Free Edge by Jeffery Deaver

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.
    “No!” I shouted, grabbing him and pulling him back.
    “What’re you doing?” the cop cried. “I’ve got a target!”
    “Wait,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Garcia, monitor the side yard. Stay on it.”
    “Roger that.”
    “Freddy, the back?” I called to the senior agent, who was in the kitchen.
    “Clear 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.”
    “Get 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.”
    “A school shooting? No, no, it’s fake. Loving called it in. . . . Garcia?”
    “Clear on the flank still.”
    “Okay, we’re moving. Out the front.”
    “He’s out there!” Ryan cried.
    “No, he’s not,” I said. “The couple behind you, the Knoxes—what do they drive?”
    “A Lexus and a Ford.” He glanced out quickly, ducked back. “That’s their car! He killed them! Oh, shit.”
    “God, no . . . no,” Joanne whispered, clutching her sister, who was sobbing, her own arms around her camera, which she’d retrieved and was cradling like a baby.
    “It’s Teddy Knox in the car, not Loving,” I said.
    “What do you mean?” Ryan asked. “He’s a hostage?”
    “No, he’s the one shooting.”
    “Teddy wouldn’t do that. Even if Loving forced him to.”
    “Loving is forcing him. He’s threatened his wife, who’s back in the house. But Teddy’s not supposed to hit anybody. He’s just shooting at random, to drive us out the back. That’s where Loving’s waiting for us. In their house, or maybe the bushes. He’ll have a partner. He wouldn’t try an open assault alone. We go out the front. Freddy, you and Garcia stay in the house and cover the side yard, the one with the trees, and the back. Ryan, when we go, you cover the field on the other side. Don’t shoot unless you see somebody engaging with a weapon. We’re going to be getting neighbors on the street any minute. I don’t want collateral damage.”
    Ryan hesitated, looking toward the front of the house. He was debating: follow my orders or not?
    Joanne said, “Do what he says, Ry! Let’s do what he says. Please!”
    “Go to my SUV fast but not so fast you hurt yourself falling. Okay?”
    “Hurt ourselves falling ?” Ryan blurted, at my bizarre concern.
    The delay from a twisted ankle could kill us all.
    “What if Loving’s in the car, the backseat?” Freddy asked.
    “Wouldn’t be logical,” I called, then turned to Ryan. “The side yard? Loving could be prone and crawling up. You saw his picture. If you can confirm it’s him, try for a nonlethal shot. We need to know who hired him.”
    “I can park one in his shoulder or