Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(98)

“Now, come forward with your hands raised. I need to make sure you don’t have another gun,” he said.

She walked slowly into the room and raised her hands. Every move she made was calculated to position herself to overpower him, to grab his weapon. With Dillon’s neck held awkwardly in the crook of one arm, the guard used the back of the hand that was holding the pistol to pat her waist and the front and back of her pants, then her groin. As he did so, he let the barrel of his pistol drop away from her. She noticed movement outside the window on the side of the house, and then a red dot appeared in the dark that she recognized as a laser. She could only hope the gun was held by a police officer and not a Medrano approaching from the rear of the house. Forced to make a split-second change to the plan, Josie calmly said, “You have an AR15 sighted on your head. If you lift your gun, your head will be blown away. Stay very, very still.”

“You’re lying,” he said, but remained motionless, his hand now poised over her foot.

Dillon moaned, struggling to keep from dropping to the floor. Josie made eye contact with him. He was bent at the waist, his face turned up and toward her. She mouthed the words: Don’t move. His unblinking eyes never changed their expression.

“The red laser is trained on your temple,” she said to the Medrano guard. “There is a clear shot from the window. If you drop your weapon now and kneel down on the floor, you live. If you stand, or if you move that gun, you will be shot.”

“You’re lying!” He yelled the words now, his tone furious at the position he found himself in. But he still didn’t move.

“Do you think I would have entered this room without backup? The moment you lift that gun in my direction you will die.”

Josie had lost sight of the red laser dot and prayed the shooter was still in the window. If the guard called her bluff she was defenseless.

“Let go of the hostage.”

He tried to stand quickly, but the weight of Dillon slowed him down, and as he maneuvered to turn and lift the pistol toward the window, two shots were fired and he fell to the floor, dragging Dillon with him.

Terrified that Dillon had been shot as well, she dropped to her knees, still not sure who had fired the shots. Dillon was lying on his side, the guard lying facedown across his legs. Josie shoved the man off and gently rolled Dillon over, looking into his eyes. He blinked at her but didn’t speak.

She leaned toward him, blinking back tears. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

He nodded. She kissed his forehead and then heard Otto talking outside of the window, his voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

“All clear. Shooter down. You are clear to enter the room.”

At that same moment, Sergio entered the room with his gun drawn, his expression desperate.

“He wasn’t shot, but he’s in shock,” Josie said, not taking her eyes off Dillon. Tears fell down her face and she knew that she had to stop, to try and distance herself from the emotion. She stood, still keeping her eyes locked on Dillon’s. “You’re okay. You’re going home,” she said, choking back tears.

Josie heard Nick on the headset. “Get out of there. One of the team members said two pickups circled the neighborhood twice. We need out immediately.”

Josie and Sergio pulled Dillon to his feet. They moved out into the hallway, where they were met by Tom, who opened the front door for them and helped to get Dillon outside. Nick had pulled the Suburban into the yard, just outside the door. They quickly loaded Dillon into the back and Josie climbed in behind him. Otto got into the front passenger seat and the rest of the team left in Sergio’s police car. Nick said Sergio would drive Juan to the hospital for a gunshot wound to his thigh.

As they drove away, the houses on Espinoza Street stayed silent. It was a neighborhood that had experienced violence in the past. No one dared to step outside; doors were locked, cars parked, windows dark, their occupants lying in wait for the retribution that was sure to come.





TWENTY-EIGHT


While Nick drove the Suburban, he communicated with his other team members via his headset. From the seat next to him, Otto talked on his cell phone to Vie Blessings, Artemis’s Trauma Center nurse, about Dillon’s condition and their estimated time of arrival. In the backseat, Dillon had slumped against Josie without speaking. She wrapped one arm around his back and felt his spine sticking out from his frail body. Otto passed back a bottle of water. Josie gently pushed Dillon up and pressed the bottle to his lips, her hand trembling.

“Can you drink some? We need to get water into you,” she said.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He struggled to talk, his voice cracking, barely able to speak. He drank from the bottle, dripping the water down his chin. After several sips he leaned back against the seat, turning his head to Josie, his eyes only half open. “When I saw you in the window, I thought I was dreaming it. I thought I’d never see you again.”

And with those words, she finally let the emotion of the night soak into her body like the ground taking in a long-coveted rain. She cried openly, pulling him into her chest and crying into his hair as she held his back. She was overwhelmed by the love she felt, a love that she knew could carry them through the horror that would shadow their lives for many months to come.

*

Ten minutes later, they drove over an illegal makeshift bridge that Josie assumed Nick’s team members had set up earlier in the day. Back on U.S. soil, she felt immense relief. She hadn’t known for sure they would make it to safety until she heard the Rio rushing under her feet. There was no conversation in the car. The tension and exhaustion were palpable. They all knew Dillon’s health was in critical condition.