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open. And the open was where they’d have to go to get to the gate.
    Brandon checked the strips of grass and shrubs that made up the side yards. No one was there that he could see. No one was on the porch, either, and it was too much to hope that Shore had blown up with that grenade. No. The man was out there, somewhere, waiting.
    “Let’s go,” he told Willa.
    As he’d done in the kitchen, Brandon kept in front of her and backed her toward the gate. The debris continued to fall, and he could hear neighbors shouting for help. What he couldn’t hear was Bo or the sound of sirens from backup. Until he had help, he had to do everything within his power to get Willa away from there.
    Thick black smoke billowed out from the house, fanning out across the yard, and making it impossible for Brandon to see all the places where Shore could be hiding. He kept his gun aimed. Ready.
    He saw the movement just at the edge of the smoke. It was a man. And it wasn’t Bo. Brandon recognized him from intelligence photos.
    It was Martin Shore.
    The killer was there, coming for them.
    Behind him, Willa fumbled with the gate to open it. She’d obviously put some kind of lock on it, and that lock was now a trap.
    Brandon protected Willa as best he could, but he couldn’t help with the locks. He kept his eyes and gun trained on Shore and was ready to push Willa to the ground if necessary. That wouldn’t take her out of the line of fire, but it might shield her long enough until backup arrived. By now, all the neighbors and anyone for blocks around had probably called for help or come out of their residences to see what was going on.
    And what was going on was that Shore was about to try to kill them again.
    The man kept walking but lifted his gun, aiming it at them.
    Willa cursed, but she must have finally gotten the locks to cooperate because she shoved open the gate. In the same motion Brandon pushed her through to the other side.
    A bullet slammed into the fence.
    The shot came so close to Brandon’s head that he swore he could feel it.
    He jumped out of the way, staying low and lunged out of the yard to join Willa on the other side. They made it to a sidewalk that was rimmed with a street and then another row of pristine suburban houses. They could try to duck into one of them, but that wouldn’t stop Shore. He’d just fire into the place and possibly kill some innocent bystanders.
    “We have to run,” Brandon told her. He didn’t wait for her to do that. He put his left hand on her shoulder to get her moving, away from the fence and away from her burning house.
    Running might not even be possible for someone in the last trimester of pregnancy, but he had to get her to cover so he could try to make a stand against Shore.
    Brandon headed up the sidewalk toward the cul de sac where a car was parked. That was their best bet.
    Until he saw the kids.
    There were three of them, all on skates, and probably no more than ten or eleven years old. If he went in that direction, so would Shore’s bullets.
    “Get down!” Brandon shouted to the boys. Hopefully they and anyone else in the area would do as he’d ordered.
    “This way,” Willa insisted, turning and leading him in the opposite direction.
    She obviously realized the danger to the children, but she also had to know the danger of going past her house again. Shore had probably made it across the yard by now, and if he wasn’t already at the gate, he soon would be.
    Brandon adjusted his gun, and aimed, and they hurried past Willa’s section of the fence. The smoke was thicker now, and the wind was carrying it right in their direction. Willa coughed, but she didn’t stop.
    He didn’t want to think of the risk this might be causing the baby. Brandon only wanted to get her out of there. Their best option was the intersection just ahead. Cars were trickling past, but if he could get Willa to that point, he could position her on the side of the last stretch of fence and perhaps get