Jack & Jill

part of the destruction of one of the few,
the very few,
advantages the United States holds over the rest of the world. Our intelligence network was second to none. It still is, in my opinion. The President was a foolish amateur who wanted to dismantle intelligence and the military. In the name of what? Populist change? What a mockery, what a sad, dangerous joke. Thomas Byrnes was a car salesman from Detroit! He had no business making the decisions he was entrusted with. Most presidents before him understood that. I don’t care what you believe about us. My husband and I are patriots. Are we clear on that?
Are we clear, gentlemen?”
    Jay Grayer let her finish before he spoke again. “You and your husband are slimy traitors. You’re both murderers.
Are we clear?
You’re right about one thing, though. I am proud about bringing you down. I feel great about that. I really do, Jeanne.”
    There was a sudden flare of bright white light in the kitchen! A muzzle flash.
    A deafening shot rang out in the most unexpected of places. Jay Grayer’s body arched. He fell back against the kitchen counter, knocking over a row of tall wooden stools.
    Jeanne Sterling had shot him point-blank. She had a gun hidden in her robe. She’d fired right through the pocket. Maybe she had seen us approaching the house. Or maybe she always had a gun nearby. She was Jill, after all.
    Jeanne shifted her feet and turned the gun on me. I was already diving down behind the kitchen counter.
    She fired the semiautomatic anyway.
    Another deafening blast in the kitchen. A flash of light. Then
another
shot.
    She kept firing as she backed from the kitchen. Then she ran. Her robe flew behind her like a cape.
    I quickly moved to where Jay Grayer had gone down. He was wounded high in the chest, near the collarbone. His face was drained of color. Jay was conscious, though. “Just get her, Alex. Get her alive,” he gasped. “Get them. They
know
everything.”
    I moved carefully but quickly inside the Sterling house.
Don’t kill her. She knows the truth. We need to hear it from her just this once. She knows why the President was killed, and who ordered it. She knows!
    Suddenly, a Secret Service agent came rushing inside the front door. Another agent was close behind him.
    Two more agents appeared from the direction of the kitchen. All of them had their guns drawn. Looks of shocked concern were on their faces.
    “What the hell happened in here?” one of the agents shouted.
    “Jeanne Sterling has a gun. We take her alive, anyway. We have to take her alive!”
    I heard a noise in the direction of the front hallway. Actually, two noises. I understood what was happening, and my heart sank.
    A car engine was being started.
    An electric garage door was being raised.
    Jill was getting away.

CHAPTER
110

    MY CHEST was thundering, ready to explode, but my heart had gone icy cold.
    Take her alive, no matter what! She’s even more important than Jack.
    The door to the garage was down a narrow hallway that led past a large sun room. The sun room was awash in blinding morning light I sucked in a breath. Then I opened the garage door carefully, as if it might explode. It just might, I knew. Anything could happen now. This was the house of dirty tricks.
    There was a dark, narrow corridor between the house and the garage. The passageway was about four feet long. I moved down it in a low crouch.
    Another closed door was at the end.
    Take her alive. That’s the one imperative.
    I yanked open the second door and jumped out into what I figured had to be the garage. It was.
    Instantly, I heard three loud pops. I hit the concrete floor hard.
    Gunshots!
    Thunderous, scary noise in the confined space. No
thud
of a bullet to my chest or head, thank God.
    I saw Jeanne Sterling leaning out of the window of her station wagon. She had a semiautomatic clutched in one hand. I pushed myself up again.
    Take her alive!
my brain screamed as I ducked out of sight.
    I had seen something else in the car. She had her youngest daughter with her. Her three-year-old, Karon. She was using Karon as a shield. She knew we wouldn’t shoot with the girl in the way. The little girl was screaming loudly. She was terrified. How could Jeanne Sterling do this to a child?
    I crouched behind the oil tank in the darkened, cramped space. I was trying to think straight.
    I shut my eyes for a beat. Half a second at most.
    I drank in a huge breath of cold air and gasoline fumes. Tried to think in absolutely