Catherine Coulter - Split Second

“I’m fine physically, and you know it, so don’t try that one.”

“I’m your boss, so listen up. You are not back to one hundred percent, so don’t lie to me. I said you’re not going anywhere near that insane woman again. Even if I have to tie you down, you’ll stay right here.”

She had only a pillow at hand—a pity—but she threw it as hard as she could. He caught it out of the air.

“You try it, hotshot. Now, you listen up. The question is, did it work? Should we make arrangements to have people at Deer Creek Park in the morning?”

He growled at her and lunged. He landed against her, threw her back, and came down over her, jerked her wrists beside her head. She had no leverage, and he knew it. He stared down at her, at a loss for what to say. She looked ready to fight for a second, but then she said on a laugh, “How long are you going to hold me down?”

“As long as it takes me to think of something else. You’re going to clamp your teeth in her neck and chew?”

“Yep. Another good image, don’t you think?”

He was brimming with frustration, and she knew it. What she didn’t know was that he was seeing her lying in the hospital bed after they’d pumped her stomach, so pale and still. The memory of it was too new, too raw, for him.

In that instant, intuition and experience mixed in his mind, and he realized that Kirsten wasn’t about to wait until he was running all by himself in Deer Creek Park on Sunday morning.

He also realized Sherlock would demand to go after Kirsten even if she had to do it in a hospital nightgown. He hated it, but there was no hope for it. He kissed her hard, then helped her sit up. “Here’s what I know in my gut she’s going to do.”

The night was bright and clear, the moon nearly full, and cold enough that Savich was thankful for his heavy leather jacket. Sherlock was bundled up in her own jacket, a wool scarf around her neck, gloves on her hands. They were crouched down behind the thick yew bushes lining the flowerbeds in front of the house.

Savich was starting to get stiff when his cell vibrated. “Yeah?”

“Coop here. They found Kirsten’s cell but not Kirsten. They tracked the cell again when she turned it back on in Fairfax, but the signal stayed stationary. She’d tossed her cell across the street from the house where she murdered Mary Cartwright. I guess she wanted to admire the crime scene tape.”

Coop paused, then said, “You think she’s coming after you, don’t you? Right now. At home.”

“We’re outside waiting for her. It’s a feeling I have; I could be wrong. It’s very possible Kirsten won’t show, and it would be a colossal waste of time for you to come over.”

But the line was dead. Savich punched call back, but Coop didn’t pick up.

Twelve minutes later, Savich heard them creeping up around the house behind him. He whispered, “We’re over here, behind the bushes.”

The four of them crouched down, pressing together for warmth. Savich told them about her call, about how he hoped he’d pushed her over the edge.

Lucy said, “After what you and Sherlock said to her, I think you’re right, she’ll come and she’ll be crazy mad. I hope that gives us the advantage.”

Coop, warm as could be in his shearling coat, whispered, “Yes, she’s coming; my gut’s with yours, Savich. I don’t think she’ll try using a rifle again, either. Kirsten likes to be up close and personal. I think that’s what she’ll do tonight. She’ll come here to face you down.”

Lucy asked, “Where have you stashed Sean?”

Sherlock whispered, “He’s at his grandmother’s, and that’s where he’ll stay until this is over.”

Lucy forced her mind away from Kirsten’s rifle shot in the park that morning. She said, “One thing I’ve learned about Kirsten is that she won’t be straightforward about this. She’ll have something planned, especially for you and Sherlock. She’ll try to fool us somehow.”

Coop said, “You’re right. It’s time we split up.” Coop pressed a button on his watch, and a green light glowed. It was exactly two a.m. He started to move, then stilled, placed his finger against his lips. They barely breathed, just listening.

There was the sound of a light footfall coming up to the side of the house. None of them moved.

Savich whispered, “I turned off the alarm.”

They couldn’t believe it—the sound of a window breaking. Straightforward enough, and how could that be right? Wouldn’t Kirsten expect the alarm to be set? But here she was, trotting right to the wolf’s house. Had they built Kirsten up into some sort of invincible monster, since they hadn’t managed to catch her until now?

Something wasn’t right—Savich knew it. He imagined all of them did.

In the next instant, they were up and running around the side of the house.

Coop grabbed Kirsten’s shoulder and spun her around, his SIG against her throat. He heard a squeak, then a boy’s high, trembling whisper. “Wait, don’t kill me! I had to check out your security. It sucks, dude, it sucks; there isn’t any. Please don’t shoot me, I’m only doing what she made me do, I swear.”

Coop whispered in the boy’s ear, “Why?”

“She hit our mom, tied her up, and stuffed her in a closet. She forced us to come with her.”

“Who’s us ?”

Savich shouted, “Down!”

Coop pulled the boy down with him as Savich shoved both Lucy and Sherlock back into the bushes. In the next instant, a half dozen fast shots cracked loud and sharp in the silent night. They heard bullets hit the side of the house, way too close.

They didn’t return fire, since they didn’t see her. The last thing any of them wanted was for neighbors to come out of their houses to see what was going on and step into the line of fire.

Savich whispered, “All of you, stay put.”

The shots had come from somewhere on the other side of the street. She was close, probably had her car parked on the next block. Savich saw a shadow. It paused, then moved out fast. It was Kirsten, had to be.

Savich ran hard after her, all the while praying his neighbors would stay in their houses. Another shoot-out, he thought—that would be all their neighbors needed in their sedate Georgetown neighborhood.

She was running hard, bent as low as he was, and Savich thought she was heading toward her car. He heard Sherlock behind him, running all out. Kirsten didn’t turn to fire at them, she ran.

He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her down. He flipped her onto her back and slammed down on her. She didn’t fight him, didn’t do anything. He pulled the gun easily from her hand. She still didn’t fight, just lay there, panting.

“That’s it, Kirsten, fun time’s over.” He came up over her. Something was wrong—she sobbed, then, “Please don’t kill me, mister, please. Let me up, I won’t do anything, please, let me up. This wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t. She lied. Now she’ll kill my mom.”

Savich stared down into the face of a terrified young girl, maybe twelve, thirteen, tops. Sherlock came down on her knees beside them. “It’s okay,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Melody. She made us come, swore she’d kill our mom if we didn’t do exactly what she said, said she’d know if we screwed up. She told Bobby to break a window, then told me to fire the gun at you when I saw you get Bobby, and keep firing, then run away when the gun was empty. She said they weren’t real bullets, so I shouldn’t bother trying to shoot her with it.”

Sherlock took the empty magazine out of the Glock 17.

Savich heard Coop running toward them, dragging Bobby with him, Lucy beside them.