Second Shot

I opened my eyes, let my breath out slowly and opened the cupboard door a crack, just enough to peer out. The man who’d been headed for my room had disappeared around the corner of the corridor. I slipped out of the cupboard altogether. The second man was stooped at Simone’s door, his left hand on the knob, trying to ease it open without a sound. His head was covered with a close-fitting hood and he was big without being bulky. I was suddenly glad he was crouching there with his back towards me to give me a little advantage. There was something that was probably a gun in his gloved right hand. If I didn’t get this right the first time, things were going to get nasty very quickly.

I took a run at him, two strides and up onto his back. I stamped hard into the back of the calf muscle of his right leg as I went. At the same time I landed a short vicious blow into his left kidney. As his back arched from the impact, I hooked my right hand around his neck, grabbing his Adam’s apple through the thin material of the hood and jerking his head back.

My weight came down, one foot landing heavily on the back of the man’s knee. He let out a low grunt as it folded and he twisted instinctively, trying to bring the weapon to bear, but he was too slow. I stayed on him as he dropped hard to his knees, riding him down, then stepped to the side to swing him away from the door. I released my hold, only for a second, to wrap my right arm around his throat and lock it in place with my other hand just behind the nape of his neck, making sure I kept my head well to the side in case he tried to reverse-head-butt me.

He was expert enough at hand-to-hand to know I’d got a killing grip on him. He started to panic then, scrabbling at my arm, letting the gun drop. The weapon hit the polished wooden floor with a crashing thud that was desperately loud in the darkness.

He thrashed under me. I took up whatever slack remained and jerked him still, knowing that I could cut off the blood supply to his brain any time I wanted to. Or worse.

By the time the other man darted back into view at the far end of the landing, the one I’d grabbed was rigid and motionless. I could smell the fear and the anger rising off him like cheap scent.

The second man was smaller, almost slender. He froze in midstep when he saw the two of us and he was cool enough to pause and consider his options. The nearest window was behind him and to his left, but all I could see of his face was the matte material of the ski mask he wore. I had time to register, despite the mask, that he was wearing glasses. I could tell from the set of his shoulders that he, too, was carrying something in his right hand.

“Put it down,” I said, gruff, “or I’ll break his neck.”

The man with the glasses didn’t move, just continued to stand and stare me out. We were only three meters or so apart and he was armed. At that distance, even in semidarkness with me using my captive for partial cover, he would have had to be a very mediocre shot to have missed.

“Harder than you think,” the man with the glasses said calmly, “to break a man’s neck in cold blood.”

“Easier than you think,” I returned, “to do it while your blood’s up.” I left it a beat, then hardened my voice, knowing it was unlikely he would believe me, even so. ‘And this won’t be my first time.”

I sensed rather than saw his eyes flick to the face of his larger friend. I bunched the muscles in my arms and an involuntary muffled hiccup of sound escaped my prisoner. I could feel him trembling, little more than a mild vibration, and knew he, at least, was convinced.

The man with the glasses let the muzzle of the gun drop slightly. He seemed about to speak when suddenly we heard muffled voices coming from the Lucases’ room behind him. Rosalind’s sharper tones overlaying her husband’s deeper mumble.

The man with the glasses glanced over his shoulder. Clearly he didn’t want to be the filling in a hostile sandwich. I saw him lift his shoulders slightly in a shrug that could have signified either defeat or apology. Then he was moving for the stairs.

As he made a fast but somehow unhurried descent, he swung through the full glare of the moonlight, lighting him fully for the first time. In that split second I mentally photographed the shape of his body and head, the way he moved. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a police lineup, but I was damned sure I’d know him if I ever saw him again on the street. Then he’d dropped from view, his footsteps suddenly heavy now the need for stealth was gone.

As his comrade abandoned him and withdrew, the big man erupted, a last-ditch attempt to effect his own release before my reinforcements arrived. Just for a second I tightened my grip, felt the creak of sinews under tension as I considered the wisdom of finishing him and going after the slim man.

Then the door behind me was yanked open and I heard Simone gasp, then Ella’s voice.

“Mummy, what-?”