Closer Than Blood: An addictive and gripping crime thriller

“Oh come on,” I scoffed. “You’re expected to just let them do whatever they want without fighting back?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Bullshit. You know what? I’ve had enough of this. I don’t doubt that you’re in danger, but if this is the worst they can throw at you then I reckon I can keep you safe enough in custody.”

“No, Gareth, please.” Jake stood shakily, holding his hands out. “I promise you, they’ll kill me. Just let me disappear. If I get a few hours’ head start, I’ll bury myself so deep they’ll never find me.”

“And I’d forgotten how full of shit you can be. What was I thinking? Come on, let’s go.”

I grabbed him before he could protest, forcing him towards the door.

“I’m going to get you in the car, then I’m calling this in and coming back to make sure sleeping beauty there doesn’t wake up before the cavalry arrives.”

What I didn’t tell him was that my cuffs were in the car, and that he’d be wearing them before I left him alone for a second. I’d swallowed the story earlier, and I had no doubt that some of it was true, but Jake’s attempts to make his enemies sound like they were evil incarnate just seemed a little too farfetched.

Right up to the point that we stepped outside and saw the other two men, loitering at the end of the path with their pistols pointed towards the door.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_fb9cdf5e-e023-5bcd-a942-6d0a169d91a5)

Years of street-honed reflexes kicked in. I grabbed Jake by the collar and pulled him backwards, collapsing through the doorway as the soft sound of silenced shots hissed through the air.

Chips of wood flew out of the porch and doorframe, some of the rounds punching through to bury themselves in the floorboards near our feet.

I kicked the door shut and got to my hands and knees, Jake right behind me as we scrabbled up the stairs.

“You fucking arsehole,” I found myself muttering over and over as the sound of shots was replaced by feet crunching on gravel.

We ran into Dad’s room and I looked around for something to use as a barricade. Although the door was locked, it wouldn’t take someone long to break through it.

“Help me with this.” I pointed at the heavy oak wardrobe against one wall. “Push it towards the door but leave a gap so we can tip it.”

Jake nodded, face pale with fear, but moved to help. Even with the two of us straining at it, we nearly couldn’t shift the monstrous wardrobe. How anyone had managed to get it up the stairs in the first place I had no idea.

As we half-dragged, half-shoved it into position, the sound of the front door being kicked in echoed through the house. Using more haste than care, I rocked the wardrobe over so that the top of it wedged itself against the door, forming a barrier that I doubted anyone would get through without a chainsaw.

That done, I pulled my phone out and dialled three nines.

“This is Charlie Papa 291,” I almost shouted as the stairs creaked outside. “I’m at seventy-four, repeat seven four Hillside, Woodingdean. I have armed intruders in the house and need urgent assistance. Confirm they have firearms and have fired on an officer.”

To give her credit, the call taker barely missed a beat as she plugged Ops One, the Inspector in charge of the control room, into the call.

His voice came on, clear but tense.

“Charlie Papa 291, confirm you have a firearms incident?”

“Yes!”

“Understood, we have units en route to you now. How many assailants?”

“Two, both armed with pistols. We’ve barricaded ourselves in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

The door shuddered as someone threw their shoulder against it. I added my weight to the wardrobe and prayed it was thick enough to stop a bullet.

“OK, who is in there with you?”

“I’ve got one in custody for drug offences, it’s just us.”

“OK, understood. Gareth, right?”

“Yeah.” I flinched as a silenced shot sent a bullet burrowing through the door and into the back of the wardrobe with a dull thud. It struck the inside of the door behind me, knocking me forward slightly as it lodged in the wood. “Jesus! They’re shooting again.”

“We have a Hotel Foxtrot unit making from Lewes, short ETA. Can you hold out?”

“I fucking hope so.”

“OK Gareth.” He spoke to me the way you would a wounded animal, a soothing voice in the middle of what could be my final moments. I realised then how scared I was. This wasn’t a scrap, something that would result in broken bones at worst. No, this was someone determined and well able to kill us, and that thought was enough to make my knees shake.

Nothing we could do would stop these men from shooting us if they got through the door. No amount of training was enough to guarantee taking a gun off someone, and all it would take was for the second shooter to stand back and pick me off no matter how lucky I might be with the first.

A noise from the back of the room made me look up to see Jake opening the skylight window and hauling himself up on the sill.

“Jake,” I hissed, covering the microphone with my thumb. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s me they’re after,” he whispered back. “I’ll get out and draw them away.”

“No you bloody won’t,” I growled, taking a step towards him.

The moment I took my weight off, the door opened a crack and the wardrobe threatened to topple. A pistol poked through and fired shots at random into the room.

Throwing myself against the wardrobe, I was rewarded with a grunt of pain and the hand withdrew. The door slammed shut again, giving me a chance to look back at Jake, or rather the space where he’d been. While I’d been saving our lives, my brother had taken the chance to run away.

Part of me hoped that he would draw them off, but long seconds passed and the shoving from the other side of the door didn’t lessen. Then, I heard the sound of an engine starting outside and patted the pocket where I kept my car keys. Where they had been until moments ago.

I closed my eyes. Somehow, in the midst of everything that had happened, Jake had managed to pick my pocket and was now escaping in a job car. The only way the day could get worse was if my assailants actually managed to shoot me.

As if on cue, both men began firing, rounds punching through the door and slamming into the wardrobe. Wood began to splinter, and I turned myself to one side to narrow my profile as much as possible, still leaning against the doors to keep them out.

Then, faintly, I heard the sound of approaching sirens echoing off the hills.

“The cavalry are coming!” I yelled. “Hear that you bastards? They’re coming for you!”

The shots stopped. Feet pounded down the stairs. A moment later I heard another car start, then pull away with a squeal of tyres.

Exhausted, I slumped down against the wardrobe, not daring to move it in case they’d left a shooter behind. I was still sat there, shaking with the aftermath of the adrenaline, when the world turned strobing blue and booted feet ran towards the house.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_5c06fe9e-968a-54a8-8fc2-00a2798a8f54)

“Jesus, Gareth, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?”