Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,59

had grabbed her in the alley, was on his knees. He dropped his weapon and leaned a hand against the wall. His pant leg was soaked with blood.

The second man stood, feet splayed apart, his gun aimed directly at her. Blood dripped from his left hand. She straightened, her barrel pointed right at the space between his eyes.

“Drop it,” she growled, just as two uniformed policemen appeared at the front door.

“Drop it!” they shouted in unison. “Now!” One officer advanced as the other continued to shout.

“Drop it and hit the floor,” the advancing officer yelled. “Do it or I’ll shoot.”

The first officer stepped past the brute and kicked his gun at least four feet across the living room floor. He stopped just out of arm’s reach of the man who was still aiming at Dani. “Drop it or you’re a dead man,” he said.

The shooter jerked, startled that the officer was so close to him. He let the gun dangle by the handle from his hand. The officer grabbed his arm. The gun hit the floor and the officer slammed the man against the wall and cuffed him.

Dani gasped for air. Had she been holding her breath or had fear sucked all the oxygen from her lungs?

At that instant, a tall man with blazing blue eyes and an NOPD badge pinned to the waistband of his jeans stepped into the room, breathing hard. “Where’s Harte?” he demanded.

Dani was wondering the same thing. She turned around and what she saw shocked her. Harte was on the floor, holding someone in a half nelson. That someone was grunting and snuffling like a pig headed to slaughter. To her surprise, she realized it was Myron Stamps.

“Lucas,” Harte wheezed as he let go of Stamps. His pale face and labored breathing told her there was something terribly wrong.

The detective stepped past Paul, who was writhing on the floor whimpering, and grabbed hold of Stamps’s collar.

“Gun!” Harte rasped.

The detective dropped the man like a hot potato and put his foot on his neck. “Don’t move,” he barked. Bending, he wrenched the gun from Stamps’s hand.

As he cuffed the senator, he glanced at Harte. “How you doing, kid?” he said.

“He’s shot,” Dani cried. “He’s bleeding.” She crawled toward him on her knees.

From the corner of the kitchen came a whining voice. “Lucas, help me. I’m shot too,” Paul squealed. “I think it’s serious.”

Lucas. The detective was Harte’s older brother. “How’d you find us?” she asked.

Lucas knelt next to Harte. “Got your messages and went to the drugstore. Then I heard gunshots. I called for the closest police cruiser.”

“Thank goodness you got here,” Dani said as more sirens filled the air.

Lucas jerked his head in the direction of the sound. “That’s the EMTs,” he said shortly. “I was afraid they wouldn’t be able to get through. Kid? How’d you get yourself shot?”

“I’m okay,” Harte said weakly, lifting his head. “Just my shoulder.”

Dani crawled over to him and cradled his head. “It’s not his shoulder. It’s his chest. See?” She showed Lucas the bandage. “He’s lost so much blood.”

Harte shook his head. Then it hit her. Lucas was his oldest brother. He was the one Harte had told her gave him such a hard time for becoming a prosecutor instead of a cop. Harte didn’t want to look weak in front of him.

No danger of that, she thought. He’d taken care of her, saved her more times than she could count and fought off the men who were trying to capture her or, worse, kill her. Even after taking a bullet in the chest, he’d still fought to keep her safe.

She looked up at Lucas, who met her gaze. She saw in his expressive face that he was thinking the same thing. Then he leaned over his younger brother. “Somebody get those EMTs in here now! My brother’s been shot.”

Harte lifted his head. “Paul’s wounded,” he gasped, “and Dani took down at least one of the shooters.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, frowning. Then he added louder, “Get the damned EMTs!”

Chapter Fifteen

Dani wanted to go to the hospital with Harte, but the police had a different idea. After she was examined and released by the EMTs, she was taken to the police station, where she spent all the rest of the morning and a large part of the afternoon being questioned and writing out and signing her statement. Someone had found her a clean set of scrubs and a blanket to wrap up in, but she still had on her wet