Sandra Brown - Ricochet

She didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to.

“Here’s where the story takes an interesting turn. Up to this point, you were just a name to Cato. A threat. He wanted you dead. But after meeting you, he decided he preferred you alive. He thought what better way to keep an eye on you than to marry you, have you under his roof where he could watch you day and night, have you accountable to him. And, of course, he would have your delectable body at his beck and call. He could fuck you to his heart’s content.”

She flinched, which caused him to smile.

“Poor Elise. All those nights you spent with Cato were for nothing. You were never going to find anything near him linking the two of us because, as with all my partnerships, I’m the bookkeeper.”

She glanced at the computer on the credenza behind his desk.

He chuckled. “You’d never crack the firewalls, my dear, even if I let you try. The cruel irony is, if it was evidence you were after, you married the wrong partner. And now, you’ve made another unfortunate mistake.” His mouth formed a moue of regret. “It really is a shame I must kill you. Such a waste of beauty and-”

The hand aiming the pistol at her shattered in a spray of blood.

Savich bellowed in pain. His pistol clattered to the floor. Duncan, coming from behind her, vaulted the desk. He grabbed Savich’s ponytail, twisted his head to the side, and slammed it onto the desk. His cheekbone cracked upon impact, causing him to roar in outrage and pain. Duncan jabbed the barrel of his pistol against Savich’s temple, hard enough for the metal to create a depression in his skin.

Never taking his eyes off Savich, he shouted, “DeeDee!”

“Coming!”

Her voice echoed from the far side of the building and Elise heard running footsteps approaching. She bolted from her chair, but collided with the woman detective as she barreled through the door.

“Cover her,” Duncan ordered.

DeeDee Bowen, pistol drawn and aimed at Elise’s chest, backed her into the wall.

“Where in God’s name have you been?” Duncan barked.

“I climbed the fire escape and came through a window,” she answered, panting. “How’d you get up?”

“Stairwell.” He took his eyes off Savich long enough to glance at Elise. “She’s probably got my pistol.”

Elise dropped her handbag to the floor. “It’s in there.”

“Kick it away.”

Elise did as DeeDee instructed. The detective knelt down and felt the handbag until she located the gun, then stood up. “We’re okay,” she told Duncan.

“What about the secretary?” he asked.

“Handcuffed to the car door,” DeeDee replied. “He’s not going anywhere. I’ve called for backup.”

“Backup? How long ago?”

“What?”

“How long ago?”

“Uh, just before I ran up here. Why?”

“Shit!” he hissed.

Elise took a step forward. “Duncan, I-”

“Shut up! You’ve got nothing to say that I want to hear, Mrs. Laird. The best thing you ever did for me, the only thing, is provide enough distraction for me to get to this piece of shit.” He ground the barrel of the pistol against Savich’s temple. “How does your gun hand feel now, Savich?”

Despite the pain he must be feeling, Savich’s voice was remarkably calm. “Is this about Meyer Napoli? If so, you’ve got a problem. Nobody’s going to believe Elise, you know. She’ll make an unreliable witness.”

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way,” Duncan said, shooting her a look of pure hatred.

“So you’re wasting your time,” Savich said.

“Hell if I am.”

“Very well.” He sighed with resignation. “Arrest me. I’ll spend the night in the comfort of the hospital.”

“Un-unh,” Duncan said. “I didn’t come here to arrest you. I came to get a confession, and I’m not leaving without it.” He pulled back the hammer on his revolver.

Savich laughed. “Oh, I’m scared.”

“Your confession or your brains, Savich. You get to choose, and there’s no door number three.”

“Duncan,” DeeDee said with uncertainty, “what are you doing?”

“Did I stutter? I’m going to get a confession from him. Either that, or it’s going to get messy in here.”

“You’d never pull that trigger, Hatcher,” Savich said with infuriating condescension. “We both know that.”

Duncan fired at the carafe on the edge of the desk, shattering the crystal into a thousand shards. Water splashed across the desk and onto the floor. Drops splattered on Savich’s face. In the small office, the.357 just as well could have been a cannon. The deafening blast caused a concussion in the room.

DeeDee recoiled, but she kept her pistol aimed at Elise. “What the hell?” she shouted. “Wait for backup, Duncan. They’ll be here soon. We’ll take him in, we’ll-”

“If you’ve got no stomach for this, DeeDee, you can leave and take Mrs. Laird with you.” His eyes and his pistol were still trained on Savich. “This is between him and me. I won’t be made a fool of again. Not by her, not by her husband, and for goddamn sure not by you.” On the last word, he poked the pistol barrel against Savich’s skull, bumping it against the bone. “Give it up, Savich. Freddy Morris. Andre Bonnet. Chet Rollins. Gordon Ballew. Sound familiar?”

“Fuck you.”

Duncan fired the pistol again, this time at the cabinet across the room, shattering the glass door. Then he shot out the globe of a wall sconce. The acrid smell of cordite filled the office. The noise was unbearable, but DeeDee could be heard above the reverberation, yelling, “Duncan, stop this! This isn’t the way! You’ve lost your head over her! This is about her. You’re angry over her.”

He paid no attention. Bending down, he placed his lips directly above Savich’s ear. “Tell me what I want to hear or you’re going to die.”

“You would never do it.”

They all heard the wail of sirens approaching, but the sound didn’t deter Duncan.

“Are you sure about that, Savich? Are you willing to bet your life on it? ’Cause that’s what you’re doing. I’ve got two bullets left. Count ’em. Two.”

“Duncan, for God’s sake,” DeeDee pleaded. “Don’t do it! You’ll ruin your career. Everything. Your life.”

“My life comes down to this.” He cast a bitter glance toward Elise. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Not anymore.” He dug the pistol into Savich’s temple. “Is this the way you killed Freddy Morris? Did he stink of fear the way you do?”

“I didn’t-”

Before he even completed the denial, Duncan fired the pistol into the desk. The wood splintered, leaving a jagged hole inches from Savich’s nose. “That leaves one.”

“You’re boring me, Hatcher,” Savich replied drolly.

“Tell me you did it, or your brain is mist!” Duncan yelled.

“Duncan, no!”

“DeeDee, I told you-”

“You can’t do this.”

“Yes, I can. I can kill him. Easy.”

“No.” DeeDee’s voice cracked with desperation as she whipped her pistol away from Elise and aimed it at Duncan. “I won’t let you.”

“What are you-”

“Drop your weapon, Duncan!”

“You wouldn’t-”

“Oh yes, I would.”

He stared at her aghast. “You’d shoot me?”

“I swear I will.”

The sirens grew louder. Tires screeched. Car doors slammed. Yet inside the office, time seemed to stand still.

“I can’t let him go,” Duncan said.

“For the last time, drop your weapon.”

“You’ll have to shoot me first.”

“Don’t make me do this,” DeeDee cried, tears in her voice.

“I’m gonna take this bastard.”

“Drop it, Duncan!”

“No freaking way.”

“Duncan, don’t!” DeeDee shouted.