Free Edge by Jeffery Deaver Page A

us out because somebody opened a window? Good luck, guys.” Maree lifted car keys from a dish on a table nearby. “I’m going downtown.” She started for the front door.
    â€œNo,” I told her firmly. “And everybody, get—” The rest of my instructions were cut off at the sound of a huge crash from the street.
    Joanne screamed, Maree gasped and stood frozen in front of the door.
    I strode forward fast, gripped the young woman by the collar of her jacket and yanked her backward and we fell together onto the tile floor, as the bullets began crashing through the front picture window in the living room.

Chapter 6
    THE NUMBNESS VANISHED from Joanne’s face and she scrabbled forward on her knees, grabbing her sister and sliding her farther into the foyer, away from the windows.
    The younger woman had dropped her forwarded mail in a white spill on the floor. Her camera too had fallen and she cried out, reaching desperately for it.
    â€œLeave it!” Joanne muttered, restraining her.
    Ryan had his weapon out now and was crouching.
    I still didn’t draw because there was no target yet and I was busy flinging my computer into my shoulder bag. Besides, as the shepherd, I tend to let people with more tactical experience handle the firepower.
    Two or three more shots into the living room. The slugs slammed into a lamp, a picture frame, the wall. The gunshots were soft, the sound of shattering glass loud.
    Freddy was on the phone, calling his agents out front but getting no response.
    Were they dead?
    â€œGarcia!” I called. The young agent had instinctively gone to the side windows overlooking the trees, covering our flank. “What do you see?”
    â€œClear,” he shouted. “Only incoming’s from the front.”
    I gestured everyone farther back into the dim hall and then slipped into a small guest bathroom in the front and glanced through a window. A silver Ford had slammed into the rear of the agents’ vehicle, knocking it forward ten feet or so. The men, without their seat belts on, had been thrown back then forward and were slumped in the front seat. I couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive.
    The Ford was immobilized but the driver, who’d been belted in and protected by the airbag, was firing a pistol at us through the open window. I couldn’t see the face clearly. He was hunkered down and taking careful aim. I stepped out of the bathroom to find Ryan Kessler taking a deep breath and then bursting forward, breaking the window next to the front door with his pistol barrel, like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. He was aiming toward the car.
    â€œNo!” I shouted, grabbing him and pulling him back.
    â€œWhat’re you doing?” the cop cried. “I’ve got a target!”
    â€œWait,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Garcia, monitor the side yard. Stay on it.”
    â€œRoger that.”
    â€œFreddy, the back?” I called to the senior agent, who was in the kitchen.
    â€œClear so far.”
    Two more shots slammed into the living room.
    Maree screamed again.
    Ryan said, “Out the back! We can flank him. Why didn’t you let me shoot, Corte?”
    Maree started crawling toward the back kitchendoor, sobbing, her flippancy turned to raw panic. “I’m scared, Jesus, I’m scared.”
    â€œGet back,” I said to her, grabbing her shoulder to stop her once more.
    Joanne had gone catatonic again, staring at the broken glass, saying nothing. Eyes unfocused. I wondered if we’d have to carry her, as sometimes happened.
    I said calmly, “Nobody go anywhere.”
    Freddy took a call. “Corte! Five minutes ago, somebody called in two shooters at George Mason University. Ten students down. All of Fairfax County Tactical is on the way. I’m trying to get a team here but there’s nobody available for us.”
    â€œA school shooting? No, no, it’s fake. Loving called