Double Take

wisteria.
    Everything was quiet again.
    Savich listened. Above the crackling flames, he heard cops shouting, a couple of guns firing, and sirens wailing in the distance. His breath was pumping out. It burned from breathing in smoke.
    Sherlock said, “Captain Paulette’s officers must have gotten around the back.”
    “Yes,” Savich said, scanning the trees. “I think Makepeace is gone, cut his losses.”
    They slowly rose, still fanning the area, searching for the slightest movement. It was hard to see clearly through the thickening black smoke pouring out of the blazing house, blanketing the backyard.
    “I don’t know if we hit him,” Sherlock said.
    The heat and smoke pressed them hard now, pushing them back, coughing and wheezing, gasping for air. They heard the shouts of cops coming around the sides of the house, tasted the acrid smoke snaking down their throats, and knew they had to get out of there.
    Savich prayed the cops had shot Makepeace.
    The roof over Julia’s bedroom crashed down into the kitchen with a muffled roar just as the fire trucks pulled up out front.

CHAPTER 50
    Sweat was pouring off their smoke-blackened faces. Savich and Sherlock went down on their knees beside Cheney as he yelled up at Julia. “Stop hovering and patting me, I’m okay, I’m fine.”
    “Hold still, macho. He shot you twice because you had to play the damned hero—”
    Cheney looked up at her filthy face, her hair straggling out of her ponytail band, and her red bloodshot eyes. He knew there was smoke in her lungs and that worried him. He saw wild fear in her eyes, lightly touched his fingertips to her mouth, and said, “You sure look pretty.”
    “What? Have you totally lost your mind?”
    Sherlock laughed, couldn’t help herself. “Enough with the compliments. Come on, you guys, we’ve got to get out of here.”
    But Julia was holding him, her breathing hitching now. He grabbed her hands. “Listen, Julia, I’m okay. I’m wearing a Kevlar vest. No bullets inside me. Just hurts a bit, that’s all.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m wearing one of those vests too, so why did you shove me against the wall and climb all over me?”
    “I serve and protect, ma’am.”
    She was sputtering, she was so frazzled. And trying not to smile.
    Savich looked up when Frank Paulette came down on his haunches beside Cheney. “Hey, boy, you’re looking a little green around the gills. Got hit on the Kevlar, did you? You’re going to have some big-time bruises and some sore ribs, but there’s nothing like Kevlar to keep you alive. How about we get our butts out of here right this second?”
    Savich pulled Cheney up to his shoulder in a firefighter’s carry and ran around the side of the house, the rest of them protecting Julia as best they could.
    They ran across the front lawn and stopped at the curb, still huddled together, covering each other. When Savich eased Cheney off his shoulder and onto the ground, Cheney decided that, Kevlar vest or not, it felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a pissed-off Pamplona bull. Cheney looked up at Frank, who’d just pocketed his cell. “Tell me your people got him, that’s all I want to hear. I’ll stand up and dance if you tell me that.”
    “Not yet, but he can’t get far. We’ve got cops on the ground, fanning out, we’ll get him. Savich said they laid down thick fire. Maybe they got him.”
    A beam from a gable at one end of the house exploded and crashed, raining down hot fireworks.
    “Captain!”
    Frank slewed his head around. “You got him, Booker?”
    “He didn’t steal a car, Captain, he stole himself a motorcycle, hid it in some bushes beside one of the neighbors’ driveways, a few doors down. Charlie saw him roaring out, fired at him, and now half a dozen cops are after him. It won’t be long.”
    “Did he look wounded to you, Booker?”
    “Charlie said the guy was hunched down, had his helmet on, so they couldn’t tell. I don’t know how Makepeace got past Salter and James, Captain, but they never saw a thing until the whole place blew.”
    Cheney said, “Okay, you really can stop patting me, Julia, I’m okay.”
    “Hold still for a minute, boy.” Frank unbuttoned Cheney’s shirt, pulled the Velcro straps open on the Kevlar vest. He lightly touched his fingertips where the bullet had flattened in the material high on Cheney’s chest. Then he peeled off the vest, turned Cheney on his side, and looked at his back. “Oscar-winning bruises, Cheney.