Page 77 of Always Murder

Because it was always—always—murder.

I opened my mouth to tell Bobby.

And the lights went out.

Chapter 24

For that first instant, as my eyes adjusted, the darkness felt absolute.

This time—gratifyingly—Bobbygrabbedme.

Then, by degrees, I could see again.The forklift had a rudimentary dashboard with a few lights.And a pale glow from the opposite end of the warehouse told me the roll-up door was still open.A battery-powered emergency EXIT sign glowed red in the distance, but the other lights that should have come on—similar emergency lights, which should have had their own backup batteries—didn’t.Either CPF was old enough that they’d never installed them, or they’d cheaped out, or—

Muzzle flash lit up the gloom.

A fraction of a second later, the gunshot cracked the air.Metal chimed—the bullet striking one of the shelving units, I thought.

Bobby forced me down behind the forklift.Another shot rang out, and this time, the clang of metal on metal was louder, closer.And then we couldn’t hear anything because of the stupid forklift.I had a pretty good idea who was out there, but I wasn’t sure.Not yet.And with the engine rumbling next to us, I couldn’t tell if the shooter was walking toward us, or if they were fleeing, or—

“Run,” Bobby said in my ear.

He grabbed my arm and towed me after him.He moved in that same low, crouching lope that I’d seen earlier; my own attempt at it was more of a stumbling please-God-don’t-let-me-fall, and it was all I could do to stay on my feet.Our movement must have given us away, because the clap of another shot echoed through the warehouse.Then Bobby tugged me around the end of the shelving unit, and he straightened up and began to run full out.

As I have mentioned before, Bobby is fast.

I am…lessfast.

The dark was oppressive, but there was enough light for me to make out shapes: the bulky outlines of the metal shelving, the silhouettes of boxes and crates.Ahead of us was the far wall of the warehouse, which we were approaching too quickly for my liking.Sooner or later, we were going to have to turn down one of the aisles of shelving and try to make our way back toward the loading docks.My brain kept conjuring one image: a gun range.Have you ever been to a gun range?It’s basically one big, long aisle.And I knew as soon as Bobby and I tried to make our way down one of them, we’d be perfect targets.

Bobby must have had the same idea, because when we reached the far side of the warehouse, he pushed me up against the shelves and did this weird, feinting move—running out into view, as though he were about to turn down the aisle, and then darting back behind the cover of the shelving unit.

A gun barked.And about six inches from where Bobby had been standing, a bullet ripped the corner off a wooden crate.A puff of air hit my face, and a moment later, a sickening wave of heat rolled through me as I realized how close the bullet had come.

Somehow, Bobby sounded impossibly calm as he called, “This is Deputy Mai with the Ridge County Sheriff’s Office.Drop your gun right now!”

Nothing.

“I’m armed,” Bobby said into that silence, “and backup is on the way.Put your weapon down and get on the floor.”

Still nothing.

“The best thing you can do is surrender.”

The empty air seemed to ring in my ears.

“We’re pinned down,” Bobby said in a low, frustrated voice.

I nodded, and then I remembered how dark it was.

But Bobby must have picked out enough of the gesture, because he said, “We just have to wait for the sheriff.”

Down the aisle, a sneaker scuffed concrete—barely a whisper, like someone trying to move silently.

“She’s not going to wait for the sheriff,” I said.And then an absolutely terrible idea occurred to me.I tried to come up with something else.Nothing came.I forced myself to say, “I’ll keep her talking.You circle around and get the drop on her.”

“No—”

“Bobby, she’s panicking.She’s not going to put up a fight if you can catch her from behind.”

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