Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,91

ducked just in time. It hit the washing machine behind me with a bang, and little packets went flying everywhere. I heard a gasp and looked up to find the pregnant girl in overalls staring at me, wide-eyed. An orange and blue colored packet fell out of my shirt and landed on the ground with a jubilant bounce.

I blinked at the mess on the floor for a few seconds until I realized what they were. “Did you just throw Tide PODs at me?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said around her fingers. “It was a reflex.”

“To try to maim me with laundry detergent?”

“You can’t take Dillon back. He didn’t do anything wrong!”

I’d opened my mouth to retort when I heard a sound outside. Pop. Pop! Bang. Bang. Bang. I was stunned to realize the explosion of noise was gunfire and then the steady bark of return fire. I was no ballistics expert, but the return fire sounded police issue. What the fuck was going on out there?

Even before the thought could fully materialize, I saw Dillon sprint down the side of the building, heading for the sidewalk. I realized that if Dillon was running, Kevin had to be down. Down.

I was torn. I wanted to check on Kevin, but I had a responsibility to apprehend what was now a fleeing suspect. With a curse, I ran for the front doors.

“Stay down,” I barked at the girl as I flew past. My mind raced as I pulled out my phone, and between huffed breaths, I called in a possible officer shooting.

Danny was going to kill me.

I’d expected Kevin to nab the little shit and bring him back in the backdoor, already cajoling him to cooperate in that easy-going manner he always had. We’d sit Dillon down on one of those stupid little plastic chairs and grill him for a few minutes and… just, fuck. I almost felt physically sick as I thought about Kevin’s wife. And how many kids did he have now, five?

Dillon ducked into a restaurant, and I forced myself to focus before I caught a bullet too. Startled diners looked up as we thundered through the main seating area and the kitchen. Dillon skirted around a busboy carrying a tray of dishes and practically pushed the man at me.

We were both wide-eyed as we nearly collided, and at the last second, I leaped on a silver serving table to avoid him. He went down in a clatter of dishes, and I winced as I hopped down and kept running.

“Sorry,” I called to the stream of curses behind me.

By the time I finally burst into the back alley, Dillon was gone. I looked left and right, thoroughly confused as to which way I should go. An annoying buzzing filtered in my ears as I tried to think. I had to choose quickly, before he got too far. If I chose wrong, I wouldn’t have a prayer of catching him, not with his speed and the risks he seemed willing to take.

The intermittent buzzing grew louder. It sounded almost like… a phone? I glanced up and saw dirty, battered soles of sneakers four feet above my head. I blinked at them for a couple of seconds before I processed what I was looking at. That was all the time Dillon needed to jump down from the awning like Spiderman. Faced with chasing him another five city blocks and endangering God knows who else, I leaped on him.

We crashed and rolled in the dirty alleyway like a couple of feral cats before I landed a punch on his jaw that sent him sprawling—for a few seconds. Before I could celebrate, he growled and rolled to his feet, clearly ready to fight.

Instead of fists, I came up with my weapon in my hand and leveled it at him. He gave me a look of betrayal—I guess because everybody was not kung-fu fighting—and took a step toward me.

“This can be just a bad day or it can be your last.” I was still a little out of breath, but my hands were steady. “Which is it?”

“I’m not going back,” he snarled.

“That is your choice. We just want to have a conversation.”

“I shot a cop, man! Ain’t gonna be no conversation.”

My stomach bottomed out as he confirmed what I had already suspected. I forced myself to stay focused. “Get down,” I barked. I was glad when he grudgingly complied; having to shoot someone would really put the cap