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Justine hated this part of the job—the waiting when she knew the threat was real and she was putting the body she lived in, the creature that she was, at risk. She also loved this part, when she was crouching in a well-chosen spot, knowing things the adversaries didn’t suspect yet, and sure that the most crucial thing they didn’t suspect was Justine Poole. She could feel her heart gradually increasing its beat, like an engine warming up.
She knew she must not stand up or try to look out through the gate. She needed to see her opponents well before a confrontation happened, but she also had to be alert to the possibility of an advance scout sent ahead to detect the presence of professional security. Just today Ben had sent her security footage to help her learn how the latest group of follow-home robberies were being choreographed. They hadn’t had time to talk seriously yet about how to go about stopping one.
She knew that Spengler’s method would begin by following the robbers’ Mercedes and taking good, clear pictures of it that showed the license plates. When the Mercedes reached the gate—closed or open—he would pull in behind it so he could block the robbers’ escape and do whatever would get their attention away from the victims while the police caught up. Why hadn’t he called her by now?
And here came the Pinskys. She watched the glow from their headlights moving along the canopies of the trees, but she heard only the whisper of the tires on the pavement as their electric vehicle approached. The car began its turn toward the gate and a slight brightening appeared in the driveway that allowed Justine to see the paving stones. The car completed the arc and straightened, and its headlights shone up the driveway and lit the garage door as the car kept going. Jerry must have pressed the remote control in the car because the electric motor beside Justine turned and the teeth of its main gear meshed with the chain and the gate began to close behind it.
Justine rose to a crouch, keeping her head low and on the safe side of the motor housing, and waited. The garage door at the end of the driveway started to rise.
The Pinskys’ car pulled ahead and its headlights illuminated the back wall of the garage. Justine could see their silhouettes through the rear window, Jerry’s head on the left side, and Estelle’s on the right. The lights went out. Get out, she thought. Get into the house. Didn’t they know?
Outside the wall there was an engine noise and more lights. Justine returned her attention to the gate. The Mercedes arrived and pulled forward, and the first man was already out and running. He stuck his leg into the space in front of the moving gate in time to interrupt the beam of light to the electric eye. The gate stopped instantly and then began to roll back in the other direction.
The three passenger doors of the Mercedes swung open and men sprang out and ran to join the point man in the driveway.
Everything felt unsettled, almost unreal. She thought, Act now or miss the chance to save this. She stayed low, drew her pistol, aimed at the first man and shouted, “Hold it! Stay where you are or I’ll shoot!” She held the tactical flashlight as far from her body as possible and pushed the switch, bathing the men in its wide, blinding glare. They all looked young and large, all wearing black masks and dark clothes.
The point man and one of his companions raised pistols she hadn’t seen in the dark, and fired at her light.
She fired back, the shot hit the point man in the chest, and as he collapsed backward toward the ground, she shifted her aim to the second gunman and fired. He had been the driver, last out of the car, so he was closest to her. He fell too, dropping his pistol on the pavement. A third man fired at her and she felt the bullet cut the air a foot above her ear. She fired in response and he went down, but she was sure she had missed him and he was just ducking. She turned off her light and sprinted for the gate with the vague idea of using their own Mercedes as a shield. Even though it was probably stolen, they might hesitate before damaging their means of escape.
As she ran, a volley of wild shots ricocheted off the inner side of the wall where she had been, and when she dashed behind the Mercedes, she heard the front door of the house slam shut. She inhaled and felt her lungs swell in elation. The distraction must have done it. The Pinskys were inside. She kept running past the rear of the Mercedes, made it to the gate stanchion and twenty feet past it along the outer wall, pivoted, dropped to her belly, and aimed her pistol at the mouth of the driveway.
She used her left hand to take out her phone and dial 911, then returned her eyes to the open gateway.
