White Night

Chapter 25

"Get off me! Get the hell off me!" The shout came from their left, further down the alley and behind another building. Ross pushed past her as they both sprinted toward the shouts.

As they rounded the corner of the building, two men were kicking and punching at another in a flurry of hits. It was a dogfight. A bald guy, matching the driver's license picture of Marco she'd received on her phone, folded toward the ground as the other two overwhelmed him. A flash of silver came from a pocket, a knife blade...

"NYPD! Show me your hands!" Ross shouted, drawing his weapon.

Suddenly Ross backed up, slamming into her and nearly knocking her over.

"Gun," he said quietly, too quietly.

The shot cracked through the alley as they retreated around the corner of the nearest building.

Crouching low and leaning out, she had a shot but risked hitting Marco. The silver knife flashed and crimson flowed as Marco screamed and clutched at the sickening slashes across his body. She had no choice, she wouldn't sit here and watch him be gutted.

Aiming higher to avoid hitting Marco on the ground, she unloaded two rounds. The attackers ducked but didn't stop. Ross was above her, his arm extended over her head, but didn't fire.

"There's no shot!" he shouted.

Security from the bar burst through the rear door of the building.

"Get down!" she shouted as Marco's attackers returned fire again, sending the burly bouncers to the ground.

The brick above her exploded and panic ripped through her as Ross lurched backward, clutching his face.

"You hit?" she shouted, responding with another two rounds.

"No, just the brick," Ross yelled back, wiping at his eyes.

"Call for backup!" She took aim again.

Ross took position above her, his gun arm out rigid, but then he stepped back, blinking furiously and wiping at his eyes with the back of his free hand.

The attackers were ripping the clothes off Marco's upper body, slashing and clawing at him like wild animals. She had to stop them.

Unloading a volley of shots, she sent the men ducking behind their victim.

"Eto ne on, eto ne on. Davai! Davai!" someone called from the alley.

The attackers backed away, firing more shots at her and Ross, forcing them behind the corner again. When the guns went silent, she stole a glance—Marco was on the ground but the gunmen were gone. She rushed to Marco.

"Call it in!" she shouted again to Ross, who was still rubbing his eyes on his sleeve.

The security men were on their feet again and running toward them. Marco was moaning and rolling on the ground. Not enough blood to be "likely," he would survive.

"Stay with him!" She pointed to Marco and continued through the alley.

She leaned around the next corner to see the attackers racing toward the main street, only silhouettes in the dim light.

"NYPD! Stop!" she shouted, waiting for the gunfire response, but the men didn't turn around. They were more than halfway down the alley, but she couldn't fire without risking hitting civilians or cars passing in front of them.

She should hold her position—proxemics training told her to remain out of the direct line of fire, then pursue again—but she started after them. It was a chance to catch the killer, to prove she was still effective, or reckless. One of the attackers looked back in her direction and her heart jumped. If he fired, she was screwed—no cover or backup, she was an easy shot.