Cut and Run (Lucy Kincaid #16) - Allison Brennan Page 0,54

exit.

“The door’s locked. We don’t use that entrance.”

“But can someone unlock it?”

“It would be a hassle.”

“There’s been a threat made against Mr. Grant and I’m making sure he gets home safely.”

The bailiff almost smiled, then hid it. He was the epitome of why Sean didn’t like some cops.

“I can’t open the entrance. It’s locked and alarmed.”

Sean wanted to keep arguing but didn’t think he was going to get anywhere.

He told Marie and Stan to wait for him inside, then he ran out to his car. He didn’t want to drive around the block, so waited until the street was clear and backed up two hundred feet. Now he was double-parked, but his car was right next to the path off the main entrance. Less than a hundred yards in the open. Not ideal, but better than walking Stan past the fountain to the main street, which was twice as far.

He flipped on his hazards and ran back inside.

“Be alert,” Sean said. “It’s ten seconds to my car.”

“Is this really necessary?” Marie asked.

He hadn’t meant to scare her, but better to scare her than not expect trouble. “Follow my lead, okay?”

He stepped out again, this time with Stan and Marie right by his side. He glanced around—little had changed in the few moments he’d been in the courthouse—then ushered them down the stairs, turned left, and briskly strode toward his jeep, looking for potential threats.

No one approached them. But out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.

The florist van.

The van burst through the intersection as if trying to beat a light—except they were heading down the one-way street where Sean’s car was double-parked.

“Down!” he shouted as he heard the first gunshot. He pushed both Stan and Marie hard, falling on top of Marie to shield her body.

The van screeched to a halt and Sean reached for his gun, only to remember it was in his car because he’d been in the courthouse.

More gunshots rang out of the driver’s side window in rapid succession.

one two three four …

Five total bullets, then the van floored it and sped away, firing one last time into Sean’s rear tire. His vantage point from the ground was poor, but the driver appeared Caucasian and there was someone in the passenger seat—someone he couldn’t see.

“Marie! Marie, are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer and Sean climbed off her as multiple cops came running from the courthouse.

“Call nine-one-one!” he shouted.

“On their way,” one of the court security officers said.

Sean inspected Marie. She seemed to be in shock, but he didn’t see any blood on her. A small pool was above her head. Had he hurt her when he pushed her down?

“Marie!” He gently shook her.

“You’re bleeding,” she said in a monotone.

He looked at his arm. That’s where the blood was coming from. He thought he’d been nicked. It was just enough to draw blood.

“Are you okay?”

“Stan!” she cried out.

She tried to get up. Sean helped her to a sitting position and told her to stay.

More officers were coming toward them from the annex.

Sean looked over at Stan, who was sprawled, facedown, on the sidewalk. Three distinct entry points.

Fortunately, two of the officers immediately went to him, while two came over to Sean and Marie, who were ten feet away, on the grass.

“Are you okay?” one asked.

“Sean Rogan, private investigator,” he said. “Can I retrieve my identification?” It was always good to tell an officer when you were reaching into your pocket, even when you weren’t carrying.

The officer nodded and watched him. Sean pulled out his wallet and handed him his PI license and driver’s license.

“What were you doing here?”

“Taking Mr. Grant and Ms. Richards to a hotel after the bail hearing.” Someone knew exactly when they were leaving, that was the only explanation for them to be able to act so quickly. “We need to check surveillance cameras in the area. A white florist van, I don’t know the name, but there was a large picture of flowers taking up the entire driver’s side panel. Two suspects, the shooter was a white or light Hispanic male, but that’s all I got. I couldn’t see the license plate, but they were parked outside the archives building in the loading zone the entire time I was here.” He paused. “The back doors were open on the van, so they pretended they were delivering something.” They could have been there for an hour. Someone had to have seen them. This was a major intersection with several government buildings and the courthouse,