Artie must have decided that fighting the two of them—even with one restrained and the other partially restrained—was a losing battle. He jumped off the floor, and in seconds was back at the table where he’d left his gun. He wasted no time snatching it up and pointing it their direction. His hands were shaking, but he began to laugh, his eyes filled with mad glee.
“What did I tell you, Agent Anderson?” he rasped out between gulps for air. The front of his throat was an ugly red that was rapidly turning purple. Will guessed Jen had done damage to Artie’s throat, but unfortunately, not enough. “She’s a fighter, isn’t she? Much stronger and smarter than the great FBI guy. I can’t wait to get started on her.”
He zeroed the gun’s sight in on Jen.
“Get up and get over here.”
Jen told him to do something anatomically impossible to himself.
“Gonna be like that, is it?” Artie swung the gun toward Will. “Okay, then, how about this? Every time you refuse my commands, I’ll put a bullet in a piece of your sweetie here. I won’t kill him—yet—but by the time I’m done, he’ll be begging me to do it. I’ll start with a foot—no, maybe just a toe. Start small, I always say, then work up.”
“No, no, wait! I’m getting up. See?”
Jen got to her feet, stumbling a bit as she straightened. Will could see she was woozy from the blow she’d taken from the spotlight. He bent his tied legs, trying to get them under him. If he could make it to his feet, he might be able to put himself between Jen and Artie and give her a chance to escape.
“Jen—” he started, but before he could say any more, the door to the cabin burst open, slamming against the inner wall thanks to the kick Al had delivered.
Artie’s eyes widened, and he began to swing his gun toward the new arrival, but Al fired before Artie could complete the motion. Al hadn’t had time to aim, and the bullet only struck Artie in the right arm. The gun dropped out of his now useless hand to the floor, and he screamed in pain, grabbing his arm.
“You shot me!”
“Yeah, but you’re still breathing,” Al said.
He took two steps closer to Artie, focused on the man, his gun trained on his midsection. As Will saw his finger start to tighten on the trigger, Jen called out.
“Al, don’t! You got him. You saved us. That’s enough.”
“Remember what I said, Jen?” Al kept his eyes on Artie, not looking at Jen as he addressed his words to her. “He’ll get off on an insanity plea, maybe get locked up in some institution, but he’ll live. Trish didn’t get to live. Neither did the other women he murdered. Why should he?”
“He won’t get off, Al. Ted Bundy didn’t get off, did he? BTK didn’t get off. He’ll go to prison, and there’s a good chance he’ll get the death penalty. Even if he doesn’t, he’ll never get out.”
Will saw Al’s finger tighten more. He was a hair away from exerting enough pressure on the trigger to fire the gun. Artie knows it, too, Will thought. Artie was staring at the gun, but there was no fear in his eyes. He was looking at the weapon with what looked like fascination, as if he had just seen something he couldn’t explain—or maybe something he welcomed. Maybe he did welcome death, Will thought. Maybe he figures he’d be reunited in Hell with the monster who raised him.
“He wants you to do it, Al.”
Al glanced at Will, startled, as if he’d just realized he was in the room.
“What?”
“Look at him. He wants you to do it. He doesn’t want to be locked up like his crazy father. He wants to go out in a blaze of glory. Don’t make it easy on him by giving him what he wants.”
“He deserves to be wiped from the face of the Earth.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Will said. “And if you pull that trigger, I’ll back you up. I can’t speak for Jen, but my guess is she will, too. We’ll say that you fired both times because he was holding a gun on us. But is that what you want? Do you want to let him off easy and make us live with a lie at the same time? Do you want to live with that lie? You’re a good and honorable cop, Al. Don’t let him take that away from you.”
Al and Artie stared at one another for several seconds, Artie smirking as if he was the one who had the upper hand. And maybe he does, Will thought. When you’re willing to die, you do have the upper hand.
Al sighed and relaxed his trigger finger. He had opened his mouth to speak just as Artie made a lunge for the gun he’d dropped when Al shot him. Al fired, and Artie dropped to the floor, screaming, blood spreading across the knee of the left leg of his pants. In a second, Al was across the room, kicking the gun away from Artie’s reach.
“Oops,” he said. “Missed again. Guess I need to put some time in on the range. Bet getting shot in the knee really hurts, doesn’t it?”
Before Artie could respond, the room was overrun as Lonnie, Don, and five uniformed officers stormed into the cabin.
“We need three ambulances up here stat!” Lonnie shouted into his radio. The radio crackled as the dispatcher acknowledged him. In a more controlled tone, Lonnie added, “I’ll get a uniform down at the road to direct them. Tell ‘em to hurry.”
Will lay back on the floor and turned on his side so Don could get the cuffs off him. He sat up, unbuckled the belt around
