Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [85]
A burly African American appeared in the hall. He wore dirty overalls and a skullcap. In his beefy hands, he clutched a double-barreled shotgun, which was pointed at the ceiling. His eyes appeared wild, like he was drugged.
"What do you want?" Claudia asked as gently and calmly as she could. The lawyer in her took over. If I can just remain rational, negotiate with him, get him to talk to me, then it will be all right...
"I want to help you," Claudia assured him. "What can I do to help you?"
The man blinked, his eyes beginning to focus. He looked down at Claudia's long, tanned legs. His gaze moved upward, over her trim figure, attractive face, and golden, sleep-tousled hair. Finally, he met her sky-blue eyes.
"Please, just put the gun down..." Claudia urged.
Claudia held her breath, feeling a moment of triumph as he did what she asked. He's putting the gun down! He's actually leaning it against the wall!
"Good," Claudia murmured on a released breath.
"That's good."
The man stood there, unarmed now. But he still hadn't said a word.
"You don't want to hurt me, do you?" Claudia cooed.
A slow grin spread over the big man's face, the wide smile showing a single gold tooth. Then he began to move toward her, his steps deliberate, his sexual interest at last apparent to Claudia.
The lawyer's mind seized up; her jaw went slack. She couldn't think, couldn't speak. Finally registering what was about to happen to her, she simply stood frozen in place, barely able to breathe.
Her courtroom tactics were useless now; but Claudia Wheelock wasn't defenseless. Something deep inside her was taking over. Like a puppeteer, it directed her hand to take hold of the heavy item in her pocket — the gun her husband had given her. As if in a dream, Claudia felt her fingers curling around the butt.
The man reached out, still grinning, the gold tooth winking. She could read the laughter in his eyes now: Easy prey. Arrogant. Defenseless. Stupid.
His beefy hands tore open her robe, and Claudia's finger squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in her hand, the first bullet ripping through the terry cloth. She pumped four more shots into the stunned intruder before he finally went down.
* * *
3:46:14 A.M. EDT
Howard Street
Newark, New Jersey
Tony Almeida peered through the windshield of the stolen Explorer. Judith Foy sat beside him in the passenger seat. The idling Ford was tucked between two chop shop wrecks, nearly invisible to anyone cruising along Howard Street — or so Tony hoped.
"There's the Hummer," he announced, sitting up.
Agent Foy followed his gaze. "That's the one," she agreed.
Tony threw the SUV into gear. "I was getting worried. The plane must have been delayed." He glanced at his partner. "Get clear now."
Foy popped the door and slipped out.
Inside the Explorer, Tony waited for the black Hummer to roll toward him along Howard Street. When the vehicle was almost upon him, he gunned the engine. Tires squealed and the Explorer lurched forward.
The crash came sooner than Tony expected. The noise was deafening. The hood crumpled, flew open. Then the windshield exploded. After that, Tony was blind because the front impact air bags deployed.
The tremendous force of the crash jerked both vehicles to the side. In the middle of the cacophony, Tony heard his front tire pop. Then all was quiet, save for the hiss of steam leaking from the radiator.
Tony used a knife to deflate his air bag. With some difficulty, he forced his door open. Judith was already next to him, gun drawn. They reached the other car at the same time, both leveling their weapons.
The driver of the Hummer, a man wearing a black leather blazer, with Eastern European features, a crew cut, and an unshaven chin, was obviously dead. Tony ripped open