Free Exchange of Fire by P. A. DePaul Page B

feet.
    Glass tinkled behind them, forcing her to throw away stealth. She bolted for the screen door.
    A shot rang out a second before the bullet lodged into the door frame by her head.

Chapter 9
    Grady grabbed Sandra around the waist and tossed her out the screen door. He kept his head down and zigzagged as best he could behind her as they raced through the neighbor’s yard.
    Another bullet whizzed past his head.
Motherfucker.
Someone was actually shooting at them. She had warned him this could happen, but he’d thought she was being melodramatic.
I wish.
What the hell had she gotten herself involved in?
    He jumped over a plastic Playskool car.
    Dogs howled and barked, filling the air with their displeasure. Even they knew this was completely foul.
    They dove through a line of shrubs and continued running. She laid a convoluted path between parked cars, random side streets, and people’s lawns. All the while, he could feel the gunman still behind them. They needed a plan. The only person who was going to win this fight was the madman if they kept this random shit up much longer.
    “Don’t slow down,” she called back, as if reading his mind. “Trust me.”
    Thank God he ran ten miles at least three times a week or all this running would have sucked. He fumbled with his shirt in the back and grabbed the Beretta out of its holster.
    “You shouldn’t have that out.”
    What the hell? She have eyes in the back of her head?
    “It’ll just draw attention to us. We need to be invisible.”
    “News flash,” he said between breaths. “He’s right behind us. I think he can see us just fine.”
    “Not to him,” she replied as they burst through the alley. “To them.”
    Holy shit. Her convoluted path wasn’t random after all. She had led them to the Ridge Creek police station. He quickly jammed his gun back in the holster and resituated his shirt. Two police officers leaned against a car chatting, but stopped when they spotted them.
    “Hey, Grady! You out for a late run?” Officer Brett O’Malley called.
    “What’s with the jeans?” Officer Pamela Mead chimed in. “It’s like eighty degrees and humid tonight.”
    Sandra curved in, and he took that as a green light that they were stopping. He slowed to a walk and amicably strolled up to the pair as if he didn’t have a psycho aiming for the back of his head. The hairs at the nape of his neck twinged and his skin crawled. The motherfucker had to be staring at them. He flicked a quick glance at Sandra and caught the tightening around her eyes as she gave him a small shake of her head. Shit. He didn’t know what to do: lie to his friends and cover for her until she told him what the hell was going on or narc on her.
    As always, he used his gut to make the decision.
    “You caught me, Pam.” He grinned at the overweight woman with the huge heart. “I’m afraid I let my male pride get the better of me and accepted Ms. Walsh’s challenge.”
    Brett leaned forward, curiosity and blatant interest broadcasting from his handsome face.
    Grady ground his teeth.
    “Oh yeah?” Brett asked, running his gaze up and down Sandra’s body. “What’s the challenge?”
    “Who could run the farthest, fastest.” Grady blurted the first thing that jumped into his head. Lame.
    Sandra’s mouth quirked, and she flicked him an amused glance before continuing her surveillance.
    Pam laughed. “Only you. I take it no winner has been declared yet?”
    “Nah. You saw us. Neck and neck.”
    “Hmmm,” Pam said. “I believe Ms. Walsh was in front, if I remember correctly.”
    “Ladies first and all,” he retorted, garnering a laugh from everyone.
    Sandra straightened. “Can I use the restroom? I don’t want anything slowing me down from my big victory.” She fist-pumped the air.
    “Officer Brett O’Malley at your service, ma’am,” Brett replied, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I’ll be happy to show you where it’s at. Think of it as an armed escort to