Restoration
Chapter 52
"Boot, we can never let ourselves run out of ammunition at the same time," Tim cautions Lucy. "When the Derians' men move on the suspect's vehicle, I'll lay down fire to keep them back. When I stop, you start while I reload. Then I'll take over again. We have to keep them pinned down, or better yet, take them out. Aim for the center of mass if you can, but keep up the pressure."
"What happens when we both run out of rounds?" Lucy demands.
"If you can shoot as well here as you do on the range, we'll have them down before then. But make every shot count. We've got to hang in until we get some backup. The crew in the helicopter know we lost touch. They'll report it. Whoever is closest will be coming. We hold the line until they get here. Are you ready?"
Lucy's hands curl around her weapon. "I have to be."
Tim surveys the wall of closely spaced trees, searching for any signs of movement. His eyes detect a tiny flash. It's not a reflection from a gun barrel or a scope. He could recognize those in his sleep. It isn't from the ring he saw before, either. It could be a wristwatch. For some reason, the Derians' soldiers like expensive timepieces, or at least what gives the appearance of the high-priced articles. eBay is full of knockoffs. There it is again! Someone is raising a rifle to his eyes. As seconds thud like lead weights, Tim waits for a viable target. There! A man is half-visible behind what would make a great Christmas tree. Tim's target gets off a shot, sending a shower of splinters as the bullet shatters a nearby branch. Tim doesn't miss.
For a moment, the scene is frozen, before the Derians' thugs charge forward, shooting. Tim looses a stream of bullets at them, whispering to Lucy as he fires his last one. "Now, Chen!"
As Lucy picks up Tim's rhythm, two more Derian men fall, before Tim takes over again. The faint sound of sirens rises in pitch as local law enforcement tears down the highway toward the battle. Tim and Lucy each have one more magazine. More gunmen are coming at them. For Lucy, time is moving in slow motion. As each Derian operative exposes himself enough to fire, Tim shoots. Lucy can see blood staining her T.O.s sleeve. She can feel the skin at her waist burning. A graze? She doesn't know but can't worry about it now. At Tim's last shot, there is nothing but her weapon between the attackers and what she is sworn to protect. As backup screeches in and feet thunder through the trees, another assassin falls to the needle-sharp ground. Lucy can barely quash the impulse to demand what took the new arrivals so damn long.
White-knuckled, with less than dry pants, Haig gazes around the now quiet woods. He turns to Botts. "If you think that after what just happened, I'm going to lead you to the video, you're crazy."
Botts' eyes blaze. "If you think that after the L.A.P.D. put everything on the line to protect you, you're not coming up with that evidence, you're the one who's crazy. You're going to take me, and you're going to take me now, or you'll spend the rest of your life in a hole so deep you'll never see the sun again."
Lucy dangles her legs over the edge of the examining table as Grace checks the dressing applied by a medic at the scene of the shootout. "Good job. If you notice redness or swelling, let me know, but it looks like you're good to go. I doubt you'll even have much of a scar."
"How's Bradford?" Lucy asks.
"I can't give you details; you know that. But he'll be all right in a couple of days. He wants to go back to work right now."
"That sounds like Tim."
"Well, if he wants to object to sitting out a couple of shifts, he'll have to plead his case to Sergeant Grey. I wish him luck with that."
Lucy grins. "He'll need more than luck."
John's order for wood for Ben's pergola came in faster than he expected. His duty guarding Janice Jessup hadn't exactly been grueling. If anything, after hearing what Lucy and Tim went through that afternoon, he has nervous energy desperate for an outlet.
He can pick up the load of lumber and start installing it. Since it's already cut to length, he might even finish the job that evening, especially if he manages to avoid any interaction with Grace. He wouldn't mind saying hello to Oliver, but communication with the boy's mother won't be good for either of them. He'll get the work done and take off.
While his mom checks some of his homework, Oliver looks up at the sound of a power tool. "That must be Officer Nolan fixing Mr. McCree's wood thing. Can I go see him? I have a picture I want to show him."
"All right," Grace agrees, "but he has work to do. Don't take too much of his time."
"I won't," Oliver promises and runs to get his creation from the drawing table John made for him. Grace figures that she can take Oliver over to the damaged pergola, wave, and say hello. Her son can carry on from there. If he distracts John from his task too much, she'll remind him he has assignments to finish.
John looks down from his perch to see Oliver bounding his way, proudly grasping a sheet of drawing paper. Grace is trailing behind him, but she doesn't look too happy about it. John climbs down his ladder, jumping the last few feet to the ground. "A new piece of art, Buddy? Let me see."
"It's the ocean," Oliver explains, puffing out his small chest. "See, there's a boat out there."
John studies the boy's rendering. Oliver has yet to learn anything about perspective, but that will come. He's still years ahead of where John was at his age.
Grace puts a hand on her son's shoulder. "Oliver, you still have spelling and math."
"I don't need spelling and math. I'm going to draw!" Oliver argues.
Frowning, John pulls several folded sheets of paper from his back pocket. "Oliver, look at these. They're plans for this pergola. But they're not just drawings. See the numbers? Those are dimensions, what size everything has to be to fit together right. And down here, this is the bill of materials. It lists everything you need for a project. You have to be able to spell to write one. Even if you spend a lot of your time drawing, you have to learn other things too."
Oliver traces his index finger over the lines on the paper. "Can you do all this stuff?"
"If I couldn't, I would never have been able to support my family. I have to measure and write to be a police officer too. And I also have studying to do. There's always something else to learn. If we miss anything, the bad guys get away."
Oliver nods slowly. "OK, Officer Nolan. I'll go work on my homework now."
John watches as Grace leads her son back to the guest house. She needs someone to back her up with Oliver the way he just did. Ideally, that should be Eric, but that's not going to happen. Maybe Oliver's talent will help him survive having an asshole for a father. Perhaps Grace will come out of the divorce better for the journey. For Oliver and Grace's sake, John hopes so.
