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and Standish waited quietly with the motor idling. They were parked out of sight in her cruiser about fifty yards from the arch that marked the entrance to Hope Ranch. Each wore Pro-Tac vests rated to stop handgun rounds and military grade ballistic helmets. The protective equipment had been staged in the apartment with an assortment of firearms. They each carried two handguns hung under their arms in shoulder holsters. Shotguns loaded with 12-gauge 00 shells laid within reach on the floorboard, but tight quarters would probably dictate handguns.

Three of the squad cars had arrived on time. One was directly behind them to provide backup, and two more were positioned outside the arch to block an escape toward the freeway. When it arrived, the requested fourth car would assume a picket position near the freeway in case the Egyptians broke through the blockade.

Evarts held a cell phone to his ear.

“Trish, anything?”

“Nothing.”

Damn. He checked his watch again. It had been twenty-two minutes. Maybe they had smelled a trap. Hopefully, he had underestimated the timing.

“Why put Trish in danger?” Standish asked.

“It’s the least dangerous job I could give her. If I left her out, she’d be pissed.”

She nodded. “What do you think they’ll do?”

He shrugged. “They’ll surrender or fight. I want to be ready for either.” After a moment, he added, “These aren’t criminals like those Baltimore crews. These are honest-to-God terrorists. In truth, I don’t expect them to surrender.”

“Car coming,” Baldwin said into his ear. After a stress-charged pause, she added, “It’s them. Moving quick. Four males. Following.”

After a couple minutes, Evarts said, “Listening for your signal.”

Nothing. And then, “5, 4, 3, 2, now! Go!”

Standish stomped the throttle, while Evarts hit the siren and lights. As the car emerged onto the road, Standish expertly spun the steering wheel, so the cars aligned for a head-on collision. The Egyptians feinted to the left, but Standish kept the grills aligned. The distance closed fast. They were almost to the Arch. Time to decide.

Fight, flee, or surrender.

The oncoming car abruptly screeched to a halt. Then the front tires smoked and wailed as they accelerated in reverse. Standish came to an emergency stop. Behind the Egyptians, two squad cars had pulled out to establish a barricade across lanes in either direction. A glance told Evarts that Trish was nowhere in sight. On their side of the arch, another police cruiser pulled beside them to block passage in the outbound lane. The suspect car screech to another stop. It sat a moment. Evarts saw heads swiveling inside the car. Another decision. Forward, backward, or fight in place.

Evarts switched on the cruiser’s loudspeaker. “Put your hands where we can see them. Now! You cannot escape.”

Seconds ticked by. They seemed like minutes. Evarts repeated the command to surrender.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement in the car. Oh, shit! Evarts and Standish released their harnesses and dropped into the knee well just as Evarts heard the windshield shattered from a spray of bullets. Squealing tires. Evarts braced for impact. When it happened, it was little more than a hard bump. Evarts lifted, pistol at the ready. The cars were bumper to bumper. He saw the Egyptians right in front of him. One had a cratered, gory face and the other’s head rested against a blood-splattered side window. His attention shifted to the two in back. One appeared to be fiddling with something in his lap. When the terrorist looked up, Evarts saw unbridled fear in his eyes. He grabbed Standish by her upper arm and jerked her back into the knee well. Just as his head went below the dash, he felt a crushing blow to his shoulder. Then a massive explosive noise.

Then nothing.

Chapter 83

Evarts woke in a hospital bed. His eyes roomed around the room. Empty. How long had he been unconscious? How bad was he injured? His shoulder hurt like hell. He tried to lift his head, but even the slightest motion worsened an ache that made his head feel twice the size. One arm was laying across his chest in a restraint. With effort he moved each hand and then foot. Did he really move them or did his nerves send false signals? He lifted his restrained hand enough to see it and felt relief to observe moving fingers. Now the other hand. All good, so far. With a mighty effort he lifted his head. Way down there, a million miles away, two sets of toes wiggled under a blanket. His head gratefully fell back against the pillow. Everything appeared intact. But the pain in his shoulder? He lifted his free hand and felt above his breast, then he gingerly passed his hand over his entire chest. No holes, no bandages. He was whole.

The door opened. Trish wore a big smile, carrying coffee. Thank God.

She quick-stepped over to punch the call button laying alongside his arm.

“Good evening,” Baldwin said, still smiling. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a ton of bricks.”

She laughed. “Close. What do you remember?”

“Diving for my life. I saw that asshole triggering a bomb. Standish?”

“Next room. Broken arm, facial lacerations, and a concussion. Wilson’s more serious. A piece of metal hit her in the abdomen and penetrated several inches. Pierced her spleen, but the doctors saved it. Also, lacerations, bruises, and hearing loss. Doctor says that’s probably temporary. She’s in intensive care, but stable. The doctors think all three of you will fully recover.”

“What the hell am I recovering from?”

“Mostly a dislocated shoulder. You also had a concussion. They sedated you to put your shoulder back in place. You’ve been out for nearly two hours.”

“My officers?”

“Relatively minor injuries from flying glass. The three who needed more than first aid were treated in ER and released.”

Evarts cursed, “Damn, I’m sorry, I should have asked about you first.”

“Indeed, you should have.” Smiled broadly. “We’re fine, but the doctor says I need to quit drinking.”

Her exuberance gave it away. “We’re fine? Is that the royal we or are you pregnant?”

She laughed.

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