The Darker Hours by Sam Lee Jackson

Author:Sam Lee Jackson [Jackson, Sam Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781646333691
Publisher: Piping Rock Publishing LLC
Published: 2019-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

30

Pop! Pop! Pop! The gunfire was deafening. Without hesitation Blackhawk swept Elena from her chair and threw her to the ground. Gabe went sideways and Boyce went after him, knocking him from the chair and landed on top of him. Boyce’s hand went to her waist, then she cursed. Just a belted summer dress and no weapon. Blackhawk came to one knee, his Sig Sauer in his hand. He was pointing it at the back gate. The gate led from the back patio out to the parking lot. The gate was open but there was no one there.

Gabe was holding his side. Then he looked at his blood-soaked hand. A dark stain of blood was spreading on his shirt. Everyone was screaming and scrambling to get away. Boyce pulled Gabe’s jacket out of the way. The wound was at the far edge of his torso. It looked like the bullet had grazed his abdomen. It didn’t look like it had penetrated. She grabbed a white napkin and pressed it against the wound. She took his hand and pressed it against the napkin. “Push on this,” she shouted at him.

“Stay here,” Blackhawk said loudly to Elena and started toward the gate. Boyce got to her feet. “Keep a compress on Gabe,” she shouted to Elena and went after Blackhawk. She knew there were probably a hundred people dialing 911 right now. She went through the gate and was immediately between parked cars. Blackhawk was running to the Chrysler. She raced after him. By the time he was in the driver’s seat and starting the engine, Boyce was sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“Did you see him?”

Blackhawk nodded. “Gray Tahoe. Just ahead of us. Headed back north.” He wrenched the wheel and they spun out of the parking lot, tires squealing. The Chrysler had a lot of power and Blackhawk used all of it.

“Did you get a look at him?” Boyce shouted above the roar of the engine.

“Tall guy, Hispanic,” Blackhawk said. “Saw him come through the gate. Thought he worked there. Didn’t see the gun until he was using it.”

“You think this was random?”

Blackhawk looked at her, then back to the street, jamming the accelerator. “Hell no,” he said. “The guy was a bad shot, but he was aiming at you.”

They reached the end of the street and Blackhawk went screeching around the corner. Boyce was slammed against the door. She fumbled for the seatbelt, found it and, with some difficulty, snapped it in place.

For an odd moment she was thinking of DiMartini. “Guess I’m not the best person to be next to,” she said.

“There he is,” Blackhawk said.

The street they were on butted into 32nd street, and two blocks ahead a grey Tahoe was running the stop sign, tires squealing as he turned north. Blackhawk had to brake hard to make the turn. He didn’t hesitate. As the back end slid around, he stomped the gas. Two cars in the opposite lane went over the curb to avoid him. A quarter mile ahead was the stoplight at the top of the hill.

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