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  Another shot exploded, this time flattening itself against the brick wall of the house, inches from his head.

  This maniac was persistent and seemed to be determined.

  Jake finally reached the street and he crossed over, ducked behind a tree, and glanced back. The madman pursued.

  An idea struck him. Carver Street and their house was one block over, on the next street parallel to where he was. He whipped out his cell phone, found the last inbound caller, and hit redial.

  “Everything okay?” the officer asked.

  “It’s Jake. I’m half a block away on foot and I’m being pursued by a gunman.” He took another glance and crossed the front yard of the house, heading toward Carver.

  “I’ll be coming from beside the house to your left about three doors up,” Jake spoke quickly into the phone. “And he’s behind me.”

  “We’re on it.” Jake heard the car door open. The officers would be prepared.

  He glanced back as he hopped the hedge between the two dwellings. The hitman was close. He had lost some ground as he made the call. The gunman stopped and leveled his weapon.

  Jake ducked as the assailant fired and the bullet missed its target.

  He sprang to his feet, crossed the back yard at an angle, and raced up the side of the house. Carver Street was directly ahead. Just a few more seconds.

  He hit the sidewalk, running fast, and crossed the street. A sideways glance showed the gunman but a moment behind.

  Down the street, he saw the police cruiser parked in front of his house. The officers were out of the vehicle, heading toward him a step at a time, their guns drawn and ready. They’d seen him.

  He ducked behind a tree and spun back around. The hitman had reached the sidewalk across the street, stopped, and then stepped into the street, sighting down the barrel of his weapon, directly at the tree where Jake waited.

  He glanced to his left. The officers were fifty feet away, still approaching.

  Forty feet.

  Thirty feet.

  The killer spun his head to the left and stopped short in the middle of the street.

  “Put your weapon down,” an officer yelled. “Now.”

  The gunman whirled to face the cops, crouched, and fired a shot. It missed, and the officer fired back, the bullet whining through the spot the shooter occupied a split second before. The hitman leaped aside, sprang to his feet, and ran for cover, back the way he came.

  Jake watched the officers pursue the maniac until they were out of sight.

  Several minutes later, they returned empty handed.

  The cops had called for backup. The surrounding streets would be thoroughly searched, but the would-be killer was undoubtedly long gone.

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday, 9:18 a.m.

  ANNIE HAD HEARD gunfire coming from the street, and when she looked out the front window, she saw Jake standing on the sidewalk, the pair of officers dashing across the lawn of the neighbor’s house. She was relieved to see Jake was unharmed, but his vehicle was nowhere in sight.

  A few minutes later, Jake came in and explained what had happened. “Matty and Kyle are okay,” he said. “They were safely inside the school before any of this started.”

  She heard the whine of sirens in the distance. More than one vehicle was approaching the neighborhood, and officers would immediately set up roadblocks and scour the area.

  Annie was concerned at the brazen persistence of the gunman. He’d obviously done some research and knew Jake would be dropping Matty at school. Or perhaps he assumed as much and had alternate plans. Either way, she believed the would-be assassin would make another attempt. It was obvious he was after both of them.

  Jake appeared to be unfazed by the alarming incident, but she knew he was concerned and wouldn’t take this standing still. And neither would she.

  “If you drive me to pick up my car,” Jake said. “I should run down to RHPD and fill out a report.”

  While Annie went to get her handbag and keys, Jake gave Hank a call to fill him in. When Annie joined Jake, he told her the detective was shocked and deeply concerned for their safety. Hank was doing an interview at the moment, but would soon be on his way back to the precinct and would meet them there.

  They locked up the house, got into Annie’s car, and headed out.

  Officers already swarmed the neighborhood, cruisers and cops everywhere, stopping cars and canvassing houses in the area. An officer waved Annie down, and after a cursory glance through the window, they motioned her through.

  Jake’s vehicle was still where he’d left it. Someone had closed the driver side door, and though it was the least of his worries, he was relieved to see it hadn’t sustained any damage.

  He drove it home, Annie following in her Escort. He left it in the driveway, got back into Annie’s car, and turned to face her as she pulled out of the driveway.

  “I think we should get you a vest,” he said. “This guy’s determined.”

  Annie glanced over at her husband. It would be a good idea if both of them wore bulletproof vests for now. Jake had one at home that had saved his life in an earlier case, and she would ask Hank if they had one small enough to fit her.

  She turned her eyes back on the road. “I’ll wear one if you wear yours,” she said.

  Jake agreed. “It’s a deal. We’ll talk to Hank.”

  In a few minutes, Annie pulled into the precinct parking lot and eased into one of the guest spots. She stepped from the vehicle and looked around, half-expecting to see the gunman waiting. He wasn’t, and she and Jake went into the precinct.

  Captain Diego watched them come through the front doors and called them over. He stood in the doorway of his office, his usual pleasant face twisted into a frown of concern. He smiled grimly and greeted them with a nod.

  “I spoke to Hank yesterday about you two,” the captain said. He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “As if it’s not bad enough that someone’s out to get you, we don’t know who, or why.”

  “We’re going to find out who,” Jake said. “And why.”

  “I’m concerned about your involvement in this case,” Diego said.

  Annie put a hand on one hip. “We’re already involved whether we like it or not,” she said. “It’s become personal.”

  “And dangerous,” Diego said, his frown deepening.

  Annie looked at Jake then back at the captain. “We’ll be careful. We appreciate your concern, Captain Diego.” She paused. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Diego raised his brows.

  “Can I borrow a bulletproof vest?”

  Diego chuckled. “Of course.” He held up a finger. “Remember, these vests aren’t bulletproof, just bullet resistant. You can still sustain some damage if you get hit, especially at close range.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Annie said. “Jake can attest to that first hand.”

  The captain glanced toward the door and Annie followed his gaze. Hank and King had come in, and Diego called to Hank.

  The detective nodded, beckoned toward them, and then went to his desk. Annie thanked Captain Diego and they approached Hank.

  “It appears the captain wants us to back off,” Jake said.

  Hank sat his briefcase beside his desk, sat down, and leaned back in his chair. “And you don’t want to, I assume?”

  “We can’t,” Annie said, sitting in the guest chair. She leaned forward. “If we back off we become easier targets.”

  “I’d better fill out a statement,” Jake said. “While I do, Hank, can you fit Annie with a vest?”

  “Sure,” Hank said, standing. He beckoned toward Annie and she followed him across the room, through a door, and into the lower level of the building.

  She heard some muffled shooting; someone was in the firing range close by.

  Hank selected a vest and handed it to her. “This should fit you. Do you know how to put it on?”

  “I do.”

  “I’m not surprised.”


  Annie had worn a thin cardigan over her t-shirt and she removed it, fastened the bulky vest in place, and put the cardigan over top. It was a little uncomfortable and rather awkward at first, but she felt safer.

  “Make sure Jake wears his,” Hank said.

  Jake had finished with his statement when they returned to Hank’s desk. The detective read it over. “There’s not much here,” he said to Jake.

  “There’s not a lot to tell. He wore a ski mask, so I didn’t see his face, and I was too busy running to see much more.”

  Hank dropped the paper on his desk and sat back. “King and I came from Smokie’s Bar. The owner attested Shaft and Norton knew each other. They were frequent visitors to the bar and entered all the tournaments. He confirmed, as far as he knew, neither of their wives ever came with them.”

  “That fits with what both women told us,” Annie said.

  Hank nodded. “I also got a list of everyone else in the tournament, so between King and me, we’ll see what they know about the relationship between Shaft and Norton. Or more important, where Norton might be hiding out.” He shrugged. “It’s a long shot, but it’s about all we have right now.”

  “I’d love to get ahold of this guy that’s been shooting at us,” Jake said. “I’m sure he knows a thing or two.”

  “There’s no proof it’s related to this case,” Hank said.

  Annie spoke. “It is.”

  Hank pointed a finger at Jake and frowned. “You guys be careful.”

  Jake chuckled. “Of course, Hank. Have you ever known us to be anything but careful?”

  “You’ve taken a chance or two in the past.”

  “Calculated chances.”

  “Just be careful,” Hank said.

  Annie stood. “See you later, Hank. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

  Hank called to them as they turned and headed for the doors. “And wear your vests whenever you’re out of the house.”

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday, 10:55 a.m.

  HANK TURNED and glanced across the precinct when he heard his name called. It was King, a rare look on his face, something halfway between a grin and a smirk.

  He spun his chair to face the approaching detective. “Looks like you won the lottery.”

  “Maybe I did,” King said, leaning against the desk. “One of my CIs might know who the shooter is. Won’t tell me over the phone. Says he’ll never get paid that way.”

  “Does your source know where to find him?”

  “He says no, but he has a name.” King shrugged. “It’s a start.”

  Hank eyed the crass detective. King had never taken to the mundane matters, not excelling at the finer details of police work, but when it came to fitting in on the streets and obtaining inside dirt on local criminal activity, he was unsurpassed.

  “Gotta go, Hank. I’ll be back before long,” King said, and strode away.

  Hank turned back to his desk. He’d been putting together a few notes for a hurried press conference. The local and regional news outlets demanded something, and Diego always did his utmost to keep the public aware of anything affecting their daily lives.

  He gathered up his notes and went to the doorway of Diego’s office. “All set, Captain.”

  When Hank and Diego stepped from the precinct doors, people were already gathered in front of the podium at the bottom of the steps. There were fewer reporters than usual, as little notice was given, but Lisa Krunk could be seen at the front of the small group, Don at her side, the camera on his shoulder.

  They descended the steps and Hank moved to the podium, consulted his notes, and cleared his throat.

  “Thank you for coming.” His eyes roved over the gathering. “I’ll make a brief statement and then take questions.”

  He glanced at his notes again before speaking. “As you know, Monday evening a brutal murder took place in this city. The victim was thirty-five year old Werner Shaft, a resident of Richmond Hill.” Hank held up a photo. “This man, Michael Norton, is a suspect in this case, and I urge you all to publish or broadcast this picture. We think he’s still somewhere in the city, but so far, he’s eluded our search.”

  Hank looked at Lisa and continued, “In regards to a recent broadcast, we have no information leading us to believe the suspect’s wife has any knowledge of his whereabouts.” He paused. He didn’t have much else to say. “This case is ongoing and I’ll keep you up to date on any further developments.”

  Hank looked at Diego then back at the crowd. “I’ll take your questions now,” he said, pointing to an upraised hand.

  “Detective, it’s my understanding Lincoln Investigations is involved in this case and there was an attempt on Annie Lincoln’s life yesterday. What can you tell us about that?”

  Hank hadn’t wanted to broach that subject. He hesitated and then said, “We have yet to ascertain whether or not it’s related to the Shaft murder.”

  The reporter persisted. “Do you have a suspect in that attempt?”

  “Not yet. It’s a priority for us, and everything is being done to ensure their protection and the safety of the public.”

  Lisa raised a hand and spoke. “Detective Corning, I understand Jake Lincoln was the intended victim in another shooting attempt today. Do you believe it’s the same perpetrator?”

  Hank nodded. “We believe it is, and we expect to make an arrest shortly.” He leaned in to the mike. “You’ll be notified when we do. Please note, we have no reason to believe the general public is in any danger.” He picked up his notes. “That’s all for now.”

  He turned from the podium and ignored further questions. He and Diego climbed the stairs and returned to the precinct as reporters moved away.

  Hank turned to Diego. “We didn’t have much for them.”

  “We had to give them something. That’ll keep them quiet for a while.” Diego headed for his office. “Keep me up to date,” he called over his shoulder.

  Hank went back to his desk and dropped his notes into the wastebasket. He sat, pulled into his desk, and thumbed through the files pertaining to the case. He was frustrated, finding it hard to come up with an approach.

  He was relieved from his thoughts when the front door opened and King strode in, a triumphant look on his face. Hank watched the detective approach his desk and sit in the guest chair. King sat back, folded his arms, and stretched out.

  Hank looked at him. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

  “Punky Brown,” King said.

  “Punky Brown? Never heard of him.”

  King shrugged. “That’s the name I got. Somebody hired him to kill the Lincolns.”

  “Did your CI have any info on his whereabouts?”

  King brushed back his greasy hair and sat forward. “Apparently, this Punky Brown character is not known to a lot of people. Word is, he’s trying to make a name for himself as a first class hitman.”

  Hank frowned. “And how does your CI know him?”

  King cleared his throat. “He’s kind of in the same business. Not a hitman per se, more of an enforcer than anything else.” He paused. “As far as I know he’s never killed anyone. I wouldn’t shelter a killer.”

  “And so your CI is eager to give up his competition?”

  King grinned. “Something like that.”

  “Any idea how to find this guy?” Hank asked.

  “No idea, but somebody must know something. Apparently, Brown’s not all as good as he claims to be. My CI says he’s too stupid to ever amount to anything, and Brown is more of a wannabe than anything else. Takes foolish chances. Doesn’t plan ahead. Things like that.”

  “That could make him even more dangerous,” Hank said.

  “Maybe. But it should also make him easier to find.”

  Hank spun his chair around and wheeled over to Callaway’s desk.

  “What can I do for you, Hank?”

  “Can you find me anything on a guy named Punky Brown?”

  Callaway tapped a few keys on
his keyboard. He squinted at the monitor, tapped some more, and frowned. “Not finding anything, Hank.”

  “It’s probably an assumed name,” Hank said. “Thinks it makes him sound tough.”

  “There’re lots of guys named Brown in the system,” Callaway said, still peering at his monitor. “All across the country.”

  “Give me a printout on any within a fifty mile radius,” Hank said. “It’s a long shot, but we’ll look into every one.”

  “Will do. I’ll bring it over when I’m done.”

  Hank spun back to his desk and looked at King. “Does your CI know what Brown looks like?”

  King shook his head. “He has no idea. He’s never met him.”

  “All right. Leave it with me,” Hank said. He slipped a sheet of paper from a file folder and handed it to King. “Here’s a list of everyone in the 9-ball tournament. See if you can find anything out about Shaft or Norton.”

  King sighed and took the sheet. “This should be a real exciting job,” he said, as he stood and sauntered away.

  Hank called Jake’s cell number. He figured Jake and Annie at least deserved to know the name of the guy who tried to kill them.

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday, 11:36 a.m.

  JAKE HUNG UP the phone, went into the office, and dropped into a chair. Annie turned away from the monitor and leaned back. She looked curiously at her husband.

  “Punky Brown,” Jake said.

  “Who’s Punky Brown?”

  “The guy who’s taking shots at us,” Jake answered. “Hank called me. Brown is a two-bit punk who thinks he’s a hitman. King got the name from one of his CIs.”

  “Did they catch him?”

  “No. The problem is, they don’t know who he is or what he looks like. All they have is a name.”

  Annie dropped her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands together under her chin. “It’s a start.”