'Kick it out of reach,' Stark screamed, waving his gun as he gave the order.
Nick did as he was told but slowly lowered his hands until they were level with his shoulders. Every second would count. He wanted his hands close to the railing so he could spring when the time came.
'I’ve got you now, don’t I, mule?' Stark shouted. 'Who’s the master? Who’s the hero? They’ll never find me, no sirree,' he gloated. 'They don’t even know who I am.'
'Sure they do,' Nick called out. 'We’ve always known. You’re Donald Stark, and we know all about you. You’re a sleazy filmmaker. You use prostitutes to simulate amateur death scenes. S and M crap,' he added. 'And not at all believable. Homemade stuff. You barely make a living selling the junk on the Internet, and you’ve got a lot of dissatisfied customers.'
'Dissatisfied?' he roared.
Nick deliberately shrugged. 'You aren’t any good, Stark. You ought to get in another line of work. Maybe you can learn a new trade in prison.'
Stark’s full attention was riveted on the balcony. He wasn’t aware that he’d lessened his grip on Laurant or that the butcher knife was now pointed at the doorway and not her throat.
'No, no, you’re lying. No one knows who I am. You heard me talking to Laurant, and that’s how you knew-'
'No, we’ve always known who you are, Stark. The article we planted in the papers was just a way to draw you out. Everyone was in on it, even Tommy. We planned it down to the last detail.'
Nick could tell that his lies were working. The bastard’s face was red and blotchy, and his eyes bulged out of his head. He hoped that Stark’s anger would push him into making a mistake. Nick only needed a second.
Come on. Come and get me. Forget about her. Come after me.
Laurant saw the barrel of the gun coming up, felt the madman tense against her. He was trying to lift her up with him as he shot Nicholas. Then she heard the screech of tires on the gravel outside the door. Was it Tommy? Oh, God, no. Whoever came through the doorway was going to get killed.
'No,' she screamed as she twisted in his arms and threw herself backward. Her shoulder knocked the hand grasping the gun. Stark fired wild, hitting the glass picture window, shattering it. The blast was so close to her face she could feel the burning heat. She kept fighting and pushing as she turned, but he was too strong. He wouldn’t let go of her and he wouldn’t be budged.
Stark’s gun was swinging upward again just as Jules Wesson appeared in the doorway. Crouched down in a shooter’s stance, his arms straight out, both hands on his gun, he waited for a clear shot.
Laurant jerked back, twisted again, fighting with all her might until she faced Stark. Then she attacked. Her left hand gripped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin to keep him from aiming his gun. He tried to reach around her to stab her hand with the knife, and that’s when she swung her right hand up and rammed the needle into his eye.
Stark screamed in agony. He dropped the knife and reached for his eye, howling like a crazed animal.
The second Laurant struck Stark, Nick grabbed hold of the railing and swung over. Shouting for her to get down, he reached behind him, grabbed the Glock and started firing.
Stark leapt to his feet, uncontrollably firing his gun. Wesson dove for the floor, narrowly missing a bullet, and then he too fired.
Nick fired in midair, landed on the table and fired again. The first bullet struck Stark in the chest. Wesson blew the gun out of Stark’s hand, and Nick’s second shot got him in the head as he was turning to run. The third shot struck his leg.
Stark was on his back, one leg twisted under him, his eyes wide open. Nick stood over him, his chest heaving as he tried to calm his rage.
He heard a sob and whirled around. Laurant was on the floor, her head in her hands. As Wesson rushed forward, Nick dropped to his knees beside her and put his hand out to touch her. Then he stopped. He was afraid that he would only make her pain worse.
'I’m so sorry,' he whispered. 'God, I’m sorry. I brought this to you and Tommy. It’s all my fault.'
She threw herself into his arms. 'Is he dead? Is it over?'
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Then he closed his eyes. 'Yes, love. It’s over.'
Chapter 37
By the time Nick got Laurant to the hospital, Noah was already in surgery. Tommy, still wearing his bloody vestments, came running down to the emergency room when he heard from one of the nurses that his sister had been brought in.
He was in a panic until he saw Laurant. She looked like she’d been through hell, but she was breathing and even managed a smile for him. Nick was sitting on the exam table beside her with an arm around her waist. Tommy thought he looked worse than she did, which was pretty awful. Nick’s face was gray and his eyes had a haunted look.
'What about Noah?' Nick asked. 'How’s he doing?'
'They’re working on him now,' Tommy said. 'The doctor told me the bullet didn’t hit anything major, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s going to be all right,' he assured them. 'It’s just going to take him time to get his strength back.'
'How long has he been in surgery?' Nick asked.
'About twenty minutes. He’s going to be okay,' he said again. 'You know Noah. He’s as tough as nails.'
Laurant sagged against Nick and put her head down on his shoulder. Her hand was in his lap and he was holding tight. She hurt everywhere. She couldn’t make up her mind which was worse, her head, her arm, or her leg. Every inch of her body seemed to be throbbing in pain. She wanted to rest, but when she closed her eyes, the room began to spin, and that made her queasy.
'Where the hell is the doctor?' Nick demanded.
'They just paged him,' Tommy said. He went to his sister and gently brushed her hair away from her face. 'You’re going to be all right.' He tried to sound certain, confident, but it came out all wrong, and it sounded like he was asking her a question.
'Yes, I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.'
'Can you tell me what happened? You were right behind me when I carried Noah outside.'
'He was there, and he called to me. He asked me to help him. I think he told me he’d been shot.'
'Who called to you?'
'Justin Brady,' she answered. 'Only he wasn’t really Justin.' She looked up at Nick. 'I started to go to him, but then all of a sudden I could hear your voice in my head.'
'What was I saying?'
'Don’t believe anything anyone tells you. I knew something wasn’t right about him, and then I saw the glove on his hand. It was a surgical glove, I think.' She looked at Tommy when she added, 'I tried to run, but he came after me, and the next thing I remember was waking up inside the van. He took all the door handles off, and I couldn’t get out. Tommy, he showed me a photo of his wife. It was at the picnic, and he showed me a photo. He must have stolen it from someone.'
'Let’s talk about this later,' Tommy suggested when he saw how upset she was. 'Don’t think about it now.'
'Tommy, go hurry up the damned doctor,' Nick barked.
The physician, a cranky, middle-aged man named Benchley, pulled the curtain back just as Tommy was leaving to go search for him. The doctor took one look at Laurant and then ordered Nick and Tommy to leave.
He had the bedside manner of a Doberman. Shouting for a nurse to assist him, he glared at Nick when he didn’t move from the table, and once again he demanded that he get out.
Nick refused to leave Laurant’s side. He wasn’t diplomatic in his refusal either. Fear made him hostile and belligerent, but he didn’t realize he was up against someone just as belligerent. Dr. Benchley had worked in Los Angeles for over twelve years in a rough inner-city emergency room. He had seen and heard it all. Nothing intimidated him, not even an armed FBI agent with a crazed look in his eyes.
