2nd Chance (Women's Murder Club 2)

“Police,” I shouted, freezing the two new arrivals. My automatic was extended with both hands. “San Francisco Homicide. Get your hands up.”

The two men had measured, unpanicked reactions. They glanced at each other calculatingly, then back at me. I was sure they were armed, and so were the others inside. A terrifying thought flashed through me: I could die here.

Noise erupted from all over. Two other men arrived from the street. I spun around, jerking my gun at them.

Suddenly, the lights inside the house went out. The driveway got dark, too. Where was Coombs? What was he doing now?

I jerked into a shooting crouch. This wasn’t about Coombs anymore.

I heard a noise behind me. Someone coming fast. I spun in that direction—and then I was blindsided by somebody else. I was grabbed, taken down. I hit the ground hard under a couple of hundred pounds.

Then I was looking at a face I didn’t want to see. A face I hated.

“Look what the tide rolled in.” Frank Coombs grinned. He wagged a .38 at my eyes. “Marty Boxer’s little girl.”

Chapter 89

COOMBS CROUCHED down close and leered at me with that haughty, smirking grin I’d come to hate already. Chimera was right here. “Seems you’re the one who’s leaning to the left a little now,” he said.

I had just enough clearheadedness to realize what incredible trouble I was in. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had.

“This is a murder investigation,” I said to the men around me. “Frank Coombs is wanted in connection with four killings, including two cops. You don’t want a piece of that.”

Coombs continued to grin. “You’re wasting your breath if you think that bullshit carries any weight here. I heard you talked to Weiscz. Neat guy, huh? Friend of mine.”

I forced myself into a sitting position. How the hell did he know I’d been to Pelican Bay? “People know I’m here.”

Suddenly, Coombs’s fist flashed out. He caught me flush on the jaw. I felt a warm ooze fill my mouth, my own blood. My mind flickered for some way to escape.

Coombs continued to smile down at me. “I’m gonna do what you bastards did to me. Take something precious from you. Take something you can never have back. You don’t understand anything yet.”

“I understand enough. You killed four innocent people.”

Coombs laughed again. His coarse hand stroked my cheek. The venom in his stare, the coldness of his touch nearly made me retch.

I heard the gunshot, loud and close by, only it was Coombs who howled and grabbed his shoulder.

The others scattered. There was chaos in the darkness, and I was as confused as anyone. Another bullet whined through the air.

A skinny thug with tattoos yelped and grabbed his thigh. Two more shots thudded into the garage wall.

“What the fuck is going on?” Coombs yelled. “Who’s shooting?”

More shots rang out. They were coming from the shadows at the end of the driveway. I got up and ran in a crouch away from the house. No one stopped me.

“Here,” I heard someone shout up ahead. I churned my legs toward the sound. The shooter was crouched behind the mustard-colored Bonneville.

“Let’s go,” he hollered.

Then all at once I saw, but I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I reached out and fell into the arms of my father.

Chapter 90

WE SPED AWAY from the house, getting most of the way to San Francisco before we could even speak. Finally, my father pulled his car into the busy parking lot of a 7-Eleven. I faced him, still breathing, my heart pounding.

“Are you okay?” he asked in the softest voice I could imagine.