Protector - Laurel Dewey [197]
The sheriff, gun pointed forward, moved quickly into the room. “Get down!”
Jane entered the room, gun drawn. The deputy followed.
There was no one in the room.
“Shit!” Jane yelled.
“He was only talking to her for a little bit. She seemed in shock, but I chalked it up to your—”
“Where the fuck did they go?”
“Out the back door!” Sheriff George said nervously.
Jane bolted toward the door and flung it open. She walked outside, gun held out in a defensive stance, scanning the immediate area. Nothing. Jane noted two depressions of footprints in the wet grass that lead to the left and around the building. She followed the quickly disappearing wet footprints toward the front of the building. When she reached the sidewalk, Jane had to make a decision. Did Chris turn right or left? It was an accepted fact that when a perp is fleeing a crime scene, most of them turn right. It made even more sense for Chris to go right since all the major parade action was heading to the left down Main Street. If he was trying to take Emily somewhere discreet, chances are he would turn right and head for the park or the highway.
Jane holstered her Glock and took off up the street. But it was nearly impossible to make headway with the packed crowds of people standing on the sidewalk. The discordant sound of trumpets blended with tubas. Each time the drum majorette threw her baton into the air and caught it, the crowd applauded and let out whistles of appreciation. Chris had found the ideal diversion in this Independence Day celebration. Jane tried valiantly to push through the throngs of bodies, but she was losing ground fast. She spotted a graduated brick wall that surrounded one of the houses. At its highest point, Jane figured it stood about ten feet high. If she could crawl on top of the brick wall, she knew she would be able to see far more than from ground level. Taking quick steps up the narrow blocks, Jane reached the top of the narrow wall. She got her balance and canvassed the scene with her eyes. “Emily,” Jane whispered, terror gripping at her heart, “where are you?”
Just then, Jane looked about a half block up Main Street toward the park. A girl’s head turned around in Jane’s direction as if in response to Jane’s query. It was Emily. Chris was walking closely alongside her, his right arm tightly gripping her right shoulder. Directly under Chris’ jacket, Jane could faintly make out the barrel of a gun wedged into Emily’s side. As soon as Emily turned her head, Chris’ right hand immediately came up and slapped her face forward. “You son-of-a-bitch!” Jane shouted above the roaring parade noise. Jane scrambled down the side of the brick wall and jumped the rest of the way to the sidewalk. Her adrenaline kicked into high gear as she frantically pushed her way through the crowd. She factored that Chris was about seventy-five feet in front of her. “Emily!” Jane yelled in a futile attempt to get her attention. “Emily! I’m right here!!” Jane continued shoving people aside and plowing through the spectators. The band became louder and the crowd grew more exuberant, creating a tense background of chaos against the chase. “Emily!” Jane sprinted within fifty feet of Chris and the kid.
Jane’s frantic voice alerted Dan, who was standing on the hood of his parked Ford truck, watching the parade, directly in line with Emily. Dan spotted Jane in the crowd and knew something was very wrong. Noting Emily and Chris, he put two and two together, figuring Chris was Jane’s ex-husband. He jumped off the hood of his truck and made a beeline toward Emily.
As Jane closed in on the scene, she saw Dan moving toward Emily and Chris. “No! Dan! Get away from him! Get