And Chloe with them.
She shot to her feet, weapon in her right hand, Hank at her side. Court security officers would handle the other courts, securing the doors and locking their areas down. The Special US Marshals at the magnetometers, the ones at the elevators, and those roaming the halls would handle the perimeter doors. Chloe blended with the rest of the officers, looking for the shooter and pointing frightened people toward safe areas.
Where was he? Who was he? Or she?
Whoever it was could be anyone and anywhere at this point. Had he hit his target? How did he get a gun inside?
Security was beyond tight. They checked everything. Weapons, IDs, everything. There was no way he could have snuck a gun past the checkpoints.
So, maybe he didn’t bring the gun inside but acquired it once he was already in the building?
From who? It wasn’t like the list of armed people in the courthouse was very long.
Her heart pounded in time with her feet. She hadn’t planned on being here today, but thanks to Brady’s announcement, she decided to find out if they’d learned anything from the judge. And now someone was shooting.
“Chloe!”
She pulled up short. Hank skidded beside her on the slick floor. She spun. “Blake? Did you see him?”
“He was after Worthington. The judge is safe, but I need you. Bring Hank.”
Chloe raced after him, stopping only when he reached the door to the back hall that led to the courtroom she figured Judge Worthington was supposed to be sitting in. He pointed. “Can Hank track whoever was wearing that hat?”
“Of course.”
“Let him get a sniff and let’s go.”
Chloe reached for the hat, wishing for a set of gloves. It was evidence, but it could also lead them to an active shooter. She’d ask forgiveness later. She let Hank get a good whiff. “Hank, zoek!” The command to track.
Hank put his nose to the floor, then lifted it in the air and took off, nearly jerking her arm from the socket. Chloe hurried after him, spotting the FBI agents now on the scene. With her badge in plain sight and Blake on her heels shouting at people to clear the way, she stayed with Hank, letting him have his way.
He led them to a stairwell at the end of the lobby. Blake pushed the door open and up they went. Out on the second floor, down the hall, and back into the stairwell at the other end. Then up. “What’s he doing?” Chloe demanded.
“Trying to make sure no one is following him.”
“He wasn’t counting on Hank being here.”
“Exactly.”
On the third floor, Hank wanted out of the stairwell. She let him have his head once more and they slipped onto the floor, weapons drawn, her nerves about as tight as they’d been when she’d faced the muzzle end of the gun yesterday.
A flash of movement at the other end of the building caught her eye. “There he is! Police! Stop!”
But her words spurred him on.
“He’s going for the roof access,” Blake said and peeled around her. Hank didn’t seem to like that and put on an extra burst of speed. Chloe’s lungs burned and her side ached as she kept pace behind the dog until they came to a stop just outside the door. Chloe grabbed a few quick breaths.
Blake opened the door and gave a quick look. A bullet pinged off the doorjamb and he jerked his head back inside. “Gotta get this guy.”
“I’m right behind you,” Chloe said.
Blake rolled out the door and Chloe followed, her weapon aimed, looking for a target.
No more bullets came their way. Hank strained to go, but Chloe wasn’t ready to release him. Not yet. On the roof, her feet crunched the gravel. She turned her back to Blake’s and watched for the shooter.
Hank barked and lunged toward the air-conditioning unit.
They ran toward it, skidding to a halt at the corner. Blake nodded to her and she nodded back. They buttonhooked around the edge to see . . .
. . . nothing.
Chloe turned to watch their backs.
“Stop! Federal Agent!” Blake’s shout pulled her back to see the man at the edge of the building. Very near the end of the roof. And still holding his weapon.
Chloe released the leash. “Hank, stellen!” The command to bite—or take down. Hank zipped from her side, heading straight for the suspect.
The man stumbled back, lifted his weapon at the exact moment Hank’s jaws clamped around his forearm. The gun fell to the surface of the roof and the shooter’s harsh scream scraped across her ears. Chloe ran toward him. “Get down! Get down!”
Hank didn’t give the man much choice. Within a second, his knees kissed the rooftop, his cries of pain still ringing. Blake kicked the weapon out of the man’s reach.
“Hank! Loslaten!”
Hank detached his teeth from the forearm and the shooter curled into a fetal position, his arm tucked into his midsection.
“Show your hands!”
Quick as a snake, the suspect brought a knife around and missed Chloe’s cheek by a fraction. She launched herself backward as he sprang to his feet. The crack of a gun sounded behind her. Another cry from the man in front of her ripped through the air. Blood sprayed from the wound in his shoulder. His heels hit the edge of the roof.
“No!” Chloe cried. She lunged for him and her fingers grazed his foot as he disappeared over the side.
A hard hand on her belt was the only thing that kept her from losing her balance and going headfirst after him. Chloe heard the sickening thud as the shooter landed on the concrete below. Bystander screams reached her and her knees went weak.
She slid to the gravel. Hank hurried to her side.
“You okay?” Blake asked while Hank tried to get closer.
“Yes. Just a little shaky.”
“Understandable.”
She pressed her palms to her eyes for a moment. Hank settled his nose on her shoulder and she instantly took comfort from his furry presence. Drawing in a breath, she let it out slowly. “Nice shooting.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“It was me.”
Chloe looked up. The officer with the Kevlar vest and the dark hair looked vaguely familiar. Quinn something? She’d seen him a few times at some stings when Hank had been called in to do his thing.
He stepped closer. “Detective Quinn Holcombe. I saw you two heading this way and followed.”
Other officers poured onto the gravel roof.
Chloe met the detective’s eyes. “I’m glad you did. Thanks. I’m Chloe St. John. This is Deputy US Marshal Blake MacCallum.”
Detective Holcombe waved to the others that everything was all right. “Any relation to Linc St. John?”
“I plead the fifth.”
His eyes glinted for a moment before the brief flash of humor faded and grim intensity took its place. He walked to the edge and looked over.
“He’s dead,” she told him. She didn’t need to see it, she’d heard it.
“Yep, he’s definitely very dead,” Detective Holcombe said. She caught the flash of grief before he covered it up, and her heart went out to him. She’d never shot anyone and prayed she never had to. Killing someone was a heavy burden. No matter that the shooter had brought it on himself.
“Anyone else hurt?” Blake asked, placing a hand on Chloe’s shoulder.
Hank whined and nudged her. She scratched his ears reassuring him that she was fine.
“I don’t know,” the detective said. “Don’t think so.”
Chloe gathered her strength and lifted a hand to Blake. “Let’s go find out.” He grasped her fingers and she let him help her to her feet.
9
Blake, Chloe, Detective Holcombe, and Hank made their way back down the stairs to the lobby level, empty except for law enforcement. Blake looked for other victims. When he didn’t spot any bodies or blood, he released a breath. Maybe no one else had fallen victim to the shooter’s bullets. Except Jo. And her vest had probably saved her life. He headed to check on her, but stopped when Izzy hurried over to them. “Guess you found the shooter.”
“Hank did,” Chloe said.
“And Detective Holcombe shot him before he could kill Chloe,” Blake said.