James Patterson - Judge & Jury

I hurried without a clear destination through the crowded streets, searching frantically for a cab. I could still get out of this. All I had to do was get back to the hotel. They had no idea who we were.

I found myself racing down a narrow street of bazaar merchants, angling away from the park. Hundreds of tiny stalls-leather jackets, embroidered shirts, baskets, spices-crowded with hawkers and tourists.

I zigzagged through the side-by-side stalls, switching sides of the street as I strained to see if he was still behind me. And he was -knocking over racks, pushing people out of his way, gaining. Sirens were coming from the entrance to the park.

This madman wouldn't stop. I was on a crowded street with no cabs. You don't know where you're going, Nick! At some point I was going to have to stop and confront him. I should have shot him when I had the chance.

Two more rounds zinged by my head, slamming into a stall in front of me that was filled with colorful fabrics, toppling it over.

I ducked, picking up my pace. The end of the street was fast approaching. The problem was, I was going to get there quicker than I had a plan for where to go next. It opened to a terraced cul-de-sac, maybe twenty feet above a busy street below. I was trapped. Cold reality set in- Nick, you're going to have to fight this bastard.

I turned at the corner and just stood there, staring at my options: leaping into the crowded street below or facing him. I gripped my gun. I thought of Andie, the image she had lived with for the past year, the blond man hurrying away from the juror bus.

This was the man who had killed her son.

I stopped behind a stall at the end of the street. Maybe it wasn't Cavello, but this was the man who blew up the jury. I had no real plan. I wasn't a cop or a fugitive. Just someone whose adrenaline was racing. Someone who was about to make a stand.

The blond-haired killer finally staggered into the cul-de-sac.

"Put it down," I said, pointing my gun at him.

"Put it down?" He smirked, coming to a stop. He stared at me."I don't know who you were, but you're a dead man now, friend."

HE STARTED TO RAISE his arm, and I jerked off two shots. Both hit home, tearing into his chest. He grabbed the top of a nearby stall, fabric falling all over him as it crashed down. He tried to get up. I saw him elevate his gun hand, frantically tearing garments off himself.

"You blew up that bus!" I screamed.

The blond killer hesitated. It took him by surprise. Then a smile creased his lips, as if he found all of this amusing."I did." He winked, trying to free his gun hand. “Boom!"

I hurled myself at him, smashing my fist into his face. He staggered backward into the railing. I held him by the shirt collar, out of control. I hit him again with everything I had in me. Teeth cracked, and blood spurted from his mouth. But he didn't go down.

"Well, here's a message." I flung him with all my might toward the railing."Boom your fucking self!"

The killer smashed against the edge, still trying to right his gun toward me, and toppled over, jerking a shot wildly into the air.

Like a dead weight, he landed on top of a parked car below.

I went over to the railing. People were screaming, running out of the way. I was exhausted, out of breath, gasping for air. For a second, I didn't care who saw me. I didn't care if I heard a police siren or if the cops found me.

Then I came to my senses. I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing.

The crazy bastard opened his eyes. He looked up at me. He wouldn't die. Blood was matted in his hair and on his shirt. He rolled off the car and, with legs like jelly, staggered backward toward the street, somehow still in possession of his gun, arcing his arm upward.

Toward me!

I didn't move. I just stood there staring at him. “Die, you sonovabitch," I said. “Die!"

He crouched between two cars. I could see he was having trouble breathing. Then he quickly stepped out and aimed to shoot at me. There was a smirk on his face.

I heard the beep. And the chilling screech of brakes. It was sharp and penetrating, bone-rattling loud.

The killer spun. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The look on his face was one of disbelief.

The bus careered into him, throwing him fifty feet into the street. His gun flew out of his hand and hit the pavement with a crack that sounded like a shot.

I heard screaming. I took a last look. He was just a crumpled, bloody mound.

This time I wasn't waiting around for another encore. When the crowd looked up, the balcony was empty.

MINUTES LATER, I was knocking on the door of our hotel room."Andie, let me in!"

The door opened, and I almost fell through, collapsing into Andie's arms."God, Nick, I didn't know what to think," she said, throwing her arms around me. She stared at my bloodstained shirt, the black-and-blue marks on my neck.

" Nick!"

"I'm all right," I said."But we have to get out of here now! "

I changed quickly. We dragged our bags downstairs and paid. In minutes we were weaving back through the streets, Andie driving, to the coastal highway, headed back toward Tel Aviv. We had a ten-o'clock flight out of there. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back on the headrest, and blew out an exhausted breath.

"You weren't supposed to stay." I turned my head and opened my eyes.

"What?"

"I said an hour. I was thirty minutes late. I told you to get out of there. You weren't supposed to stay."

Andie stared at me as if she'd misheard. Then a smile creased her lips." Braveheart was on the movie channel… I got caught up."

Andie took one hand off the wheel and briefly patted my arm."I told you I wasn't leaving you, Nick."

We drove a little longer, the lights of Haifa fading into the darkness. I felt as empty and exhausted as ever before in my life.

"Did we get it?" she finally asked.

I hesitated a little."Yeah, we got it." I smiled.

"So are we headed to Paris?"

"Stopover." I nodded.

"Then where?"

"Still love me?" I asked.

"You scared the hell out of me, Nick. I don't know what I'm feeling."

"You should have been in my shoes." I paused."No. Not really."

A smile edged across my lips. A wide one-triumphant. I couldn't believe we had pulled it off.

Then Andie was smiling, too."Yeah, I still love you," she said."So where? "

The end of the earth. Cavello had taunted me. Come and get me, Nicky Smiles.

That's what had made me laugh. Why I knew Remlikov had told me the truth-the name of Cavello's ranch: El Fin del Mundo. The End of the World.

" Patagonia," I told her.

" Patagonia ?" Andie looked at me."I'm not even sure I know where that is."

"Don't worry. I do."

THE YOUNG GIRL'S pathetic wails echoed through the large stone house. Her name was Mariella, and she was still curled up on the bed, blood on the pillow from the cut he'd opened on her face.

"Shut the hell up," Dominic Cavello finally barked at her, wrapping his robe around himself and stepping over to the window. He threw open the shutters, letting in the afternoon light."Better me than some ignorant farm boy, don't you think? Or maybe your father, drunk on beer. Or is your father your lover?"

A brown haze had settled over the vast valley outside the bedroom window. Soon it would be winter. Everything would change. The pastures would be blanketed in snow, and a howling wind would lash them for months-frigid and unending. Cavello's skin turned cold just thinking of it.