Killer Move

Barclay said, “Deputy, are you going to disarm this woman or what?”

I moved to put myself in Hallam’s line of fire, between him and Emily. I saw her take the chance to steal a look sideways, try to gauge the probability of getting to the back door. I decided I’d take my cue from her. She’d be more likely to get the decision right.

Hallam finally pulled his gun out, but irresolutely. “Sheriff, I can’t get to her without—”

“Do they have an actual leash for you, Sheriff?” Emily asked. “A real one? Or is it just money? You got a bigger house than you should? Take longer vacations? Keep a hot young woman in an apartment up in Saint Pete?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to judge me. Or anything else, from what I hear.”

Emily laughed jaggedly. “That didn’t sound like denial. I helped them play the game, sure. I didn’t agree to cover up a murder. But you did that once before, and now you’re about to do it again, right? You get an actual bonus for that? How much?”

“I won’t be covering up your crimes, no.”

“My crimes? Screw you.”

“I spoke this afternoon to a local actor by the name of Daniel Bauman.”

“Interesting. Is that why he’s not picking up the phone? ‘Spoke’ how hard to him, exactly? He another loose end that you’ve been hired to tidy up?”

“You’re a very paranoid young woman. Mr. Bauman is alive and well. He claims that you hired him to impersonate David Warner, and I believe him. I further believe this is evidence that you were involved in the latter’s death. And by extension, that of Hazel Wilkins.”

“What? You’re dreaming, asshole. You know I had nothing to do with those.”

Emily’s voice was too tight, too low. She needed to be focused on getting out, not getting pulled into a toe- to-toe with Barclay.

Two more baby steps had got me to the point where I could dodge right and take my chances with the back door. She’d be in the way of any fire, would operate as a shield for me. But I couldn’t do that.

“I don’t know that at all,” Barclay said. His voice rolled on and on like an unstoppable tide of unreason. “I do know you were involved in violations of prisoners’ rights while you were stationed in —”

“No!” Emily shouted. “Whoever told you that, they lied. I stole, yes. I whacked a guy who deserved it—he was a rapist and an asshole. But I did none of that other shit. They put that on me to get me out.”

“Emily,” I said desperately. “Ignore him.”

The sheriff had shoved his hand right into her emotional guts and grabbed her, however, and Emily abruptly started to walk back into the living room. The gun was pointing straight at Barclay’s head, but it was wavering. “Fucks like you,” she snarled. “It’s fucks like you that have ruined my entire fucking life.”

“Emily,” I shouted. She wasn’t listening.

Hallam finally assumed the shooter’s position. “Ma’am, step back. Right now.”

She kept walking.

“Ma’am, do not advance any farther.”

I moved quickly, threw my arm in front of her, trying to stop her. She was stronger than me, though, and hard to hold back. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were drawing down on Barclay like he was everyone who’d ever done her wrong. She kept her left arm rigid over my shoulder, the gun still pointing at the sheriff’s head.

“Emily,” I said, low, a whisper. “Listen to me. Please. Don’t do this.”

Barclay smiled. “She’ll do something, Mr. Moore. Count on it. She’s volatile. Unstable. That’s why she’s here. Though just so you know, she was right about one thing. I do have your house keys. Your back door is locked. I checked. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Emily stopped trying to push forward against me and went very still. “Guess it’s Plan B, then,” she said. “Cool by me. I like the sound of it better anyway.”

She shoved me away, lowering the gun to aim unswervingly at Barclay’s chest. “Good-bye, asshole.”

She pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

But Hallam fired first, and Emily jerked back as if she’d been standing on a rear-ended train. Her shot went wide. She lurched past me over the threshold into the kitchen, falling skewed, sliding on the tiles and smacking back into the oven, her bloodied hand caught under her back, the arm breaking audibly as she landed.

“About time,” Barclay said. “Jesus, Rob, what the hell is wrong with you?”

I ran to Emily. The bullet had gone through her throat, punching a chunk of it out the other side and splashing blood and tissue across the floor tiles. There was a beat of rawness in her neck before blood started to pump up from inside like a storm wave.

I grabbed her bandaged hand, put it to the wound. “Hold it there,” I said, hoping this was the right thing to do. “Hold it tight.”

She stared up at me. Her chest convulsed, as if something was trying to push its way out of her heart. Not violently, but with firm intent. “Oh,” she said.

It happened again, and with the jerk of her rib cage a gout of blood surged from the mess in her neck.

“Please, Emily,” I said. “Hold it. Hold on.”

Her mouth was moving, but nothing made it out this time except wet clicking sounds.

“Call an ambulance,” I shouted at Hallam. He stood frozen, gun still held out, aghast. “Get the paramedics.”

“All units are busy at St. Armands Circle,” Barclay said mildly, as if thinking about other things. “Sorry. Bad break for your girlfriend.”

Emily looked confused. She looked scared. Her eyes were on mine. I thought her left arm was starting to go into spasm, but then realized what she was attempting covertly to do. I slipped my hand along her arm and started trying to prise the gun from fingers that had become locked.

Barclay knew what I was doing. “Aha, now, guns,” he said. “Glad you brought that up. First, there’s no point you going down that road. You’re not going to shoot me.”

I got the gun free from Emily’s hand and stood up.

“Don’t do that, sir,” Hallam said dismally. “Sheriff, I’m going to call the ambulance.”

The weapon felt heavy. It was warm from the sweat and pressure of Emily’s hand. Every single thing I knew about guns had been learned from watching television, and I couldn’t remember any of it. I looked down, however, feeling its heft in my hand, knowing that really I just had to pull the trigger and everything else would follow.

Emily coughed, and made a sound like a rook some distance away in the night.

I looked back at her, but she’d gone.

I’d missed her dying. She went without me watching, without anyone seeing her go. She went alone.

I turned back toward Barclay and thought that maybe I could pull a trigger after all.

“Don’t feel bad,” Barclay said. “Her life was going nowhere fast, trust me. Now, my second gun-related point.” He reached into his jacket. “I found this in the bedroom.” He brought out something and held it out where I could see it clearly. It was a handgun.

Hallam looked at it, then back at me.

“I’ve never seen it before,” I said, straightening. “Deputy, you have to believe me.”

“Hidden under the bed,” Barclay said. “Which is poor. You got a lot to learn, my friend.”

I started to raise Emily’s gun. My hand was shaking badly. Hallam swore, and drew down on me, dropping back into the shooter’s position.

“Mr. Moore, don’t do this,” he said. “I’ve heard what you’ve said. We can talk about it. Come on. Don’t make this situation any worse.”

“The situation’s fucked to hell already. And she was right. This guy knew all about it all along.”