Page 78 of The Body in the Backyard
Nick’s dimples winked to life. “See you in a few, baby.”
The rest of the occupants of Nick’s office seemed to be taking the situation too much in stride. “Hey! Everybody needs to vacate immediately,” Riley ordered, clapping her hands.
Burt woke up with a snort and looked around, dazed. Mr. Willicott continued to snore with vigor.
Riley shook him by the shoulder.
“Huh? Wha? I don’t wanna go to school today,” he mumbled.
“Wake up, Mr. Willicott!” she shouted.
“Try this,” Fred offered from his lotus pose on the floor. “Who wants action on the Denver Broncos?”
Mr. Willicott woke mid-snore. “I’ll take fifty on the Broncos.”
“We’ll take the front windows,” Josie said, yanking up her pant leg to reveal an ankle holster and small handgun.
Brian rifled through his backpack and produced a much larger gun with a silencer. “Let’s go have some fun,” he said.
“It’s baby’s first gunfight,” Josie said with more enthusiasm than Riley had ever seen from her.
“Gabe, I need you to get these guys moving,” Riley said, pointing at the cross-legged Fred and the groggy Mr. Willicott. “Follow Mrs. Penny and Lily, and keep everyone quiet. Burt, go with Gabe.”
The dog, looking nervous, loped over to her and took her hand in his mouth. He tugged gently.
“Sorry, buddy. I can’t go with you,” she said, giving him several loving pats with her free hand. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“They’re coming.”
The message vibrated with crystal clear intensity.
Trusting Gabe to handle the roommates, she ran from the office, wiping the dog slobber on her jeans as she went. She needed to warn Nick before it was too late. She flung open the front door in time to spy him parking her Jeep nose-to-nose with Weber’s police issue SUV across the driveway.
“Woo-hoo! Finally some action! Lemme at ’em,” the ghost of Riley’s long-dead uncle Jimmy crowed from the Jeep.
Weber was already hunkered down behind the wheel well of his vehicle, wearing a bulletproof vest and loading a rifle with deadly-looking rounds.
“They’re coming,” she said through cupped hands.
“Get back in the house now, Riley,” Nick ordered, hopping out of the driver’s seat and rounding the back of the Jeep.
Just then, the distantpop pop popof gunfire exploded, followed by the faraway whine of sirens.
“They’re not going to get here in time,” she whispered to herself as she was closing the door.
But she didn’t do it fast enough. Burt bolted through her legs, out the door, and off the porch.
“Burt! No!” she cried.
Tires squealed on the street.
Pop. Pop.
Swearing to herself, Riley slammed the door and raced into the yard after her idiot dog.
“Damn it, Thorn!” Nick growled.
She tackled Burt to the cold ground two feet from Nick as tires squealed again before giving way to the crunch and scrape of metal.
