Page 74 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Farrow exchanged a look with Hernandez, and they drew their weapons in tandem. Hernandez was first out of the back door, low, checking the corners of the yard. Farrow followed, watching her back, then they both approached the tool shed. One from one side, Farrow keeping an eye on the other.
No one in the back garden.
‘The house – did we miss anything?’ she asked.
Farrow’s eyes fell. They roamed over his feet as he thought through his movements upstairs.
‘Did we check under the beds?’
‘Shit,’ said Hernandez.
Farrow was already moving. He got to the kitchen first, lumbering through it, heavy-footed, his back protesting at the speed, gun raised, ready to aim and fire if need be. Through the hallway, up the stairs, his Glock trained overhead, watching the rail for any sign of a head or a weapon peeking over it, ignoring the strain caused by the movement.
Farrow covered her as Hernandez fell to her knees in the guest bedroom, looked under the bed. No one and nothing below it.
Master bedroom.
Same.
Except, there was a metal box. Like a document locker, on the other side of the bed. It was open, and a set of keys lay beside it. Farrow hadn’t come around this side of the bed, nearest the window, so he couldn’t be sure if it had been there minutes ago, or not.
He opened the lid and saw two thick rolls of cash bound tightly with an elastic band. The top bill was a fifty. Must have been thousands of dollars in each roll.
‘Fuck, was that there before?’ asked Hernandez.
‘Maybe. If someone broke in to loot the place, why not take this? It’s the jackpot. Unless they missed it too.’
He moved to the window, pulled the drapes, looked out on the street.
There was a single figure in the distance. Walking away. A quick pace. A female, he guessed, by their size and the way they walked.
She was limping. Yet, judging by the way she was moving, she had to get somewhere – or get away – fast.
‘Woman on the street, limping away. Let’s move!’ said Farrow.
39
Amanda
Every step was agony.
Being wedged under that bed had sent her knee into spasm. Now that she had to move quickly, she was really feeling it. And yet she’d got out of that house. She wondered how much longer her luck could hold. She was extremely fortunate not to be in handcuffs.
She was almost at the end of the block. Another block to go before she reached her car.
‘Hey, you! Stop! Police!’
The voice crying out behind her forced her to turn.
Farrow’s partner, Hernandez, was sprinting toward her. Farrow came out of the front door after her. He moved with speed, but stiffly, as if there was a board strapped to one of his legs.
A hundred yards between Hernandez and her. And closing fast.
Amanda had the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up, and it was too far away for her to be recognized. She swung round and ran.
The pain was unbelievable, as if with every step on that bad knee a hot bolt was being driven into her flesh. She cried out with each step. But still she moved.
It wasn’t a run, not really. A shambling, mechanical lurch, and then another one, and another.
