Chapter Five

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Slade barely managed to catch a glimpse of the guy before the shots started.

Not one bullet either but a barrage of them, all slamming into the windshield of the van. The glass was bullet resistant, but that didn't mean shots wouldn't get through, especially since the gunfire was already cracking the outer coating of the safety glass, making it look like a giant spiderweb.

Slade took hold of Marise's shoulder and shoved her down. "Get all the way on the floor," he ordered.

He drew his backup gun from his boot holster. It was more a reflex action and instinct than it was a useful move. After all, his shots wouldn't easily get through the glass to the gunman.

"Spock, call 911," he told his AI app. An app that had been designed to help with all facets of an investigation, including arranging for help.

Slade knew there was little chance that cops would arrive in time to put a stop to this, but he'd wanted them alerted anyway in case the gunfire hit any innocent bystanders.

Thankfully, Pearl Bluff Estates didn't have a lot of permanent residents. Most houses were vacation properties. Still, that didn't mean someone couldn't be out and about and get shot by mistake.

More shots came, all of them slamming into the spot right in front of Slade. He moved over further in the seat just in case one of the bullets managed to get through.

"Is it your father?" Marise asked.

Slade heard the edge in her voice. Not panic. Not yet anyway, but it was possible the gunfire could trigger it. That's what happened when you'd been dealt some shitty hands while in uniform.

"I'm not sure if it's Sonny," Slade let her know. "The shooter's wearing a ski mask."

The guy was a coward though because he fired, ducked back behind the cover of the stone sign, and repeated the moves. Each shot was tearing its way through the glass, and Slade needed to do something about that now.

"Spock, use the dash cam to get lots of pictures of the person firing those shots," Slade added. Because even without being able to see his face, the pictures might prove this was Sonny.

Even though he wanted to protect Marise and get her the hell out of here, he didn't want to drive off and leave an active shooter. The guy could continue the gunfire and take out someone on the road. So, Slade threw the van into reverse, backing up a good twenty feet.

And he gunned the engine.

Speeding straight toward the SOB.

Judging from the tensing of his body, the guy had an Oh, crap moment where he scrambled to get back behind the cover of the sign. Slade didn't waste a second backing up again, ready to repeat the process until he either ran the idiot over or he gave up and tried to escape. Probably in that dark blue truck that was next to the sign.

It was hard for Slade to see because of the now fractured glass, but he pinned his attention to the sign. However, the guy didn't come out from his usual spot.

He darted out on the other side.

And he fired.

This shot went into the window just above Marise's head. Before the sonofabitch jumped back behind the stone.

"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered, and the panic was coming.

"Breathe slowly, in and out," he instructed. "Tell me six things you smell."

She attempted the breathing first, but it sure as heck wasn't coming out slowly. It was coming out in gusts. "Gunfire, gunfire, gunfire. That's what I smell."

Maybe, but he figured that was probably some sensory memory from her time as a combat nurse.

"You smell me," he insisted, waiting. Watching. With his focus on both sides of the limestone.

"Blood," she muttered.

Yeah, he likely did have that particular stench on him since he hadn't showered since he'd been attacked in that motel parking lot.

"What else?" he pressed, trying to keep his own voice steady.

It was too quiet, and Slade didn't like that. Of course, he didn't like the asshole shooting at them either, but with the quietness, he didn't know where the hell the guy was.

"I smell hamburger and onions," Marise blurted, her words more than a little shaky.

"My breakfast. Don't judge," he added when she glanced at him. "Burger and fries should be considered an anytime meal."

The gunman sprang out from the other side this time. And fired. The shots hitting the windshield again and tearing a small quarter-sized hole in the glass.

Slade slammed his foot on the accelerator and wanted to cheer when the asshole practically fell behind the sign to get away.

"Think of six things you could touch. Work on that for the next minute or so and don't get out of the van," Slade told her, trading off his backup weapon for his primary one that he took from the glove compartment.

Her eyes instantly went wide. "Don't you get out of the van either."

"I'll stay behind the front end for cover," he added. "The metal is bullet resistant, too."

While that probably wasn't an explanation that would please her, Slade needed to go with this. Along with it being a hellish experience, if Marise had a full-blown panic attack, that could end up being a distraction that got them both killed.

He had to put an end to this now.

Slade got out, staying low behind the van. Good thing, too, because the shooter sent a bullet right at him. Then, another. The shots skipped off the hood and slammed into one of the gate pylons directly behind Slade.

So, the asshole was a decent shot.

Just like Sonny was.

Of course, his SOB of a father wasn't the only good shooter who might want to do him harm, and Slade had to consider this was connected to the mission he'd just finished. Maybe the weaselly estranged husband had another brother willing to do his bidding.

Slade inched his way to the front of the van and, stooping by the bumper, he glanced out at the shooter.

But he wasn't there.

Not at first anyway. However, it wasn't long, only a couple of seconds, before he appeared again.

Slade aimed.

And fired.

The shot hit him directly in the chest, and the asshole gasped in sharp pain. What didn't happen was that no blood flew, and now, thanks to the van's headlights, Slade could see the guy was wearing a Kevlar vest.

Slade re-aimed, this time going for his head.

The guy was no idiot and must have realized that he was about to be a dead man. Dead in the very spot where Bodie had died a few months earlier.

Oh, the irony of that if this did turn out to be Sonny.

Still gasping and making sounds of pain, the man turned, and staying behind the sign, he started running. Damn fast, too.

Slade raced to the side of the limestone sign nearest him. Since it was best not to go charging forward and risk getting gunned down, he pulled up and peered around the edge of it.

Then, he cursed some more.

Because the asshole practically dived into that truck. Within a blink, he had the engine started.

Slade started running. And damn near tripped over something on the ground. A white plastic grocery bag that definitely had something crammed into it. In case that something was an explosive, he hurdled over it, causing way too many parts of him to jolt in pain. But he kept moving, kept racing to the other end of the sign.

Just as the shooter sped away.

Slade considered trying to shoot out his tires. But that was too big of a risk. If someone else was coming up the road, he could hit them, and there'd been enough risky shots fired for one night.

Instead, he whipped out his phone and took a photo of the back of the truck. The license plate was missing, but there still might be something on the vehicle he could use to trace it.

"Are you all right?" he heard Marise call out.

And he went for another round of cursing when he realized she was out of the van. She was making her way around the back of the sign toward him.

He hurried to her, mainly to get her back inside the vehicle, and he was pleased to see that she no longer seemed on the verge of a panic attack. Maybe because the grounding exercises of things she could touch had worked. Or perhaps it was because the gunfire had finally stopped.

"Are you all right?" she repeated.

"I'm fine," he managed, and he caught up with her just as they reached the white plastic bag on the ground.

"Was that your father?" Marise asked.

He had to shake his head, and he aimed the flashlight on his phone at the bag. It was partially open, and his gut twisted at what he saw.

Hell.

It was another dead rat. Not colonel's rank this time. But that of a captain. Slade's rank when he'd been a Combat Rescue Officer.

"Shit," Marise spat out.

Yeah, that sentiment about summed it up, and it confirmed what Slade had already suspected.

That Sonny had just tried to murder them.

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