He hesitated, but finally eased nearer, toward the back of the SUV, hands up. Then he stopped, and the snide grin returned. “This ain’t going to happen, chief.”
Behind Heat came the menacing snick-snick of a shotgun being pumped. Heat kept her pistol on Maloney but turned her head. Wilton Backhouse stood under the garage door with a Mossberg 20 leveled at her and Rook.
The sight of him wasn’t such a huge surprise to Heat. Maybe Backhouse hadn’t topped her list of possibles, but he’d been tugging at her sleeve to get on it. So watching the sole survivor of the whistle-blowers, armed and caught in the act, gave Nikki an odd sense of satisfaction, like filling the last matrix gap in Tetris. The only thing that would have made the situation better would be if she were holding the gun on him instead.
“Wilton,” she said in the most calming voice she could muster. “This can end here.”
Backhouse fired a blast into the ceiling. The sudden boom was deafening and made Heat and Rook jump. Maloney sprang forward through a shower of plaster and splinters and tried to snatch the gun out of Nikki’s hand. She kept a grip and fought him for it, but the professor jacked another shotgun shell from the Speedfeed and aimed at Rook’s chest. Heat froze. Maloney took her Sig from her. And the Beretta .25 from her ankle holster.
Backhouse pressed the button to close the garage door. As it lowered, Maloney scowled at him. “On my iPad screen you had a fucking gimme. How’d you miss the bitch?”
“I had her in the crosshairs until she started laughing and moved her head.”
Rook turned to Nikki. “Remember that next time you tell me to stop clowning around.”
She lowered her head gravely. “Next time…”
Their captors were still at it. “And don’t give me shit,” said Backhouse. “Some fucking cop. You got made.”
“Who chases a drone?”
“And catches it,” said Rook.
“Which means very soon there’s going to be a police presence.” Maloney turned to face Heat. “You called it in, didn’t you? Of course you did. Procedure.” He gestured to the floor. “All right, kiss cement, both of you.”
“If it matters, I’ve already been shot once today,” said Rook. Maloney’s response came immediately and unexpectedly. He punched the wound in Rook’s shoulder, bringing him down to one knee. Heat lunged at Maloney, who backhanded her injured brow with his gun hand, then straight-armed the 9mm in her face. She peered up from the ground at him through a curtain of fresh blood.
“Don’t,” said Backhouse. “Not here.”
“Then we gotta go.”
Backhouse snapped, “Will you wait? Jeez, give me a second.” During a short pause to think, his eyes darted around, then he nodded to himself as if he had solved an equation. “Maybe this is a good thing. Get them up. We’re going.”
The ex-detective used Heat’s bracelets and a pair of his own to handcuff her and Rook. Then he shoved them both in the backseat of her car. As Backhouse hopped in up front, Maloney elbowed out the remaining glass from the side window, punched the gas, and spun a hard U-turn, retracing the route they had taken to get there. Seconds after crossing under the elevated tracks, they passed a pair of blue-and-whites speeding the opposite way. Cocky, grandiose, or just a chaos creator, Maloney gave a cop-to-cop four-finger wave to the patrolmen going by. Nikki craned backward to put a desperate face in her rear window. The only response was from one of the unis, who returned Maloney’s gesture, and why not? To anyone who didn’t know otherwise, Heat’s car looked like an undercover Police Interceptor with a detective at the wheel, transporting offenders in the rear. Prisoners in backseats always looked desperate. Some felt it more than others, thought Nikki.