“Of course you do,” Oliver said. He sounded resigned. “Ever fired it?”
“No. How hard could it be?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“There are bullets in it,” she said, offended by his tone.
“That helps.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “Do you really think they mean to kill us?”
“Damned if I know,” he said. “But whatever they came here to do, they intend to do it to you. They don’t know I’m here. Not yet, at any rate. That gives us an edge.”
“Daisy Jennings?”
“She’s dead in the water out back.”
“Dear heaven. Another drowning. Just as you predicted.”
There was some shouting from outside. Two men, Irene realized. One man yelled at the other.
“Do it. Hurry.”
“One of them is off his motorcycle,” Oliver reported. “He’s coming toward the warehouse. He’s got something in his hand.”
“Gun?”
“Yes, in one hand,” Oliver said. “That’s not what’s worrying me. It’s what he’s got in his other hand that could be a very big problem. I just saw a flash of light. The bastard lit a fuse. Stay down.”
A rapid staccato of gunshots roared in the night. Irene heard some of them thud into the wall behind her.
“Cover fire,” Oliver said. His tone was devoid of all emotion.
“Cover for what?” Irene asked.
A fiery object sailed through one of the empty windows and landed on the floor. It exploded on impact. Flames leaped.
“Cover for a firebomb,” Oliver said.
His gun roared once, twice.
“The bitch has a gun,”one of the motorcyclists screamed. “No one said she was armed.”
“Oliver,”Irene said.
He fired two more quick shots.
There was another scream from outside the warehouse, an unmistakable howl of agony.
One of the motorcycle engines roared furiously in the night.
“Dallas, I’m hit,” a man yelled. “Wait for me.”
The single motorcycle howled away on the dirt lane, the sound of the engine fading rapidly.
“One down,” Oliver reported. “The other one is leaving. We have to get out of here. Rear door.”
The hungry flames had begun to consume everything in their path. The heat was mounting but Irene knew that the real danger was the smoke.