Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

Therefore…he was not going to pop Jason when he walked out of this cellar.

He would not want to kill Jason in Rexford at all, if he could help it.

Jason focused on this thought, breathing slow, calming breaths as he continued to reason it out.

An accident. That’s what Gervase would be thinking.

Maybe he would sabotage Jason’s car? Or maybe he would ambush Jason on the way back to the car. He was not going to shoot Jason when he walked out of the cellar unless Jason didn’t give him a choice.

Which meant if Jason could walk out of this cellar looking like he was not expecting trouble…Gervase might give him the benefit of the doubt long enough for Jason to make it to some kind of cover where he wasn’t completely pinned down.

Either way, he could not continue to stand in this doorway, paralyzed by indecision.

No. Call it what it was.

Paralyzed with terror at the idea of being shot.

He had made it all the way to this point—spent how long in that swamp downstairs?—and now he could not get himself to walk out the fucking door. Just thinking of it was turning his breath fluttery and shallow, making him feel light-headed and unsteady.

Because he could not forget how it felt to have a bullet slam into his chest. Could not forget the sound of metal chewing flesh and bone, the smell of gunpowder and blood, could not forget the sight…

He swallowed down the sickness.

He had promised Kennedy he was fine. Promised him that if Kennedy needed him, he would be there to back him up. And now he couldn’t force himself out the door.

Even though he didn’t know for a fact Gervase was there, waiting.

And even though he did know for a fact Kennedy was on his way. Was he going to just stand here and let Kennedy be shot?

Coward. You useless, gutless coward . His eyes stung with the revelation. He wiped them impatiently.

How long had he already wasted standing here?

Minutes.

Half an hour?

Long enough that his hands had dried.

What are you waiting for?

The idea seemed to come from nowhere. A single thought taking form amidst all the swirling doubt and confusion.

If you let something happen to Kennedy, you’re going to shoot yourself anyway .

He listened to the words echo through his brain.

His breathing slowed, calmed. He stopped shaking. Yes. That was the truth. If Gervase opened fire on Kennedy, Jason would be out that door in a heartbeat. So why not move now when there was still a chance everyone could walk away alive?

It was almost comically simple when you looked at it that way. You don’t have a choice .

Jason took a deep breath, released it, loosened his shoulders, and stepped through the doorway.

His heart thundered in his ears. His vision seemed to blacken around the edges. Nothing happened.

He kept walking.

He could see the half-sunken buildings to his right, like broken puppets peeping out of the water. And to his left, the long and straggling line of derelict buildings he had searched with Kennedy only days earlier.

Where the hell should he go?

His boots were squelching with each step. It was physically painful not to reach for his weapon, not to at least let his hand rest on the butt of his pistol.

Where to take cover? Where to take shelter? Should he just keep heading out of town, making for his vehicle?

Uneasy awareness rippled down his spine. He was being watched. Every step of the way. That feeling was unmistakable. Like a weight on his shoulders.

He was not going to get as far as his car. He was not going to get as far as the edge of town.

Well, he had never claimed to be a profiler.

“All right,” Gervase called from behind him. “That’s far enough.”

Jason kept walking.

“Stop walking, Agent West.”

The little blue building to his left… Twin broken windows on either side of a front door half-hanging from the frame. Whatever it was, it was his only option now.

“ Agent West !”

The dust kicked up beside his boot before he heard the shot. The sound seemed to blow apart the sky. Birds took flight from inside the crumbling buildings like scattershot.

He doesn’t want to shoot you in the back .

Jason had no idea where the thought came from, but he knew it was the truth. For whatever reason, Gervase balked at the idea of shooting him in the back.

He leaped for the porch, hitting the ground, rolling, and landing on his haunches. He crashed through the broken front door, knocking it the rest of the way off its hinges.

Jason scuttled over behind what looked like an old soda fountain bar. He pulled his weapon.

His heart was racing, but his mind was actually focused. Not calm, but not panicked. He had not been shot. He was under fire, but he still had his weapon, and he was trained to deal with this.

So deal with it.

He looked around himself. Beneath the dirt and animal droppings and leaves he could see black and white linoleum, curling up in places. No furniture beyond the bar itself, which at least was heavy and solid wood. There was probably a back door somewhere down that shadowy recess to his left. The lack of any light coming from that direction meant that exit might be boarded up.

Okay. He was pinned down again. But at least he had better visibility—and he wasn’t standing in wet muck up to his shins.

Kennedy had implied Gervase would have already worked through whatever objections his conscience might make to murdering a fellow law enforcement officer. It couldn’t be that easy. Not for a man who had dedicated his life to upholding the law. Gervase might be capable of murder, might feel driven to it, but he wasn’t going to enjoy it.

He would need to justify it to himself. He would want to justify it to Jason.

You didn’t have to be a behavioral specialist to know that much. It was basic human nature. Nobody saw themselves as the villain in their own story.

“Why’d you do it, Chief?” Jason called. “Why’d you kill her?”

The shot came through the broken window and hit the wall low behind the bar where Jason crouched.

Not good. Gervase already knew exactly where he was.

“You must have had a reason. It had to be an accident.”

There was something halfhearted about the shot that followed. It was a foot away from Jason’s hiding spot.

“You brought us into this. If you’re going to kill me, you at least owe me that much.”

“I didn’t bring you into it,” Gervase returned. In a strange way it was a relief to hear his voice. “I didn’t ask for you. This isn’t on me.”

“You brought Kennedy into it. Which makes me think you wanted to get caught.”

“Which makes me think you’re dumber than dirt.” Gervase’s next shot grazed the top of the bar above Jason’s head. Jason stared up at that pale, splintered gouge in the darker wood.

He swallowed. Yelled, “Why the hell did you call for the FBI then?”

“I didn’t have a goddamned choice!”

Well, that made no sense. Regardless of the actual words, the fact Gervase was willing to talk meant there was still a chance of reaching him.

Or maybe not; the next bullet plowed a couple of inches lower, and Jason flattened himself to the dusty floor.

Shit. Shit. Shit .

He looked around for a better position. To his right there was a staircase leading up to the second floor, but it looked like it had torn away from the landing. And Gervase, who appeared to be positioned outside the front window also on the right, would have a clean line of fire.

Jason moved to the end of the bar and trained his weapon on the window where he could just see the edge of Gervase’s shadow.