Something was trying to clasp his ankle now. Ouch! Sharp! Fingernails? Teeth?
Something about to clamp down on him in an alligator grasp?
Jesus!
He panicked, kicking both legs furiously, not caring now if he was making noise. He only knew he had to get out of the duct, away from whatever had him. He felt the soles of his stocking feet brushing something. His left foot made solid contact and he pushed with it while continuing to kick as hard as possible with his right. There was no pressure on his ankle now, but his pants cuff, worked out from where it had been tucked beneath the band of his sock, was being tugged. He could feel the tautness of the material.
He kicked even harder, bruising his heels and bending back a toe.
Free!
Suddenly free!
He'd managed to yank his leg away from whatever had it.
But with freedom came a sudden shift of weight, and he fell to the bathroom floor too abruptly to get his hands properly positioned for a soft landing.
He landed with a thud and a clatter on the hard tile floor, rolled painfully onto his left shoulder, and lay sprawled with one leg up on the commode. The leg must have dragged across the vanity top, too, because several cosmetic bottles were on the floor, even a small tube of toothpaste.
Knife won't work. She'll be awake! Cops on the way. Not the knife now.
He was glad he'd taken precautions. Immediately scrambling to his feet, he reached for his gun.
Not there!
The gun was no longer tucked in his belt.
Damn it!
There were sounds outside the door, which in his fall he must have kicked all the way closed. Someone running! Voices!
He glanced around desperately.
There was the gun. On the floor, half concealed by the skirt of the shower curtain.
He dived for it.
Allsworth flung open the door and ran into Mynra Kraft's bedroom without knocking, gun drawn.
Only Myrna.
The expression on her face, where she was looking…
Without hesitating, he made for the bathroom door. He remained aware of the startled figure in the bed, sitting bolt upright and staring, and held up his free hand palm-out in a signal for her to stay put.
Noise, like glass or plastic clattering, coming from the bathroom!
Allsworth clenched his jaw hard enough to break a tooth, gripped his nine-millimeter with both hands, and kicked the door open.
Quinn and Pearl were the first to approach the door to room 620. Neeson was sprinting down the hall toward them. Quinn was aware of the uniform who'd been posted on the landing converging from the other direction, a heavyset man laboring, not moving as fast as Neeson.
Behind Neeson was someone else.
Jeb Jones. Quinn had forgotten he was in the hotel.
Quinn didn't knock. He kicked open the door to suite 620 in the same manner Allsworth had used to enter the bathroom.
The anteroom was empty. A People magazine lay on the floor beside an armchair near a floor lamp with a crooked shade.
Quinn knew the suite's layout. He charged toward the bedroom, feeling Pearl's presence close behind.
Myrna was sitting up in bed, still in shock from being jolted from sleep. Quinn saw the shotgun she'd requested leaning against the wall near the bed.
Her body didn't move but her dark eyes slid toward where light was spilling from the bathroom.
Two shots roared echoing from the bathroom, brightening the light.
When the bathroom door had sprung back, Allsworth kicked it again, all the way open, and saw the man sprawled on the tile floor near the tub and shower curtain. White T-shirt, dark pants with one leg tucked into a black sock, something in his hand!
Gun!
Allsworth knew he was in for it and let out a roar. Sometimes a sudden loud noise stopped them. Made them hesitate just enough.
Sometimes.
Sherman was waiting and ready. He was surprised by how fast the cop got there, but his gun was held high, in both hands, and the cop was slightly off balance from kicking open the door. It would be instantaneous, but Sherman knew he had the instant.
The gun in the cop's hands couldn't drop fast enough to sight in on Sherman. And Sherman wasn't at all distracted by the noise. Now noise of any kind was no longer a factor.
He squeezed off two shots even before the cop's gun was at shoulder level, their combined roar drowning out that of the cop before he dropped lifeless to the floor.
The damaged door was wide open now, the doorway framing Mom sitting upright in shock in bed.
Gun in one hand, knife in the other, Sherman vaulted the fallen cop who had half a face and ran toward her.
Quinn and Pearl paused when they saw the fleeting figure burst from the bathroom. They knew it wasn't Allsworth.
Still, they'd been caught by surprise and they stood paralyzed.
Sherman almost made it to the foot of the bed.
Pearl fired first, and kept firing. Beside her, Quinn opened up with his ancient police special revolver, feeling it buck like something alive in his hands.
Sherman took two sideways, wobbly steps and stopped as if in confusion. His gun slipped from his grasp. His legs trembled, and he dropped to a kneeling position.
Pearl lowered her gun. She felt weak and thought she might drop like Sherman. The Butcher.
She swallowed the coppery residue of fear beneath her tongue and found her resolve.
Work to do.
Damn it! Work to do!
The bedroom was suddenly full of noise and motion, Neeson, Jeb, the uniform from the landing.
They diverted attention only for a second.
Neeson was pointing. 'He's up!'
And Sherman was up, moving like a zombie, propelled by sheer will, knife raised, lurching toward Myrna, who seemed too shocked, or mesmerized, to move.
Quinn knew they'd never be able to react in time. Sherman would reach her, stab her, and probably kill her.
Even as he thought this, there was a deafening roar and Sherman spun away, spraying blood across the room.
He lay motionless and silent in the reverberation of the shotgun's thunder, blown almost in half by the massive force of the gun at such close range.
Jeb, racing toward his mother the moment he'd entered the room, had reached the shotgun in time to save her life.
Everyone stood motionless, more in awe and exhaustion than shock. The handcuffs Pearl was about to clamp on Sherman still dangled from her hand.
After the incredible flurry of motion and noise, the only sound now was the regular hissing of heavy breathing.
Until a thud, clatter, and yelp of horror from the bathroom.
