I want to shoot her. I have her in my sights, my hand is as steady as ever despite the red veil over my eyes. One shot, right between the eyes. I could squeeze softly here and watch her drop over there.
But could I do it in time? Her hand looks unsteady enough on the gun even from this distance. And I don’t want to chance a death spasm of her hand, those trembling fingers clamping as she dies.
“Put your gun down,” I tell her.
But she must see plain as day in my face what I mean to do. Or she’s just not stupid. She gives a grim smile and shakes her head. “Put your gun down.”
“Maybe everyone should just put their guns down,” Finch suggests.
Keeping my eyes on her, I say, “Frank.”
He only hesitates for a moment, but he bends over and places his piece on the dusty floor, then stands back from it.
“Now you,” she says.
“Not yet. First you take a step back from my husband.”
Her eyes are watchful, but I can see she’s in over her head. Maggie Donovan might want to play this game, but she’s never been so close to the business end before. The bloody business end. Her hand eases up in Finch’s hair and she takes one small step back, but her gun is still pressed into his head.
I lower my gun, pointing diagonally at the floor a few feet away.
“Drop it,” she says.
“No. You lower yours and walk over here slowly. I’ll let you leave.”
“Put your fucking gun on the ground!”
She’s terrified, and she should be. The knowledge helps calm me. But Finch looks up at me. “Luca. Put your gun down,” Finch rasps out. “I really don’t want you to kill my sister—” here he tips his head back, trying to get a glimpse of her “—if it can be avoided.”
He’s asking me to just trust that she won’t shoot him? I can’t do that. Besides, she’s not getting out of here alive. Maggie Donovan is going to die as soon as the barrel of her gun is off of Finch’s head. But Finch’s eyes are on me, one of them swelling shut, but the other shining green-gold.
“Baby,” he says. “Please.”
I almost have to fight my own body to do it…but I do it. I lean over and put my gun on the floor, next to my foot.
“Kick it away,” Maggie says now, her voice shrill.
“No.”
We engage in a battle of wills, our eyes locked. I win; there was really no contest. She begins to move away from Finch, still pointing the gun at him as she does. She’ll have to pass between my brother and me on the way out, and I know she’ll get nervy, start waving the gun around at the both of us. As soon as her aim is off Finch I’ll dive for my gun, roll, shoot her.
She’s close now, coming into triangulation with Frank and me—it’s almost time, her gun is beginning to wobble from Finch’s direction, and I let my muscles tense up—
“Luca.” Finch’s voice…his pleading, vulnerable tone is like a stiletto right to my heart. I can’t deny him anything when he sounds like that.
And so, although every atom in my body is screaming at me to eliminate the threat, I step back slowly and carefully from the door and let Maggie Donovan walk through it. Her gun is, as I foresaw, waving around wildly in her hand, from me to Frank to Finch and back to me.
She’d be an easy kill.
But I simply watch her go.
We hear her stop just outside the door, Frank and I, and he raises an eyebrow as she curses quietly. We left every man out there dead, and Joey Fuscone took so many bullets from the both of us that he’ll need to be identified by dental records. After a brief silence, there’s the sound of high heels running quickly away.
I waste no more time and run over to Finch. He’s slumping over, face screwed up in pain and relief, and his hands, when I grab them, are ice cold. “Angel, angel,” I murmur, pulling at the ropes. “Stay with me. Don’t you pass out on me.” I turn my head and hiss, “Frank! Get a fucking knife!”
“I got you, bro,” Frank says, pulling out a Swiss Army knife.
“You’re such a fucking Boy Scout, Brother Frank,” Finch says faintly, his head falling forward.
“Shh.” I tip his face up, wiping away the blood while Frank saws at the ropes.
“Shh,” Finch slurs back at me. “M’talking too much?”
“You can talk all goddamn day after I make sure you’re alright.” I lean in and kiss his forehead.
“Ow.”
“Sorry, sorry—” The ropes come loose and Finch falls forward into my arms.
“Get me out of here,” he mutters into my neck.
“I will,” I promise. “We’re going home.”
It’s a full twelve hours later before Finch comes to, and as soon as he does, he’s complaining about his bladder. But I know he’s really feeling better when he makes a suggestion about watersports while I’m helping him pee.
I’ve been concentrating on whether or not there’s blood in his urine, but his hopeful tone makes me laugh in surprise. “Just keep your libido on lockdown for now, okay?” I tell him, and tuck him away in his pants.
“You’re no fun.”
I take him back to the bed, where he lies down again with minimal ouches, but then grabs my hand, his eyes wide.
“Celia?”
“She’s fine,” I say soothingly, and run my other hand through his hair. “They didn’t hurt her, just tied her up. I left Marco with her and Frank and I came for you.”
“But where is she—”
“She and Frank are right here, in the townhouse with us. And I have Marco watching the door. Everything’s fine, angel.”
He goes quiet, thinking. “Thanks for not killing Maggie, I guess.”
I say nothing. What is there to say? I should have killed her. It would have been the smart thing to
