his father’s arm.

“Don’t cuss,” Dix said automatically. He rubbed his arm, grinned down at his boy. “Not bad. You’re going to lay me flat in a couple of years. You guys give Madonna any grief?”

“Nah,” Rafer said, taking a bit longer than his older brother to pull himself together. “She made cocoa and we told her the story about old man Steeter’s house, how he used to steal little kids and hold them prisoner. She said she couldn’t tell us any stories because she doesn’t remember any.”