The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(69)

They moved into place swiftly, using the cover of bushes and thick tree trunks. As Vail approached the front lawn of the Colonial-style home, a car horn began honking.

What the hell?

Vail swiveled and tried to locate the vehicle. This is deliberate. A spotter, watching out for Gaines, warning him someone was approaching the house?

She was sure everyone heard the signal and realized what was happening. Before she could turn to make eye contact with Curtis and Ramos, gunshots burst through the front door. Vail dove to the grass, nearly dropping her Glock.

Seconds later the assault stopped.

“You okay?” Hurdle asked over the radio.

As Vail and Curtis ran a zigzag route toward the front of the house, Vail keyed her mic. “We’re fine.” But the homeowners are not gonna be happy when they get back to Virginia and find their house shot to hell.

“This is just great,” Curtis said. “He’s obviously not coming out and we can’t go in.”

Ramos positioned himself on the opposite side of the doorway behind a large planter. “Why the hell not?”

“No reason to. This is now a barricade situation.”

Vail stood up and pressed her back against a pillar on the wood deck. “We should have SWAT deal with this.”

“Good call,” Curtis said. “Can’t argue with that.”

“I can argue with that,” Ramos said as he peeked over the planter to get a better look.

“There’s no exigency,” Vail said. “No reason to go in. No one in harm’s way. He’s not even threatening to kill himself.”

“I’m calling it in, making the request,” Curtis said as he drew his radio.

The three of them heard the reply: SWAT was seventeen minutes out.

Vail texted the rest of the team, who also heard SWAT’s ETA, and requested a SITREP—situation report—from each of them.

Seconds later, their responses came through: the rear of the house took gunfire as well. The sides were quiet.

Second gunman in there with Gaines? Marcks? Or was Gaines just standing in the middle of the residence and firing in both directions?

“We need to go in,” Ramos said.

“Were you not listening?” Curtis asked.

“Booker Gaines,” Vail yelled through the door. “This is the police. SWAT is en route. Throw down your weapon and come out with your hands on your head. We just want to talk.” Well, now I want to kick you in the nuts. But officially, we just want to talk.

“Go away or I’ll kill everyone in here!”

Vail and Curtis exchanged a look.

Vail keyed her radio. “Hurdle, you hear that?”

“I did.”

Curtis elbowed her. “You got him to talk once. Keep the dialogue going.”

“We certainly don’t want that, Booker. Can I call you Booker?”

Gaines’s answer was decisive: more ear-shattering gunfire.

Then silence.

Guess that would be no.

Ramos moved beside Vail and keyed the radio. “Boss, this guy ain’t comin’ out. And he may have hostages. We need to go in.”

Hurdle, back at them over the two-way: “Give it a minute. Everyone hold your position.”

At the sixty-second mark, Hurdle’s voice crackled over the speaker. Vail lowered the volume: “We have zero confirmation he’s got anyone in there. We’re gonna wait and let SWAT handle it. They’re making good time. Updated ETA, nine minutes.”

“Let’s use the time to our advantage,” Vail said. “Rambo, you’re with me.”

“With you where?”

“We’re gonna do a quick canvass. Maybe a neighbor’s seen Marcks—or someone else—in there. We need to know if Gaines’s really got hostages. C’mon,” she said as she started a strategic retreat from the property. In truth, she wanted to take his mind off Gaines, let him cool down—and get him away from the house.

As they made their way along the sidewalk, Vail glanced over her shoulder at the street behind them, checking for the lookout—if he was still there—who had honked a warning to Gaines when they arrived. She saw only two cars, and both appeared unoccupied.

“Curtis,” she said into her radio. “Head over to those vehicles parked at the curb. I don’t think there’s anyone in them, but be careful.” She explained what she was looking for, and why.

“I’ll ping you right back if I find anything.”

Vail thanked him and continued on to the two-story to the east. No one answered, but at the residence to the west, an attorney who worked out of his home office—and who had to be persuaded to come to the door in view of the automatic gunfire—said he thought he had seen another man enter the residence.

“When was this?” Vail asked.

He glanced past Vail and Ramos nervously. “You sure it’s safe to stand here?”

“The gunman’s inside the house,” Ramos said, “and we’ve got it surrounded. If you’d just answer the question, sir.”

“A few days ago. Maybe Wednesday.”

“How old was this guy?” Ramos asked.

He shrugged both shoulders as he thought. “Twenty, at most. A teen, maybe. I’m not even 100 percent sure it was that house. I think it was.”