Page 24 of Defender

A few seconds later, the bullets flew toward the truck again, which was what Ashton wanted, although he still grimaced at every hit the truck took.

He smelled it before he saw it, but he saw it close afterward.Gasoline.The shooter had punctured the truck’s large gas tank and it was leaking everywhere.

A well-aimed shot would in essence make the truck a giant explosive.

The local squad cars had arrived and were now causing chaos in the street between the shop and the shooter.Ashton knew he had to take a chance and leave the cover of the truck.

“Marcel, stay inside, as far back as you can,” he yelled.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s punctured my gas tank.It’ll blow if he hits it right.I’ve got to get away from the truck.”

Ashton didn’t waste any more time talking.He pushed away from the truck and began a random weaving pattern as he ran.To anyone else it would look like he was drunk, but Ashton knew firsthand that a target weaving in and out with no discernible pattern was more difficult to hit.

Or at least kill.

Ashton would have to take his chances.

Shots didn’t fire out at him but he heard them hitting the truck.

The gunman had decided to aim for the stationary target.And hit it.

Ashton dove for the minimal cover of an air-conditioning box on the side of the building.He felt heat sear over him as all the gasoline in his truck caught fire and blew up in a cloud of deadly flames.

He stayed down against the unit for a few more seconds before peeking around.His truck was burning, barreling smoke into the air.It at least provided cover.

Ashton made his way around the side of the building, where the shooter hopefully wouldn’t be looking, and crossed the street.He kept his Glock low at his side so he blended in with the other people standing around staring at the brouhaha in the florist parking lot.

Ashton knew the shooter would still be on the roof of the office building and moved directly for it without running, in case the shooter was still waiting for a chance to pick him off.He knew he should make himself known to the local law enforcement, but there wasn’t time.

He put his Glock back in the hidden waist holster of his jeans.If someone saw it and got hysterical that wouldn’t end well for him.

Roman and Derek’s vehicle came tearing into the office parking lot just as Ashton got there.

“You okay?”Roman asked.

Ashton nodded.“Shooter has to be up on the roof.It’s the only place he had a clear vantage point.”

“You two head up there,” Derek told them.“The rest of the team and I will help the locals.Keep everyone from becoming any more panicked.”

People poured out of the building, being evacuated due to the fire and shots.Roman and Ashton made eye contact.They both knew the shooter could be walking right by them and they wouldn’t know it.

They fought their way up the stairs through the swarms going down.As they reached the roof access, Ashton signaled to Roman.He would take the lead.

Roman threw the door open, gun in hand and pointing toward the most visible area.Ashton took two steps around him, Glock held with both hands at shoulder height, ready for anyone who might be waiting.

It didn’t take them long to realize the roof was clear.On the side closest to the florist lay a .308 Winchester, leaning against the roof’s ledge.Dozens of shell casings surrounded it.

But the shooter was gone.

Chapter Eight

Monday morning the SWAT team met in one of the Critical Response Division conference rooms.They’d gone over what had happened on Friday night at the florist.Thankfully no one had been hurt, although there’d been some pretty extensive property damage.

Ashton’s truck was a total loss.Marcel’s Blooming Idiot would be closed for quite some time.

But right now they were studying a picture on the screen of Curtis Harper.Twenty-nine-year-old son of George Harper.

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