CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
C HAPTER F ORTY -T WO
Matt crept down the dark hallway toward the kitchen.
In case Denver had gone out the front door, Todd and Zucco had jogged off in that direction. Collins and Greta had the backyard covered. No sign of Denver by either team.
He’s still in the house.
Matt breathed. He held the rifle close, ready to use it. Would Denver hide? Or would he run? He’d said he was going to take Jager’s car. He’d need to go outside and cross the driveway to the detached garage. Denver didn’t know the house. Matt was willing to bet he’d exit through the same door he entered rather than take time and potentially get trapped inside.
He slipped through the kitchen and emerged into the great room in time to see Denver dart out the open slider.
Matt raced toward the door. Denver ducked behind a huge potted plant and fired a shot at Matt. The bullet zinged past, striking the deck railing with a dull thwack .
Matt dropped to one knee and fired a single shot from his rifle. His bullet struck the side of the pot. Ceramic shards scattered. Denver was pinned down. There was no escape, unless he wanted to jump over the deck railing. But the ground was at least a fifteen-foot drop. If he went over the edge, he’d likely break an ankle. Matt shifted his position, trying to get a shot at Denver, but all he saw was an occasional flash of color.
“Come out!” Matt yelled. “You’re surrounded. The only way you’re getting out of this is to surrender. Toss your gun onto the deck and come out with your hands in the air.”
Instead of answering, Denver fired another shot in Matt’s direction. But he hadn’t taken the risk of putting his head over the planter’s edge. His shot had been a Hail Mary, fired without aiming. The bullet went wide.
How many bullets did he have left? Did he have extra ammunition?
Denver might be pinned, but he had good cover. No one could get close without risking a bullet.
A voice sounded in his earpiece. “K-9 coming in hot.”
Nails scrambled on wood. The jet-black shepherd streaked onto the deck and leaped behind the planter. A high-pitched, terrified scream split the air. The dog’s head jerked as she dragged him out by his lower leg.
Levered on one arm, Denver aimed his handgun at the dog’s head, barely three feet from the gun’s muzzle. At that range, he couldn’t miss. Matt tried to take aim, but the dog’s back-and-forth motions kept putting her in the way. Two shots rang out. Matt’s heart clenched. No! He waited for the beautiful dog to go limp, but instead, Denver flopped onto the wood. The handgun clattered to the deck as he went still.
In Matt’s chest, disbelief warred with shock. How?
He glanced back. Bree stood on the second deck, her arms outstretched over the railing, her weapon aimed straight at Denver from above.
Matt couldn’t breathe for a full minute. Then relief surged through him like an electric current. When he started forward, his knees wobbled for the first two strides.
“Cover me.” Matt jogged toward Denver. His gun lay on the wood a few inches from his hand. Matt kicked it away. “Get the dog!”
Collins rushed up the steps and commanded Greta to release. The dog’s adrenaline was pumping, and Collins had to physically haul her off the man’s body. Todd and Zucco came up the steps behind Collins.
Matt put two fingers to Denver’s neck. A thin pulse thrummed. “He’s alive. Call an ambulance.” Matt cuffed him and patted him down for additional weapons before assessing his wounds. Bree’s bullet had struck him dead center in the chest. “I need a first aid kit.”
A miracle would be even more handy. Denver was leaking blood. A puddle was forming under his body. Matt had nothing to use as a pressure bandage. He carried a tourniquet, but that wouldn’t help with a chest wound.
Todd sprinted off. The bedroom deck wasn’t connected to the main one. Bree disappeared from sight only to reappear a minute later exiting the great room through the open slider. She said nothing as she approached, but Matt didn’t see any regret on her face as she handed him a folded towel.
Matt pressed it to Denver’s wound and applied pressure. Blood continued to pool on the wood. Not good.
Denver had presented a clear and present threat to everyone. He’d already shot a teenager—his own sister—just a few minutes before, and he’d murdered two other people earlier in the week. Bree had neutralized the threat, nothing more. Matt had no doubt the DA would agree the shooting had been justified.
“Ambulance is on the way.” Bree nodded at Denver. “How is he?”
Matt shrugged. “Still alive.” But Matt wouldn’t put money on him staying that way. Pressure wasn’t helping all that much. The folded hand towel was already soaked through. “Todd’s getting the first aid kit. How’s Claire?”
“Shoulder wound. Jager’s with her.”
“Jager stayed calm.”
“She did,” Bree agreed.
Todd returned, and Matt stepped aside to let him work. But there wasn’t much to be done without a surgeon and an operating room.
“Ambulance and EMTs are three minutes away.” Bree walked to Matt, right into his arms. So much for her usual policy of no PDAs on duty.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Once again, we didn’t die.”
“Yeah,” she said to his chest. “Not dying is good.”
Days of tension ebbed out of Matt’s muscles. “I love you.”
“Same.”