Page 63 of Grissom
“Yes, Boss,” Mother snapped through their common frequency. “I’ll let you know where to intercept Maverick. Tuesday needs us, and she damned well needs Grissom.”
“AndIneed her,” Grissom admitted to everyone listening, “and I’m going to marry her.” They might as well all know.
Grissom and Alex had just squealed rubber on the eastbound loop feeding Ronald Reagan National Airport when Maverick’s growl came over their earpieces. “He’s in parking lot two.” Which meant Moreno had booked a flight to New York City on American, Alaska, Delta, JetBlue, or United Airlines.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Alex hissed “How’s he think he’ll get Tuesday on board flying commercial?”
“He drugged her,” Grissom hissed. “That’s the only way to control her, by doping her with something that’ll still lether walk and talk and… Fuck! Want to bet Moreno used scopolamine!”
Grissom couldn’t bear to think what else the bastard might’ve forced her to do.
Maverick must’ve been right on Morena’s ass as quick as he yelled, “Let her go, Moreno! Drop the weapon!”
Moreno’s reply came back garbled and hollow.
Grissom kicked the SUV to its limit.
“Faster!” Alex gripped the suicide strap overhead.
“I said let her go!” Maverick barked again. “She’s been shot. She’s bleeding, and she needs medical attention. Do what I said! Do it now!”
She’s hurt? Shot?Grissom hadn’t thought Pam had hit anything with that wild assed shot. Surely not Tuesday, not as brilliantly as she’d fought Pam after that weapon fired. Tuesday hadn’t faltered in her well-handled offense, not once. She’d all but pushed Grissom out of her way to knock Pam down. That head butt of hers was a stellar tactical move. But she’d been hit?
“You do, you son of a bitch, and you’ll die!” Maverick bellowed.
Grissom recognized the steel in Cowboy’s tone. Things in the parking garage were escalating. Jesus, he hoped his teammate was as good a shot as everyone said.
Maverick had no more than promised retribution when gunfire erupted over the connection. Grissom slammed the brakes to the floor. The SUV drifted sideways, blocking the north entrance to the garage before it stopped rolling. Grissom was out the door, both pistols from his double holster drawn, and ready to kill. He and Alex sprinted onto the ground-level floor. It took seconds to scan the place. No Maverick, tail lights, or signs of police action.
“Where’s the fuckin’ stairs?” Grissom yelled.
Alex nodded to the nearest corner where red-on-black Elevator and Exit signs blinked over a steel fire door. Several people exited quickly, running past him and Alex.
“Where are they?” Alex asked the harried group.
“In the northwest corner,” an older woman replied, pointing towards the north wall of the garage. “Two men and a woman. Hurry. She’s bleeding, and the creep says he’s gonna kill her if that other guy won’t let him go!”
“Like hell!” Grissom answered.
Alex grabbed the doorknob to the stairway, but instead of throwing it open, he forced Grissom to a dead stop. “We do this right. I’ll take the shooter, you go to Tuesday. She needs you, so you be there for her, understand? Go straight to Tuesday, no one else. Comfort her. Keep her safe until this is over. Just her, understand?”
Another gunshot boomed from upstairs. “Shit, Boss, I know. I know! Let’s go!”
“Grissom.” Alex had a ton of steel in his tone.
“Okay, yeah, yes, I heard you. You’ll take Moreno. I’ll take Tuesday. Got it, now move!” Grissom was dead on his boss’s ass all the way up to the next level’s steel fire door.
Leaning a hefty shoulder into the heavy metal, Alex eased the door open just wide enough for him to look into the parking lot. Damn it. When Alex was sure the way was clear, it was his nine-millimeter SIG leading Grissom out of the stairwell and into rows of parked vehicles.
An incoming Metro train rumbled on the tracks overhead as Grissom burst into the lot. Metro PD sirens screamed close by. The heavier whine of fire engine sirens signaled they were close, too. Just not there yet. Rounding one of many concrete support columns running east to west under a low concrete ceiling, he finally caught sight of Maverick’s broad back a couple dozen cars down. He was in a standoff with a dusky-skinned male in a blackleather bomber jacket. Cowboy’s stance was taut, his shoulders wide. Both arms were extended and his boots were positioned to fire.
Sal Moreno was no match, his only ace-in-the-hole the dazed human shield in front of him.Fuckin’ chicken shit.
Grissom dodged left, keeping Moreno in sight, drawing the kidnapper’s attention while keeping Alex in sight at his right. His boss had become a shadow among the pillars, slinking from one to the next. Always advancing. Closing in on Maverick without being seen. How a man as big as Alex could pull off sneaky subterfuge like that was a spectacular asset in Tuesday’s favor. With every foot closer he drew to the showdown, Grissom kept walking, drawing Moreno’s attention, keeping the asshat’s focus on him.
Maverick bellowed again. “Don’t make me shoot you. Let her go.”
Grissom’s world narrowed down to just Tuesday and Moreno’s weapon, a stubby, break-open, thirty-eight special stuck upward in the soft hollow under her jaw. Rosewood grip. Stainless metal finish. Two-and-a-half-inch barrel. Held by a jackass who wasn’t going to live much longer. One discharge from that stubby pistol would send either a thirty-eight special or a three-fifty-seven magnum caliber round, upward through Tuesday’s throat, tongue, soft palate, and sinuses, into her brain. She’d be dead before her body hit the ground.
