High Risk by G.K. Parks (thriller book recommendations txt) 📗

After taking another breath, I poked my head out and returned fire, hoping if I couldn’t hit the offender, I’d at least be able to distract him long enough for Fennel to get to him. He fired again. His shots getting closer and closer to my head. I ducked back into cover, my heart pounding in my chest. If I couldn’t see him clearly, how could he see me?

Quickly, I searched for any mirrors or monitors, but I didn’t see anything that would give away my position. Did he have a sixth sense or a spotter? The woman who attempted to provide aid to the dead station agent said there had been two of them. Where was the second shooter?

The ground beneath my feet vibrated, followed by the telltale rumble of an arriving train. Disregarding my own well-being, I broke from cover just as the subway came to a stop, blocking my view of the other side. The doors opened, and dozens of unsuspecting passengers exited the row of cars.

For the briefest moment, I caught sight of a khaki-colored shirt moving with the throng. And then it was gone. I shoved people aside, announcing myself, but it was already too late.

Fennel appeared in the open doorway of the emptying subway car. “Where the hell is he?”

I squinted into the distance. I didn’t see him head for the stairs. “Did he get on the train? Or go in the tunnel?” I couldn’t see into the tunnel since the stopped train blocked it from view.

“I’ll check the train.” My partner disappeared back inside, moving from the middle car toward the far end, closest to where the shooter had been positioned.

I shouted to the officers who had arrived to assist to have the train stopped and to be on the lookout for anyone wearing a security guard uniform. Thankfully, they had already radioed the description to all officers in the area after speaking to the woman.

By the time I made it to the end of the platform, the shooter had vanished. Spent casings littered the ground, and I picked one up and tucked it into my pocket. At this rate, I didn’t need anything else to disappear.

“He’s not here.” Fennel emerged from the first car. He kept his back to mine, covering me while I checked around the pillar and the alcoves near the end where the homeless liked to sleep and people could lock their bikes. “Did you get a look at him?”

“No, but he killed the station agent. A woman saw what happened. She said there’s two of them.”

“That goes along with what the 9-1-1 caller said.” He took a step back. I could feel his reassuring presence behind me. “What about the men’s room?”

“I don’t know.” I stared into the darkness. “I think he went into the tunnel.”

He pulled out a radio, asking for an ETA on our backup. With so many people, most officers had been diverted to crowd control and evacs. “On our way,” came a clipped response.

Fennel kept his eyes on the door to the public restrooms. “I say we check there first. If they went into the tunnels, who knows where they might pop up?”

Several anti-crime officers approached our position, their badges out and exposed, but they identified themselves just to be on the safe side. They kept an eye on the tunnel entrance while Fennel and I cleared the restrooms.

By the time we were finished hauling the few occupants out, more cops had arrived on the scene. The trains had been shut down, and several went into the tunnels in search of our suspects. Fennel and I questioned the few people we dragged out of the bathrooms, but they hadn’t seen anything. And since they tested negative for GSR and didn’t fit the description of our offenders, we let them go.

We swept the area again, questioning anyone and everyone we could find, but the descriptions varied drastically. Most people I spoke to didn’t see anything. They heard the shot or the screaming and followed the crowd to safety.

“Do you think the offenders blended in and escaped?” Fennel asked as we made our way back to the traumatized woman. She sat on top of a gurney with a blanket around her while EMTs checked her pulse.

“We already had their descriptions even before the station agent was killed. No cop would let a security guard slip away.”

“They could have changed clothes.”

“We would have found the discarded uniforms in the trash or on the ground. I didn’t find anything. Did you?”

“No.” Fennel sighed, glancing back at the stopped train. Officers were questioning the remaining passengers and checking IDs. Aside from pissing off the commuters and getting several complaints lodged against the department for the holdup, I didn’t think this would achieve anything. “How did they get past us?”

Security camera footage was already being pulled and compiled, so we’d know soon enough. In the meantime, we had a few eyewitnesses to question.

Sixteen

From what we gathered, two men shot and killed the LockBox security guards, left the scene of that crime, found someplace to hang out for a couple of hours, and then dumped Lindsey Rook’s body several blocks away from the dispensary, dressed in his clothes, and abandoned their getaway vehicle. They went down into the subway tunnels and tried to rob the station agent. She must have unlocked the door, possibly in an attempt to go for help or to appease their demands, but either way, they shot her and fled.

The woman who had been behind them in line hadn’t seen what happened until they knocked her over on their way out. By then, everyone else who’d been clustered around the booth had literally run for their lives. She had crawled to the open door, found the station agent, whom she spoke to every week when she renewed