Page 57 of Killer Clone

Ander opened the passenger door. Hagen started to climb in, but something caught his eye.

Across the alley, past the arcade, a row of dumpsters lined the pavement. Beyond them, just visible over the rusted lids, sat a white vehicle. Tall. An SUV? No. More likely a truck.

He shut the door, eyes narrowing as he stepped away for a better look.

Hagen’s senses sharpened as a hood rose from behind the dumpster. Then a shoulder. An arm.

A gun.

“Ander, down!”

Hagen raced for cover behind the dumpster closest to their SUV and drew his weapon. A shot echoed through the alley. A short metallic screech told him the bullet had hit the top of the Ford.

Hagen aimed down the alley. The dumpster had been pushed sideways. It blocked the street and obscured his vision. He couldn’t see shit.

“Ander, you good?”

“Fine.” Ander’s voice came from the other side of the car. “Calling it in…shots fired. South side of Kerrick’s Alley. In pursuit of suspect.”

“Cover me.”

From the corner of his eye, Hagen saw Ander rise. He’d drawn his weapon and aimed in the direction of the shot.

Hagen advanced. He lined up the sights down the muzzle.

Nothing moved.

He crept forward. A car couldn’t drive through the arcade to the north side of the alley. He had to trust Ander had his back and would shoot if he saw anything Hagen missed.

It was likely they were out of danger. He’d heard the attacker’s vehicle drive off and couldn’t see the top of the white vehicle anymore.

Hagen reached the arcade. The commercial, pedestrian-only lane was empty. The shops were open. But the shoppers wereeither scarce at this time of day or the gunfire had scared them away.

Still, there was no movement behind the dumpster where he’d seen the hoodie.

Hagen moved on. He kept the gun trained on the dumpster’s black lid. His mouth was dry. He’d been in this situation far too many times, closing in on a shooter with an itchy trigger finger. The approach never got easier.

The dumpster was just five yards away now. He adjusted his grip. He’d give a warning, and if the shooter made a move—and was still there—he’d fire.

“FBI. Come out with your hands up.”

Nothing.

Hagen braced before taking off in a sprint, thumping toward Commerce Street, puddles splashing as he passed. Reaching the dumpster, he shoved it hard with a foot. The dumpster rolled out of the way and smacked into the wall.

No one was there. There was no sign of the white vehicle either.

Sirens approached, and soon, blue-and-red lights bounced off the storefronts and the alley walls. Police cars arrived. Two officers leaped out of a cruiser, guns drawn.

Hagen lifted his hands. “FBI. Don’t shoot.”

Slade arrived ten minutes later with Anja. While she stayed with the officers to search the area, Slade examined the damage to the roof of the Explorer. A long silver streak slashed through the paint.

“Bullet must’ve come in at a low angle and then bounced off. Lord knows where it went.” Slade pointed at the passenger door. “You were there?”

Ander nodded. His face was pale. “Just about to get in.”

“So the shooter missed you by what…ten inches? From thirty yards. Big guy like you. No pro, is he?”

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