Killing Time by Linda Howard Page B

at her, and obviously she couldn’t do both at the same time.
    On the other hand, he had delayed her long enough that whoever had shot at her was probably gone, and even if she dumped him on his ass and went after the shooter, she wasn’t likely to find out anything. “Okay,” she finally said. “You’ve probably waited too long to catch him, anyway.”
    “So put the blame on me when you write your report.” He sounded completely unconcerned that she might do so, as if there was nothing she or the FBI could do to him on a professional level that caused him any worry.
    She shrugged—as much as she could, anyway, considering she was pinned to the side of the house. “No, there’s no point in whining and giving excuses. It’ll still come down on me, regardless.”
    He gave her a quick searching look as he moved his arm from her chest, then resumed his vigil in the other direction. “Pull back to the porch. If the shooter can work his way around to change his angle, we’re completely exposed here.”
    She looked around and saw that the angled steps to the wide porch began just a few yards behind her. What he’d said made sense, so she moved swiftly in a low crouch to the steps, then up them and around to the front of the house. He was right behind her, watching their six while she guarded their front.
    He said, “Anyone who’s studied logistics will know that moving across that open ground was a death sentence.”
    He was trying to comfort her, and she was a little touched by his concern. “Yeah, well, TPTB aren’t always well-versed in logistics.”
    There was a slight pause. “ ‘TPTB’?”
    Now it was her turn to give him an uncertain look. She’d used a common acronym, one that had been around a long time. “The Powers That Be,” she explained, a little warily. “Internet shorthand.”
    “Got it. I’m not much on the Internet thing; the guys who work juvenile cases have to stay up on the latest stuff, though.”
    Her life was so tied to computers she couldn’t imagine not being totally conversant with them, but in a way she envied him the freedom to
not
be. Then it struck her that while she was on this assignment, she was essentially just as free as he was. She couldn’t be monitored, and she had no way of contacting her superiors without physically returning to the base. At first that lack of a tether had bothered her, but a few minutes ago when someone had shot at her, her outlook had changed considerably.
    Since she couldn’t be monitored, the only way the shooter could have known where she was, was to have followed her. But why hadn’t he taken a shot earlier, while she’d been alone? Or when she was walking to her car from the motel room? Why here, and why now?
    The sound of sirens in the distance interrupted her chain of thought, but she knew she’d be returning to it, gnawing over the facts and possibilities until something made sense.
    The cavalry arrived in the form of six county patrol cars sliding in on squealing wheels, followed by a large armored van built more like a tank than a van. The double doors of the van swung open and a squad of stalwart men, dressed in dark blue and armed to the teeth, swarmed out.
    “A SWAT team?” she asked in astonishment. “You said cavalry, not the heavy armored division.”
    “They don’t get a lot of action, so I guess they needed the practice,” he said easily. “Besides, they love me.”
    She snorted, but didn’t reply as they were abruptly surrounded by the deputies, all with weapons drawn and shouting a cacophony of orders at her. Belatedly she realized all of those weapons were pointed at her and she quickly said, “Federal agent,” while she slowly raised her gun hand and with the other hand lifted the flap of her purse to flash her badge.
    The weapons were immediately lowered, but no apologies were issued and she didn’t expect any. If she’d been thinking, she’d have anticipated that reaction; the deputies had done exactly