Target Response by William W. Johnstone & J. A. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone & J. A. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Mercenary Troops - United States, Crime, Westerns, Fiction, Assassins - Crimes Against - United States, Suspense fiction, Men's Adventure, Thrillers, Suspense, General
ISBN: 9780786022663
Publisher: Pinnacle
Published: 2010-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

NINE

Steve hit the paved terrace, breaking the impact with a shoulder roll, still experiencing a bone-jarring thud.

The air was cold, fresh, raw. It helped revive him. Coming out of the roll, he got his feet under him and sprang upright.

He’d catapulted himself onto a flagstone terrace that aproned the rear of the house.

The terrace, long and wide, fronted south. Pieces of white-painted iron lawn furniture stood scattered on the patio. Several chairs grouped around a round-topped table, and there was a high-backed bench built for two.

It was good to be out of the death-trap room, but the outside was too open. Steve felt nakedly exposed.

He glanced back at the house. Moving figures showed behind the windows. The Moray group, moving to finish what they’d started. Moving to finish him.

The patio was thirty feet wide and stood three feet above ground level. At its far end a curved flight of stone stairs slanted down to the lawn.

Steve darted left toward the terrace’s western end, racing to get clear of the firing line from the window. A waist-high stone balustrade bordered the terrace. Steve rested his right hand on the rail as he threw his legs over it, vaulting it.

Bare thornbushes lay below, running along the terrace’s edge. They broke his fall, spilling him onto the cold, hard ground.

Bullets cut the air overhead, whizzing past.

Lillian stood with her upper body leaning out the dining room window, shooting at Steve. “There he goes! Don’t let him get away!”

Steve looked around. What next?

His Suburban was parked on the north, opposite side of the mansion. A long way off. The Morays could get to the front entrance and outside well in time to intercept him. The nearest buildings were the garage and the stable. The garage was closer to the house’s northwest corner, where Steve was. One of the bay doors was open; inside it a fancy car could be seen. A man stood there peering out at him.

Steve recognized him as Ludlow, the family’s chauffeur and handyman. Skye had introduced him to Steve earlier, when Ludlow had saddled up their horses prior to the ride.

Ludlow had been absent during the fun and games in the dining room, but considering the fact that the other household servants were all part of the Moray cabal, there was no reason to assume that Ludlow was any different.

This was the damnedest ménage that Steve had ever seen!

Ludlow ducked back into the garage, out of sight.

Steve looked back toward the stable.

A one-story shedlike structure, it had a peaked roof with light gray shingles; the wooden-frame building was painted battleship gray. A set of swinging barn doors in front was now closed. It was one of those modern show barns that looked like a real estate agent’s office.

Steve made a beeline for it. His wounded hand ached, throbbing, feeling like a second heart pounding away at the end of his left arm. It bled steadily but not profusely. Gore covered his hand, making it look as if he wore one red glove.

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