“Good. When I open the door, you’ll kick it through.” A pause. “Step back first. I want to see you across the room. Then on my signal, you’ll walk forward and kick it through. If I see you charging the door or doing anything other than giving me your weapon, Val dies.”
I back up across the room, within the sight line from the door. It creaks opens just enough for me to boot the gun inside. The waiting figure makes no motion to bend and retrieve the gun. That would give me an opening for attack.
“Walk my way,” he says.
I reach the door, pull back my good leg, and . . . kick the door with everything I’ve got.
It flies wide open, and Brady falls back.
“Knock him down!” I shout to Val as I go for my gun.
Val flies at Brady. She swings, and her fist connects with his jaw, and her eyes widen as if in surprise at actually making contact. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
Brady barely staggers, recovers fast and lunges at me, and I see a knife raised and twist out of the way just as it comes down. But that twist lands me out of reach of the gun. He scrambles for it. I kick. My foot strikes his jaw.
“Val!” I shout. “The gun.”
She runs and snatches it up. Brady comes at me again. My fist plows into his jaw, in the same spot my foot had. He falls back snarling, but it’s only a moment and then he’s charging me with the knife.
I dodge his slash and dive over the hospital bed. There, on the floor, are the remnants of his wrist restraints. He cut them free with the knife. Where did he get—?
He circles around the bed, advancing as I retreat.
“Val?” I say. “Can you shoot?”
Her eyes round, as if I’m asking her to turn backward cartwheels. Shit. That means the gun is useless—Brady knows she won’t fire it.
At least it isn’t in his hand.
Brady keeps coming. I grab the rolling medical tray and fling it. The clatter startles him. I leap over the bed to get the gun from Val and—
She’s backed across the room, and now she’s by the door, weapon raised.
“If you can’t shoot that,” I say, “then run. Just take it and run. Get Eric.”
“Val?” Brady says. “If you leave, I’ll kill your detective.”
“I can handle this,” I say. “Just—”
He flies at me. I stand my ground, and he doesn’t expect that and stops short. I slam my hand into his arm. The knife goes flying. He hits me, and I can’t avoid that. The powerful blow slams into the side of my head. I stagger. Fall to one knee.
The knife. Damn it. Get the knife.
I see it. I lunge as he walks over, confident he’s put me down. I slam my hand into the back of his knee. It buckles. I dive and hit the floor, shoving the knife along with me. I pick it up and—
I recognize the knife.
It’s a pocket one. That’s not unusual here. If you want one, you can buy it. The only reason I don’t have mine is that I took it out on the jobsite to pry open a can.
“Here, Case, let me get that for you.” A pocketknife appears.
“Got my own,” I say. “But thanks.”
I see the hand that grips the knife in my memory. I want to tell myself I’m wrong, but I have seen this knife too many times. I know who owns it.
Kenny.
I have Kenny’s knife in my hand, as I’m backing into the wall. Brady keeps coming at me. I’m ready for him, ready to—
A muzzle flash from across the room. I swear I feel the bullet whiz past my head.
Val gasps in alarm. “Casey!”
“I’m fine.”
“Oliver?” she says. “Stop or I’ll—”
“Shoot?” he says. “Please do. With that aim, you’re going to hit your own detective.”
“Val?” I say. “The door is to your left. It’s open. I want you to step left and back out. I’ve got this.”
“If you leave, I’ll kill Casey,” Brady says.
“I’m the one holding the knife,” I say.
“Doesn’t matter. We both know how quickly that can change. I’m fighting for my life here. I will get that knife. I will stop you. I might kill you, but I don’t want to. I just want to walk out of here.”
“Do you really think I’d let a serial killer—”
“Serial killer?” He chokes on the words. “Is that what Greg told you? Figures. He didn’t even keep his story consistent. Had to adapt it for the audience. A salesman to the core.”
“You threatened to kill Val. You’re threatening to kill me. And you’re still proclaiming your innocence?”
“Because I am innocent. I’m fighting for my life. My actual life. I was shot at two days ago, nearly lynched yesterday, poisoned this morning—”
“Your accomplice gave you the poison.”
That’s the possibility that I failed to see. The niggling question in my head. I kept coming back to the possibility he’d faked it when I knew that couldn’t be true. Yet faking it wasn’t the only way he could be complicit.
“You’re saying I knowingly put myself through that hell?” he says.
“It got you what you wanted, didn’t it? And like you say, you’re a desperate man.”
“An innocent man, desperate to escape a death sentence. I will kill you if I have to. I don’t want to. Just let me—”
He lunges, hoping I’m distracted. I feint to the side and slash. The knife slices his arm. He lets out a hiss and slams his fist into my gut. I double over, and he grabs my arm, trying to get the knife, but I grip it.
Val runs at us. She kicks at Brady, but he twists out of the way. He bodychecks her, and she goes flying. The gun fires.
I see the muzzle flare, and I dive, but Brady still has my arm. He yanks it and the knife falls. I manage to smack it away. That’s all I can do—get the gun where we both can’t reach it. But that move costs me a split second and in that second, Brady is on my back. He has my ponytail wrapped around his hand, wrenching my head. Then he stretches toward the knife.
“No!” It’s a woman’s voice, but not Val’s. I manage to turn just enough to see Mathias and Diana behind Val.
Diana tries to get past, but Mathias pulls her back and shakes his head, and she turns on him with “We need—” but he silences her. Mathias is hoping Brady will go for that knife. It’s just far enough out of reach that he’ll need to shift his weight to stretch for it, and that will give me what I need to throw him off.
Brady reaches, but as soon as he sees how far it is, he stops.
“Give me the gun please, Valerie,” Mathias says, his voice as calm as if he’s asking her to pass the salt. “I can shoot him. You cannot.”
Val steps toward him, gun outstretched. Before she reaches Mathias, Brady says, “If you take that gun from her, old man, I’ll break this bitch’s neck.”
Val stops.
“That is misguided,” Mathias says. “That bitch was the one keeping you alive. The one who was injured trying to save you from a lynch mob. The one attempting to determine whether or not you were guilty of your crimes. I suppose now she has her answer.”
“I’m not guilty. I—” He stops, unfortunately, as if realizing he’s about to go into a rant that could distract him. He settles for, “Damn you. Damn you all.”
“Valerie?” Mathias says. “The gun please.”
“Give it to me,” Brady says.
Mathias chuckles. “Speaking of misguided . . .”
“I just want to get out of here,” Brady says. “Either I take Casey as my prisoner, or I take the gun. Your choice.”
“Take Casey,” Mathias says. “Please. That will go so much better for you.”
Brady scowls at Mathias. “Shut up, old man. I know it’s a fucking strain for you, but shut the hell up.” He looks at Val. “I don’t want to take your detective. I know she fights to win. She will not come quietly, and I’ll have to kill her. I do not want to do that. I just want to leave. Push the gun into the middle of the floor. To get to it, I’ll have to let her go.”
Val looks at me.
“No,” I say.
Mathias echoes it. Diana says nothing, as she looks anxiously from me to Brady.
“Just give the gun a push,” Brady says to Val. “If I get it, I’ll walk away. If anyone else goes for it, we’ll be right back here again, and I won’t get out of this goddamned town without killing someone. Let me leave. Please just let me leave.”
Val takes a deep breath. I can see her steeling herself. Then she exhales and pushes the gun into the middle of the room.