Pike crushed the near stairwell door from its jamb like a breaching charge. The two men on the stairs were caught off guard, and did not react quickly enough. Pike shot them in place, single-tapping each man in his center of mass, and immediately heard shouting below in the service bay.

Pike did not continue down because that was what the men below expected. They would cover the bottom door, thinking that Pike was trying to fight his way out. The men at the far end of the second floor would likely advance, believing they could trap Pike on the stairs.

They couldn’t. Pike was already gone.

Pike did not have to think these things through because he already had. He knew the plays even before he tucked the kid in the drawer, ten steps ahead of the curve.

Bang, bang, two down, and Pike blew back up the stairs. He was braced in the doorway and ready when the door at the far end of the hall opened, and two more men charged out. Pike shot the first man, and the other fell back, kicking the door closed, leaving his partner moaning. Pike put three fast rounds into the door to keep it closed, then popped the Python’s wheel and fed it a speed-loader. He didn’t wait, and didn’t check the downed man. He ducked through the baby’s room and swung out the window. The three men seen earlier were gone, drawn inside by the gunshots and shouting.

Pike hit sand, then ran, always moving forward. Speed was everything. The men inside were confused. They didn’t know where he was or how many people they faced, so Pike increased the pressure.

He slipped into the same service bay he entered earlier, only now four men were jammed at the base of the far stairwell, focused on the door. Pike shot the nearest man in the back, moved to cover, and shot a second. The remaining men fired blindly into the walls and ceiling as they fled. Pike heard fading shouts and engines rev.

A short hall led toward the front. Pike worked his way along the hall, hearing more engines, and came to a room filled with standing metal shelves, and an open door. He paused for the first time, but heard only silence, then approached the open door. The gravel parking lot was empty. Darko and his people were gone.

Pike found the front stair and hurried up to the second floor. He stepped over the dead man at the top of the stairs and moved toward the screaming. He worked his way down the hall, clearing each doorway until he was back where he started, then put away his gun and opened the drawer.

The baby looked angry as hell. The little fists swung and the legs pumped, and the red face was slick with tears.

Pike said, “You good?”

He lifted the baby out, and snuggled it to his chest. He took out the cotton plugs. The crying and screaming stopped. The baby settled against him. Pike rubbed its back.

“That’s it, buddy. I got you.”

Pike headed back along the hall to the front stair, then down, and into the parts room. Someone would have called the police, and the police would be rolling.

Pike was only five feet from the door when Rina Markovic came in from the service bay. She was holding her little black pistol, but it was her eyes that gave her away, and he knew she was Jakovich’s killer. They were cold, and dull, like the eyes of fish on ice.

She said, “You find him. Good. There is Petar. Yanni, he have Petar.” Yanni stepped in from the gravel, muttering something in Serbian. Yanni’s gun was stainless steel, and found Pike as if it could see him.

Pike knew his best chance was now, in the opening second, before they got to the killing. And as before, Pike took immediate action.

Pike spun to the left as he went for his gun, shielding the baby with his body. Pike thought he would take at least two bullets in the back before he could return fire, and either the vest would save him or it wouldn’t. If those first two shots didn’t kill or cripple him, he thought he could beat them even if he had to fight wounded.

Pike did not hear the shot when Yanni fired, but the bullet hit his back like a big man throwing a good hook. Pike staggered with the impact, but still managed to draw his weapon, and turned to fire when Jon Stone appeared in the door. Jon forearmed the M4 into Yanni’s head, and the big man dropped as Cole hit the woman from behind, stripped her weapon, then rode her down, his own gun out, eyes crazy and wide.

Cole said, “You all right?”

Pike checked the kid, who was screaming so hard he might have a stroke.

Petar was fine.

“We’re good.”

Stone said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Part Four. Guardian

38

THEY TIED OFF YANNI and Rina with plasti-cuffs, then dragged them out to the cars, working to clear the area before the police arrived. Pike had the kid, screaming like a banshee, and Rina was screaming, too.

“Is not what you think. Petar is mine. I was trying to save him-”

“Shut up.”

Stone’s Rover was in the parking lot. They shoved Yanni into the rear. Cole pushed Rina into the backseat, and climbed in after her.

Pike said, “Up in the canyon. Angeles Crest. Jon?”

“I know where.”

Cole held out his hands for the boy.

“Here, I’ll take him.”

“I got him.”

“How you going to drive, just you?”

“Go.”

Stone ripped away before the door was closed, throwing up gravel and dust.

Pike ran hard to his Jeep, and saw the oncoming flashers as he pulled into traffic, heading for the mountains, the old guys at Mom’s Basement watching him peel away. Three sheriff’s cars flashed past a quarter mile later, so Pike pulled to the right like everyone else. The kid was scared, and screaming, and Pike felt bad for it. He repositioned the little guy on his shoulder, and patted his back.

“It’s okay, buddy. Gonna be fine.”

They slipped under the Foothill Freeway, and climbed into the Little Tujunga Wash. The road rolled through the bottom of the ravine, and something about the motion settled the boy. He lifted the big head to look around.

Pike drove exactly six-point-two miles up the canyon, then turned onto a gravel road. He knew the distance because he made the drive often, coming up to the middle of nowhere to test-fire weapons he had repaired or built. He followed the gravel another two-point-three miles over a gentle rise, and saw Stone’s Rover parked on the flat crest of the hill. Stone and Cole were already out. Yanni was belly-down on the ground, and Rina was cross-legged beside him, hands still cuffed behind her back.

Pike turned to join the Rover, and the rocky ground crunched beneath his tires. The earth was littered with thousands of cartridge casings. Maybe hundreds of thousands, or millions. Most so old and tarnished, their once gleaming brass was black.

Cole came over as Pike got out with the boy, and painted him with a ragged smile.

“We could be professional babysitters. I hear there’s good money in that.”

“He’s loud.”

The boy arched his back again, and turned to see Cole. Cole wiggled his fingers and made a face like a fish.

“Cute kid.”

The baby broke wind.

Pike glanced at Yanni and Rina, and lowered his voice.

“Is she the mother?”

“None of that was true. They work for Jakovich. I don’t know who his parents are, but she isn’t the mother. Maybe Grebner was telling the truth.”

“Is Darko the father?”

“All I know is she isn’t the mother. Ana told a friend named Lisa Topping that Rina couldn’t have children because she was cut. That’s probably why she was so protective. That’s the only part of Rina’s story that was true.”

Pike watched Rina while Cole described what he knew and how he knew it. Rina had told the truth about Ana and their relationship, and about being a prostitute for Serbian mobsters, but she worked for Jakovich, not Darko. Rina Markovic had lied about damn near everything, and had been good at it, mixing her lies with the truth the way all the best liars do. Pike nodded toward Yanni.