The Memory Collector Part 45

Jo kept Murdock in her peripheral vision. He stood next to the Tahoe, signaling to Calder.

The pickup's high beams drilled the street. Behind the wall of white light she thought she saw a shadow stretch from the sunroof of the pickup.

"Oh, h.e.l.l-"

Murdock pitched backward as though he'd been slammed in the chest with a wrecking ball. The report came as a crack in the air. Murdock fell and lay splayed on the ground with a dark wet stain spreading across his chest.

Aorta, or straight into a ventricle.

"Jesus." Jo ducked.

The next noise sounded like a marble hitting the windshield at the speed of sound. A small clean hole punched through the gla.s.s.

"h.e.l.l's happening?" Vance tried to open the back door but the childproof lock stopped him. "Murdock, what's-"

Crack, another bullet pierced the windshield. It hit the empty pa.s.senger seat. Gla.s.s dust and upholstery fragments blew around the interior.

"They're shooting at us. Vance, put the car in gear," Jo yelled.

His face stretched with panic. "What?"

"Shooting. Put it in gear. Do it."

The pickup roared toward them, eating up the distance down the wide avenue. Another report pinged off the Tahoe's frame. Vance cringed. His face bleached white in the glare of the onrushing headlights.

"Vance!"

Whimpering, he fumbled for the gearshift. Jo yelled, "Come on."

He yanked the gearshift into reverse and cringed to the floor in the back seat.

Jo floored it.

Crack. A hole powdered the windshield. Vance whimpered. In the mirror, Jo saw Misty work her hands under her b.u.t.t and pull the gag from her mouth.

"Riva's shooting at us?" Misty shouted.

No, your husband is. Jo hunkered down. She needed speed, needed to put distance between her and the shooter, and would never do that in reverse.

She slammed on the brakes. "Put it in drive."

They squealed to a stop. Vance's arm flailed for the gearshift. Got it. The SUV jerked into drive.

Jo aimed straight at the headlights. Pedal to the firewall. She ducked low and heard a plea in the base of her throat that was mostly terror and some freakish kind of prayer. Outta my way, motherf.u.c.ker.

"What are you doing?" Misty said.

Two hundred yards. One fifty. A hundred.

Above her head, the Tahoe's sunroof shattered. Gla.s.s sprayed across the inside of the vehicle. She held the wheel straight.

Airbag wasn't going to protect her below the chest. Her donor card was current.

"Run away!" Vance shrieked.

Fifty yards. She was committed. The high beams were right in her face.

The pickup swerved.

Bam, a hard noise reverberated through the Tahoe. The pickup had clipped the Tahoe's wing mirror clean off. In the rearview mirror, Jo saw the pickup veer, overcorrect, and bounce over the curb onto the lawn of an office building. In the far back of the Tahoe she saw Misty bent over Seth, working somehow to free him from the plastic handcuffs.

The pickup's brake lights came on. It fishtailed, kicked up clods of gra.s.s, and turned a doughnut on the lawn. Jo saw the dark shape of a man standing on the truck's pa.s.senger seat and bracing himself against the sunroof, and he had to have a h.e.l.l of a big gun. She kept her foot to the floor.

"What's going on?" Misty cried.

"f.u.c.k, oh, f.u.c.k oh f.u.c.k it f.u.c.k it...," Vance moaned. "What's happening?"

"Riva's trying to G.o.dd.a.m.ned kill us. Cut me loose from the cuffs."

Misty cried, "Seth, stay down."

Jo sped south along Coleman. She needed to get to a populated place. She needed a police station. She needed a battle tank and a Stinger missile.

"Call Riva," Vance cried from the floor. "Tell her to stop."

"She won't. We have to get away. Cut me loose."

In the mirror the pickup's high beams swung around and centered on her again.

Kanan stood on the seat and braced himself against the frame of the sunroof. Riva swerved back into the road and headed south after the fleeing Tahoe. The rifle was steady in his arms.

One down.

One to go. A woman was at the wheel. He couldn't see her from this angle, but he was sure he'd spotted long dark hair, a pale face. Somebody determined to kill them, playing chicken, racing straight at them. No question about it.

The wind raked his face. He squinted at the Tahoe. The pickup's headlights reflected off the tinted gla.s.s in its tailgate. He saw movement inside. A person?

"Riva," he yelled, "you sure it's just two?"

"Ian, take your shot."

He bent down and shouted into the pickup. "Is somebody in the back of the Tahoe?"

"No."

"You're sure-"

"Misty and Seth are dead. Shoot."

She was practically screaming. He straightened. Through the wind and the night, he raised his weapon.

Jo raced through a red light. Trees and office buildings swept past under the streetlights.

Vance shouted, "Call Riva and tell her to stop this. Negotiate."

Talk about denial. "I can't reach the phone. Cut me loose."

"How'd she get such good aim?"

"She has a shooter. Cut me loose."

Misty said, "Seth, keep your head low."

Seth piped in. "Who's shooting? Is Murdock... is he... where's Dad?"

Jo said, "Vance, help me or we'll all die."

The hard marble sound slapped through the Tahoe again.

Vance screamed. "It's Kanan, isn't it? He's got a gun and he's-Riva warned us about him and... ohh, G.o.d."

"It's Ian? Are you nuts?" Misty said.

How nuts, and what kind? "The live kind, and pray we stay that way," Jo said.

Above the trees in the sky ahead, a descending jetliner approached the airport perimeter fence, landing lights blazing. More jets were lined up on approach behind it.

Seth said, "Why is Dad shooting at us?"

Jo knew why. "He doesn't know you're in the car."

"He's shooting at us?" Seth said.

"He knows you've been kidnapped. He's trying to rescue you."

Misty gaped at Jo, her mouth slowly opening.

Seth said, "I knew Dad would come and get us."

Kanan would never deliberately harm his family. If Jo was certain of anything, it was that. He would put himself on the line for his wife and son. He would kill to defend them.

And he wouldn't riddle their kidnappers with bullets before they told him where his family was. He might kill them, though, if he thought his family had been rescued.

She was never going to outrun Kanan. She might outrun the pickup, but not a high-powered rifle. Through trees and industrial buildings she saw the runways and the blazing lights of the airport's commercial terminals. At the airport were armed San Jose cops and maybe some quick-witted young national guardsmen standing watch. She had to get there.

"Misty. What did Ian do in the army?"

Jo glanced in the mirror. Misty was lying low, trying to hold Seth below the tailgate window.

Her eyes were flinty. "He was a scout sniper."

He definitely might kill the kidnappers if he thought his family had been rescued.

Voice rising, Misty cried, "Seth, keep down."

With a splintering, liquid crack, a bullet hit the back window.

* 38 *

The marble sound spit through the Tahoe. The plastic around the stereo splintered, sprayed, and hit Jo's right arm. She flinched but couldn't pull her hands from the wheel.

She was a target in a shooting gallery. Let's play cowboys and psychiatrists.

From the floor behind her came a dribble of curses, Vance's sniveling plea to a stunted and foul little G.o.d. When the dust flew through the vehicle, he screamed.

His arm came up, waving his pistol. "Drive faster, b.i.t.c.h."

"Then cut me loose," Jo shouted again.

She raced down Coleman and burned past another car. Maybe they'd call 911. But even if they did, and even if the police responded within a minute, a bullet needed only a second to do its work.

Like a berserk rat, Vance scrambled into the front pa.s.senger seat and grabbed for the door handle. His jeans were falling down on his skinny b.u.t.t. He clawed at the handle. Got it open. The wind rushed in. Then, with a piggy squeal, he launched himself out, kicking off the driver's seat like a swimmer off the blocks, clouting Jo in the face with his shoe.

Her head snapped sideways. Stars flared in her eyes. The Tahoe's back wheels rolled over an obstacle. It felt like hitting a log, or Snoop Clodd.

Misty clambered into the front pa.s.senger seat. In her right hand she held a pair of scissors. The blades were long, sharp, and b.l.o.o.d.y.

"You stabbed him?" Jo said.

"In the a.s.s."

Affection bubbled in Jo's chest. "Please, be my best friend."

Hunching low, Misty reached across the car with the scissors and tried to cut the zip ties that bound Jo to the steering wheel.

"Hold still," she said.