Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

“Good idea,” Evarts said. He called his remaining force to instruct them to turn off sirens and lights. Maybe they could spring a trap.

When Michaels completed his call, Evarts said, “Joe, when—”

A shot from the hotel brought the conversation to a stop. Michaels ran to stand with his officers. Involuntarily, Evarts looked up to the roof across the street. He saw what he had hoped to see. Despite a flash suppressor, he saw and heard a single report from Smithson’s position. One more bad guy down.

More cop cars arrived: Evarts’s remaining ten officers. Sergeant Curren immediately dispersed the additional manpower and had a couple of officers ferry the squad cars to a parking lot behind a building across the street. Previously, Evarts had feared an ambush from behind. Now he hoped the second street gang would attack, because it would preclude them from having to extricate them from their hiding places.

A second shot rang out from Smithson’s position. Now he was nailing them before they even took a shot. He needed a sniper at the rear as well. He decided to call Curren and Michaels to get someone experienced in place, but before he could bring a number up on his phone, all hell broke loose.

The shooting occurred on the periphery. The other gang was trying to rescue their brethren. Fuck them. He kept his attention forward on the hotel. No one emerged yet. Then the gunfire behind him grew louder. He called Undersheriff Michaels.

“Evarts here.”

“Boy, you’re going to like this. Those stupid SOBs attacked just as the Santa Maria cops pulled up behind them. We got them in a crossfire.”

“Finish it.”

Chapter 36

Baldwin woke up sore in a dark room with someone snoring. Her watch said it was nine thirty in the morning, but she saw no light around the edges of the shaded window in front or the one in back. She stifled a groan when she realized that the cloud cover must still hang low and dark. She stumbled to her feet and moved by feel to the bathroom. She didn’t turn on the light until after she had closed the door. Her intent had been to take a pee and crawl back into her nest for a few hours’ more sleep. That wasn’t going to happen. As tired as she was, she wasn’t going to waste the day sleeping. She wanted to go home.

She washed her face and ironed her clothing with her hands. It did no good. It still looked like she had slept in what she wore, which she had, of course. She needed her cell phone, money, and shoes. With those items, she could go the neighborhood market upstairs and hopefully buy a cup of coffee to drink while she called her husband. Leaving the light on, she quickly slipped through the door and then closed it till only a crack leaked enough light to see by. In a few moments, she was at the front door with her three necessities.

What lay on the other side? To hell with it. She had things to do, and if necessary, she’d just kill the bum. She chuckled to herself as she threw the two deadbolts. No bum, but his pile of excrement remained. She pretended to ignore it and opened the wrought-iron gate.

Despite gloomy cloud cover, she felt invigorated by the outdoors. At first, she almost didn’t notice the misting rain. She had been dealing with such massive downpours for the last two days, a drizzle didn’t faze her. She bounced up the three concrete stairs to street level with a light step, happy to have her feet on solid, if not quite dry, ground.

The mom and pop shop didn’t sell fresh coffee. They did, however, tell her the location of the closest Starbucks, which was only two blocks away. Eureka! Baldwin liked their coffee and didn’t care that the formulistic bistro sold caffeinated beverages at European prices in inappropriate cardboard cups delivered by a pretentious barista.

When she arrived, the coffee bar was mobbed. Standing room only. After an interminable wait in line, Baldwin got a super-sized coffee and elbowed her way through a mass of humanity staring at electronic devices. Didn’t anyone work in San Francisco? Maybe they all tended bar or served dinner at eateries.

When she emerged on the sidewalk, she spotted a nearly empty pocket park about a block away. She examined the sky, and as she took a sip, decided that the drizzle threatened to become serious. She glanced back at Starbucks and guessed that many of these people would have congregated in the park on a nice day. She took another sip. The coffee tasted invigorating. Going back to the flat would wake the others, and she had selfishly bought coffee only for herself. That combination would surely make her unwelcome. Finally, she chose a little dampness over being hemmed in cheek by jowl. She crossed to the park.

As she walked, she pulled out her phone and punched up her ICE number with one hand. It rang four times before her husband answered.

“Evarts,” he answered.

“It better be,” she said. “If a strange woman answered, you’d be missing an important appendage.”

“Trish! You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

“You sound groggy. Were you asleep?”

“Yeah. Didn’t get to bed until close to six this morning. I can’t wait to be home in my own bed. Need a shower too.”

“Where are you?”

“In the Solvang jail. Where are you?”

“San Francisco. What are you doing in jail?”

“Holding pen, actually. No room at the inn, and I needed a little sleep. Glad you arrived safe.”

“Barely. If you hadn’t turned off your phone, you’d know about my travails.”

“Busy night. Bursting dam, evacuations, search for survivors, acting chief for Lompoc, and then some bad guys shot at me. Nothing like a ringing phone to give muy mal hombres a bead on their target. Enough about me, what about you?”

“Shooting at you?