The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [506]
They were both breathing hard by the time they could lean against the staircase. Sherlock pulled Sean from between Fleurette and Dillon, and pressed his small face against her shoulder. “It’s okay now, champ,” she whispered against his wet cheek, “don’t worry, it’s okay. Mommy’s right here. It was just a loud noise. You can yell louder than that.”
Not even a minute later sirens sounded loud, at least a half dozen of them. When the front door opened, both Sherlock and Savich had their guns aimed at it. Ben called out before he showed his face, “Jimmy Maitland is here along with lots of my guys and FBI agents. They’re already spreading out, searching for Günter, talking to every neighbor who’ll answer the door. You guys okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Sherlock said.
Ben made his way over to one of the living room side windows, pulled the drapes tight. Once the room was shrouded, Ben turned on the light switches. Everyone blinked. Savich said, “All of you, stay away from the windows. No telling what that maniac might try. Thing is, after that first shot, he knew he was shooting blind, knew we wouldn’t just stand in the middle of the living room. So why did he keep firing?”
“He thought he might get lucky,” Ben said.
“But the chance he’d hit Fleurette?”
Sherlock said, “You know, I don’t think he cared. I think he wanted to terrify us, let us know he was close. I don’t know about the rest of you, but it worked for me.”
Callie came up on her hands and knees, and stared at Ben. Then she was on her feet, running at him. She grabbed him close and held on, her face buried in his shoulder. “I should kill you, you macho asshole, running out there like that and this madman with a gun, shooting like crazy. He’s a good shot, and he would be really happy to see you dead, even if you aren’t Fleurette. Dillon is right, he didn’t care who he hit, and here you were making that lame joke about dancing with him—if that’s an example of cop humor, you need a new writer.”
He holstered his gun in his belt, put his arms around her and hugged her. “Well, he wasn’t all that good a shot this time, was he? And he tried six times. If you start crying, I’m going to throw you out the front door.”
“I’m not crying, you jerk.”
Ben grinned down at her. “Good. I’m all right. He’s long gone. One thing Günter isn’t, is stupid. He knew cops would swarm here within minutes after he fired those shots. He had to know too that it would be a miracle if he got to Fleurette after the first miss. Maybe they’ll find his car, or one of the people who lives a couple of blocks over saw him running to his car, got the make. Maybe someone actually got a look at him.”
Sherlock said, looking around the shattered living room and at each of them in turn, “Günter took his shot, missed, but all of you know he’ll be back. He wants Fleurette dead and he’s not going to stop until it’s done or we get him first.”
Savich said, “We were lucky your parents weren’t here, Fleurette.”
Fleurette, still plastered against him, shuddered. “If they’d still been here, he might have shot one of them. I can’t stand this. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I don’t know anything!”
Sean began humming, the sound very loud in the entrance hall. It made everyone smile, which was a good thing. Sherlock was standing to the side, close to the staircase, rocking him from one leg to the other. She said, between kisses on Sean’s cheek, “We’re all okay, but this was way too close. I’m thinking that to keep you completely safe, Fleurette, we need to take you to Quantico. No one could get near you there. Security could catch a runaway flea there. Little sucker could end up on the firing range.”
Fleurette looked shell-shocked, but she straightened, her eyes blinking as if waking from a dream. She looked toward Sherlock. “That was funny. You guys are so amazing, so—what if he’d hit Sean? I couldn’t take that. It would have been my fault.