Chapter 47
Shards of glass rained down. Bullets snapped through the air. The cacophony of gunfire echoed.
Jack angled his pistol over the backseat and fired through the window at the assailants as they closed in.
I pushed open the passenger door and angled my pistol around. Firing at the bastards as they approached. I tagged one of them on the shoulder, spinning him around.
The dirtball flopped to the ground, the weapon clattering away.
I fired two more shots into him to make sure he was down for the count.
Another flurry of bullets flew in my direction as I ducked for cover. They pelted the door, chewing it up.
Jack hit one of the scumbags.
More bullets peppered the vehicle.
Daniels tried to get the car started. It chugged a few times, but wouldn't turn over.
The remaining two assailants took cover behind the rear bumper of the squad car, angling their machine guns over the trunk. They fired into the vehicle at random.
Bullets tore through the cabin, exiting through the front windshield, ripping up the headrests on the seats.
We all kept as low as possible.
Daniels finally got the car to turn over. He jammed it in reverse, slammed the gas, and the tires chirped.
Like speed bumps, he ran over the scumbags. Screams of agony drifted from underneath the car.
We bounced around on the inside, and soon the scumbags were in front of the vehicle, writhing and moaning on the ground.
I saw the look in the sheriff’s eyes. He thought about running the dipshits over again, but thought better of it.
By that time, the silver sedan that had been following us pulled onto the scene. The vehicle paused for a moment, then decided to get the hell out of there. It would have been a losing proposition for them.
"Everybody okay?" I shouted
"Affirmative," JD replied from the backseat, covered in glass.
"I'm good," Daniels said.
We all hopped out of the vehicle and approached the human speed bumps with weapons aimed at them.
One of them gurgled his last breath as we approached.
The other was in better shape, but not by much. A few cracked ribs and a punctured lung, no doubt.
We kicked their weapons away, and I called for emergency services.
I knelt down beside the living scumbag and said, "Who do you work for?”
He gasped for breath.
The distant sound of sirens warbled, drawing near.
"If you want to live, tell me who you work for," I said, putting my pistol to his head. I wasn’t in the mood to play around.
He continued to struggle for air.
“Where is Paisley? Is she still alive?”
He said nothing.
“Start talking!” I demanded.
I wasn’t going to shoot the guy, but it was tempting. I pulled my weapon away before more patrol units screeched onto the scene, followed by EMTs and paramedics.
My phone buzzed with a call on the encrypted app from the kidnappers. I swiped the screen and held the device to my ear.
“You’re a hard man to get hold of,” a man said in a calm voice.
“I’ve been messaging you for the last several days,” I said. “You haven’t responded.”
“We learned you were indisposed. Then we realized you didn’t have the case. No reason to respond. Now it seems you have it again. I guess you saved Todd’s life. We were about to take it from him. That’s twice you’ve gotten in our way.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and my friends.”
“Who are you?”
“That doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you have something I want.”
“Where’s Paisley?”
“She’s safe.”
I didn’t believe it. “Prove it.”
He sighed. “You’ll get your proof.”
“She better be alive and well.”
“I’m not a monster. I just want the prototype. Then we can all go about our lives.”
“You attacked police officers. You’re not going to get away with this.”
He chuckled. “You are in no position to make threats. I’ll be in touch shortly with a location to make the exchange.”
He ended the call, and I may have grumbled a few more obscenities.
I relayed the information to JD and the sheriff.
Paris Delaney and her news crew arrived and started capturing footage of the carnage.
The EMTs transferred the perp to a gurney and stuffed him into an ambulance. The lights flashed, and the meat wagon pulled away.
The camera closed in, and Paris asked questions.
I gave her limited details.
Brenda and her crew arrived on the scene and evaluated the bodies. They were bagged and transferred.
A wrecker towed the sheriff’s car away, and we caught a ride back to the station with a patrol unit. We filled out reports, surrendered our duty weapons, and were put on administrative leave.
“Look on the bright side,” I said to the sheriff. “Now you’ve got a few days to go fishing.”
He scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I’m going to have FDLE up my ass as well as Internal Affairs. The next few days are going to be anything but relaxing.”
All one had to do was look at the sheriff’s car, which had more holes in it than the plot of a Hollywood blockbuster. A clear case for the justified use of lethal force.
“I want you to find the scumbags responsible and get the girl back,” he said.
“We’re on leave.”
“I don’t care.”
It was hard not to take it personally when someone tries to kill you. The sheriff knew doing this by the book wouldn't get the results needed.