grill,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sounds great to me.” Brenda put a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the desk. “Very thoughtful of you.”
Deep burgundy long-stem roses called Black Pearl. Isabel hadn’t noticed them when she came in. “You bought flowers to dress up the place?”
“No,” Brenda said, arranging them. “They were delivered this morning without a card.”
“Do you think they’re from Chad?” Isabel asked Dutch, turning to face him, but his gaze had veered past her to something outside. She glanced over her shoulder.
A black van rolled by. The man from the grocery store with teardrop tattoos sat in the passenger’s seat. He stuck the barrel of a machine gun out the window.
Isabel froze.
Chapter Eighteen
Time stretched, slowing, moving at half speed as a black van inched down the street. A man stuck a Heckler & Koch MP5 out the window.
Dutch didn’t have much time to think, to assess. They were all in serious trouble standing in front of the plate glass window with nothing to stop the rounds that were about to tear through them.
The man lifted the MP5 and let it rip, spraying the front of the gallery. Bullets shattered the plate glass, stitching in a fiery line toward them. Dutch grabbed Isabel, whirling her away from the incoming fire, as he dove to the floor.
Brenda was hit instantly and sent spinning and falling. The vase burst. Jagged shards of glass flew everywhere like tiny projectiles.
Shielding Isabel with his body, Dutch forced her to low crawl toward the back of the desk. He feared the men outside would stop the vehicle and come into the gallery to make sure they’d finished the job.
Rounds were still being sprayed on full automatic, punching into the walls, shredding paintings. He and Isabel skirted behind the desk, beating the deadly fusillade by a blink of an eye. Bullets pounded into the solid wood, thuds reverberating through his body.
“Keep your head down,” Dutch said to Isabel and drew his weapon.
Flipping off his safety, he peered over the top of the desk and pulled the trigger, returning fire. Every shot he squeezed off was controlled and well aimed.
A hot slug slammed into the shooter, throwing him back into the vehicle.
The driver accelerated and the van hurtled forward with its tires squealing.
“Stay here.” Dutch raced to the front, out onto the sidewalk, and watched the vehicle speed away. He scanned for any other threats.
No secondary shooters on foot. Only terrified passersby.
He ran back inside and checked on Brenda. She lay on her back, rolling left and right. A red blotch on her abdomen seeped wider, dripping blood on the hardwood. Another bullet got her in the shoulder just under her collarbone. She was alive, but not for much longer if she didn’t get medical attention.
“Isabel, grab a towel, a piece of cloth, anything you can find.”
Glass crunched as she scurried to her feet. Seconds later she came to him, carrying a silk scarf. She screamed, a bloodcurdling cry that he’d never forget.
“Oh, God!” A choking sob left Isabel. “Brenda!”
Dutch snatched the scarf from her, tore it and pressed the pieces to Brenda’s wounds. “Put your hands here,” he said to Isabel. “Apply pressure. Don’t worry about hurting her. We’ve got to slow the bleeding.”
Isabel dropped to her knees with no care about the broken glass that bit into her skin and replaced his hands with her own. Dutch took out his cell phone and dialed 911.
Before he’d finished with the emergency dispatch operator, the sound of approaching sirens split the air. Someone else must’ve already called them. Help was on the way.
Brenda was still conscious, which was a good sign. Her blood wasn’t a dark red like her liver had been punctured, but the bullet might’ve hit her stomach. It was a nasty wound.
The ambulance and police arrived at virtually the same time. EMTs rushed inside while the police cordoned off the area, driving onlookers back from the scene.
Dutch holstered his weapon and flashed his badge to the cops. After the EMTs loaded Brenda on a stretcher, he helped Isabel climb into the back of the ambulance to ride along.
“I’ll give a statement and meet you at the hospital,” Dutch said. He’d call Draper and have him or Allison head over to keep Isabel safe until Dutch could get there.
Isabel swallowed hard and horror was stamped on her face. She brushed her hair back with a bloody hand, nodding that she’d heard him, but her glassy eyes were focused on her best friend.
“Brenda? Brenda!” Isabel