Shadow Prey

enough—if Davenport barricaded himself in the basement.
    The black spot was there, and he could feel the anger cooking in his heart. There was a very good chance that Davenport would kill him. The cop was on his home ground; he was well trained; and Shadow Love felt his luck had broken when he’d failed with the New York woman.
    Still he had to try. The black spot grew, calling him in, and the anger rode into his veins like fire.
     
    Jennifer was huddled under the workbench, wrapped protectively around Sarah, who was screaming beyond comfort.
    “What are we doing?” she cried. “What are we doing?”
    “The St. Paul cops should be coming in. We’ve only got to hold out a few minutes,” Lucas said. “He’ll have to make a move or get out. You stay put.”
    Lucas scrambled crabwise across the basement to his gun safe and spun the combination dial. He missed the second number, cursed and started over.
     
    Upstairs, Shadow Love was torn between attack and retreat. He wouldn’t stay free on the streets for long. He had no place to hide, his picture was everywhere. If he was careful, very careful, he might grab a car somewhere and make it out into the countryside. But with Clay’s killing, the hunt would be remorseless. He would never have another chance at Davenport. Never have another chance to avenge his fathers. On the other hand, the hunter cop was armed and waiting in a house he knew intimately. An attack straight down the stairs would be suicide.
    He held his breath, listening. No sirens. With the cool nights of October, windows were closed and furnaces were running; the firefight would not be particularly audible. On the other hand, Mississippi River Boulevard was a favorite jogging route. He’d be lucky if a passerby hadn’t already heard the gunfire. Somehow, he had to pry Davenport out of the basement, and quickly . . . .
    Squatting just outside the garage door, the M-15 pointed diagonally through the door at the stairwell, he noticed a telephone on the wall.
    Shit. An extension in the basement?
    Shadow Love crouched in a sprinter’s position, listened for a second, then sprang through the open door into the kitchen, rolling when he hit the floor, coming up with the gun pointed at the stairwell. Nothing. He was inside.
    With the gun leveled at the stairway door, he took a stepbackward, picked up the phone with his free hand. Just a dial tone. Okay. He let the phone dangle off the hook and eased back to the doorway, silent in his sneakers.
    He needed a way to blow them out. Chancing a look down the stairwell, he stepped forward, feeling the vinyl kitchen floor creak below his weight. The floor. The floor would never stop a slug from an M-15 . . . .
    Moving in a gunman’s crouch, he crossed quickly in front of the open stairway door into the living room, listened again, then took a half-dozen strides farther into the house. A picture window looked out toward the street. Nobody. Shadow Love pointed the rifle at the floor and pulled the trigger a half-dozen times.
     
    Lucas pulled open the safe door as Shadow Love opened fire. The barrage came as a shock. Splinters exploded through the basement and shrapnel from the .223 slugs filled the air like hundreds of tiny bees. Jennifer screamed once and rolled, one arm wrapped over her head, her body covering the crying baby.
    “The baby,” she screamed. “The baby,” and she plucked at the baby’s back.
    “Over here,” Lucas shouted as the firing stopped. Changing magazines? “Jen, Jen, over here . . .”
    Jennifer was partially sheltered by the workbench and sat sobbing, plucking at the baby. Lucas crawled across the floor and pulled her out and she flailed at him, resisting, not understanding.
    “Into the safe, into the safe . . .”
    Lucas dragged her and the screaming Sarah to the turn-of-the-century safe, threw the guns out on the floor and unceremoniously shoved them both inside.
    “The baby,” Jennifer screamed at him. She turned Sarah, and Lucas saw the splinters protruding from the baby’s back.
    “Don’t touch them,” he shouted. He and Jennifer were inches from each other, shouting, and Sarah was beyond tears: she’d reached the stage where she could barely breathe, her eyes wide with terror.
    “Hold the door open an inch. An inch. An inch. Youunderstand? You’ll be okay,” Lucas shouted. “Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, yes . . .” Jennifer nodded, still wrapped around Sarah.
    Lucas left them.
    He