Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(19)

He calmed as quickly as he had angered. “Right, sorry.”

She explained what she had done to protect the crime scene and McElroy’s body.

“Okay, I heard one set of footsteps,” he said quietly. “About a hundred feet ahead. They’ve stopped. No door opened, no car started.”

“So he’s still in the alley. It might be a dead end, then.”

“Funny selection for a shooter,” Puller said ominously.

“Yeah, it is.”

Puller eyed the access ladder bolted to the brick wall and then looked up to see where it went.

“I’m taking the high ground. You stay down here.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said bluntly.

“Which is why I’m leaving you alone, down here.”

“What are you going to do up there?”

“In a fight or a chase high ground is always better ground.”

He hustled over to the ladder and quickly started to scale it. Pine watched him go until he reached the roof and slipped over the edge.

Pine started moving forward, in her mind’s eye trying to parallel Puller’s movements above. As she left one building and moved to the next, she looked up and saw Puller leap effortlessly from that rooftop to the next. There were alleys between the buildings, but two had high chain-link fences with padlocked gates and barbed wire on top. Pine peered down a third one but it was clearly a dead end.

Three rooftops and blind or gated-off alleys later, she stopped. Her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Puller.

Dead end. A set of trash cans. He’s behind them. Flush him.

Pine edged forward and peered at the line of battered trash cans.

She looked up and could see a shadow slightly darker than the night around them.

It was Puller. His gun was aimed downward right at the target.

Pine knelt down and pointed her pistol at the cans.

“FBI, throw your weapon down and come out with your hands up, fingers interlocked behind your head. Do it. Now!”

Pine could see one of the cans shaking and couldn’t think of a reason why that would be. And, like Puller had pointed out before, why had this person shot McElroy from a blind alley where his escape would be cut off?

“I said to come out now. Do it. This is your last warning before we open fire.”

She wasn’t going to open fire because she was in no imminent danger, and Bureau rules would forbid her taking life-threatening action in such a situation.

But the guy they were chasing didn’t know that.

She aimed her gun as the person slowly rose from behind the cover of the garbage cans.

He looked like a teenager. He was black, small of frame, and he was shaking, which might explain the vibrating nature of the trash can. In his right hand was a gun. The weapon was Pine’s main focus because it had to be. Once that was neutralized, she could work the situation any number of ways.

“Put the gun down,” she said. “You’ve got no chance, so you’ve got no choice.”

The kid looked wildly around, as though he couldn’t believe he was in this situation.

“Don’t shoot me,” he cried out.

“No one’s shooting anyone,” said Pine. “If you put the gun down.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Put the gun down and we can talk about it. You can tell me your side of things.”

He shook his head. “Nobody’s going to believe me.”

“I can promise to listen, if you put the gun down.”

“No, lady, I can’t do that. We’re in deep shit.”

“You’ll be in a lot deeper shit if you don’t put the gun down.”

The kid seemed to be considering this but was obviously unsure of what to do.

“What’s your name?” asked Pine. “I like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all.”

“My . . . my name’s Jerome. Jerome Blake.”

“Okay, I’m Agent Pine. That’s a good start, Jerome. Now if you put the gun down I can listen to your side of things.”

Jerome started to tremble, and tears slid down his face. “You don’t understand, lady.”

“I’m trying to.”

He waggled his gun hand. “Please, I—”

That was when the shot rang out.

Pine cried out, “No!”

Jerome looked over at her as though surprised by the hole that had suddenly appeared in his chest. Directly over his heart.

She looked up at the roof of the building. She couldn’t see Puller up there but there was no way his position would have allowed for a shot like that.

She looked back at Blake in time to see him topple first into the trash cans and then to the dirty asphalt.

The next moment a uniformed policeman raced past Pine, his gun drawn. He was in his midforties, tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and darker eyebrows.

He knelt next to Jerome and felt for a pulse. He looked at Pine and shook his head.

“He’s gone. He was going to shoot you, ma’am.”

“No, at least I didn’t think he was.”

The cop pointed his gun over at the building as Puller scrambled down a ladder there.

“Hold it right there,” barked the cop.

“He’s with me,” cried out Pine. “I’m FBI. He’s Army CID.”