Eve - Iris Johansen [83]
Eve’s heart skipped a beat. “Why? You said John told you to make sure there was no conflict between them. You’re putting them in a hunt-and-chase position. That’s asking for trouble.”
Judy shrugged. “He was going after John. I couldn’t run the risk of him catching him. I told Hanks to try to be careful. But nothing is going to happen to John.” She looked Eve straight in the eye. “You have your priorities, I have mine. Too bad if your Joe Quinn gets hurt. If he’d stayed here, he would have been fine.”
It was all very simple for Judy, Eve realized. If John Gallo was threatened, then Judy would cause the sky to fall to get him out of trouble. She wouldn’t care who else was hurt. Eve started for the basement door. “You get on the phone and get Hanks off Joe’s trail.”
“Where you going?” Judy asked warily.
“I’m going to find Joe. If you want to obey John’s orders to keep me safe, you’d better make sure Hanks backs off because I’m going to be with Joe.”
“No.” Judy took an impulsive step toward her. “You can’t get in—”
“But she can,” Catherine said softly. She gave Judy a look that stopped her in her tracks. “And you’d better back off, too, and do what she says.” She was following Eve down the basement stairs. “Then you can go to your cozy little kitchen, have one of your dandy ‘store-bought’ doughnuts, and wait for the flak to settle.”
* * *
TIRE TRACKS.
Joe dropped to his knees and examined the marks to the side of the trail. Fresh tracks. The driver was in a hurry. He had peeled onto the road. Heavy truck or van, probably an off-road vehicle.
How fresh? He listened, tuning out the night sounds. The sound of an engine, faint but …
Yes.
And that driver had to be John Gallo.
He felt a rush of fierce satisfaction.
He jumped to his feet and scrambled up on the shoulder of the slope, drawing his gun. Damn I wish I had my rifle. But his Beretta had a fairly long range for a handgun. It might be enough if he could get close enough to shoot out one of the back tires.
He ran to the top of the incline.
A Jeep Cherokee, descending the twisting mountain road, was coming into view around the curve a short distance below him. Not short enough for Joe. Gallo would have to come around the next curve at an angle closer to where Joe stood for him to use the Beretta.
That meant Joe had to get at least fifty feet down the mountain to reach that next twisting level of the road.
He threw himself off road. He skidded down the loosely packed rocks of the slope, falling, picking himself up, and skidding again.
Twenty feet.
He slipped and rolled down the incline until he was stopped by some low shrubs.
He caught his breath and jumped up.
Ten more feet.
Not as slippery as the incline above. No falls.
He was there.
And Gallo was coming around the curve only twenty feet below him!
He had him.
Go slow. He had maybe a minute until Gallo was out of sight again. The shot had to be right. He aimed carefully at the right-rear tire.
He started to squeeze the trigger.
Pain.
His arm jerked as a bullet tore through his forearm!
Shit.
Not from Gallo.
The shot had come from above.
Rage tore through him as he saw Gallo disappear around the curve.
Another shot. Grazing his ear. He had to get out from the middle of the road and into the pine trees on the slope.
He glanced up the mountain as he dove into the trees.
Two men. One short, thin, the other taller and burly. They were separating, fading into the trees on the slope, and coming down the mountain after him.
Good.
He was bleeding. He took off his shirt, tore it in two, and wrapped one piece tightly around his forearm. Now forget it and go on the hunt.
* * *
WHERE WAS THE BASTARD? Hanks wondered. He knew he’d hit him with that first bullet.
Hanks’s phone vibrated.
“He’s disappeared,” Brock whispered. “Dammit, Hanks, I’ve searched this slope, and he’s not here. Did you see him? Maybe he’s unconscious or something and fell off the