Page 79 of The Body in the Backyard

In an impressive show of strength, Nick grabbed her and Burt and dragged them behind the Jeep’s fender. “Stay down,” he ordered.

Burt’s tail thumped happily against Riley’s leg. “You’re in big trouble when this is over,” she told the dog.

Nick put a knee to Riley’s back, holding her down. From her belly-level view under the Jeep, she watched as her ex-husband smashed his snazzy sports car through their gate…again. On his tail was a powder-blue Fiat with guns hanging out of both windows.

“Ready?” Weber yelled.

“Kick ass on one,” Nick said. “Three…”

Free of the gate, Griffin’s car accelerated, sending gravel flying.

“Two.”

Riley watched in horror and braced herself as the car fishtailed before smacking soundly into the driver’s-side door of the Jeep.

“One,” Nick shouted.

Both men jumped to their feet and opened fire on the Fiat. Riley closed her eyes and covered Burt’s ears with her hands as he whimpered under her. Gunfire was seriously loud, she thought as hot shells rained down on her.

The Fiat zigged into the yard through an overgrown flower bed encircling a tall oak. Thepopandpowof Nick’s and Weber’s weapons was interrupted by a terrificboomthat came from behind her.

Riley whipped her head around and spotted Mrs. Penny balanced precariously on the porch roof. She had a bandana tied around her head and a gleaming handgun in her grip.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Riley muttered.

The oak tree above the Fiat shuddered, then gave a mightycrack. A huge branch dropped, crushing the roof of the vehicle.

Riley glanced back at the roof in time to spy Mrs. Penny’s feet and cane disappearing through the bedroom window.

“Hold fire,” Weber barked.

She chanced a glance under the belly of the Jeep and saw something white—maybe a fast-food napkin—waving out of what was left of the passenger window.

On the street, an expensive-looking Cadillac Escalade came to a halt, stopping the southbound traffic to lookie-loo at the active crime scene.

“Come out with your hands up,” Weber yelled, his voice crackling with authority.

Behind them, the front door opened, and Josie stalked out, gun trained on the Fiat. Brian wheeled around from the side of the porch and took up position on the corner.

Horns blared on the street, and traffic began to move again.

The Fiat’s doors creaked open, and two sets of hands appeared. The car rocked back and forth violently as if a sumo wrestling match were taking place inside.

“What the hell are they doing?” Nick demanded, dragging off his ear protection.

“What?” Weber asked without taking his eyes off the tiny car.

“I think they’re stuck,” Riley said.

Just then, the passenger, a burly guy in a shiny gray pin-striped suit and snakeskin cowboy boots, fell out of the car onto a clump of chrysanthemums. He had a mop of fiery red hair. Beneath his freckles, his skin was the shade of pale that required SPF 100 or higher.

The driver’s exit was no more graceful. The afternoon sun gleamed off the top of his tan shaved head as he tilted sideways until his large frame popped free and he tumbled onto the ground. He wore head-to-toe black from his combat boots to the knit turtleneck that looked as if its seams were straining over an excessive amount of muscle.

“Hands where I can see them,” Nick and Weber shouted together.

Riley had to admit, the two ex-partners certainly had a rhythm together when they weren’t too busy bickering. She doubted that either man would take it as a compliment.

“Jesus. These guys are the size of linebackers who retired and became lumberjacks,” Josie called from the porch.