Page 84 of Disarming Caine

“You?” He lifted the pistol toward me. Glock. Subcompact. “Why is it always you?”

“Listen, sir, I don’t know you.” I held my hands in front of me, emphasizing the distance between us, trying to hide the stutter in my voice. I only had to distract him long enough for the police to arrive. “But if you could put the gun down—”

His lip curled into a sneer. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

It was him. The shooter from my hotel. They really did have the wrong guy in custody.

“Better late than never,” he snarled.

The ear-splitting crack from the gun jolted through my muscles, but he shot wide, the hissing noise near enough to hear over the ringing in my ears. As close to my head as the one Tuesday night.

The puff of smoke from the barrel.

The slide locked back.

That was his last bullet.

I realized it before he did, but he hurled the gun at me after my first step—with less accuracy than the gunshot—and turned on his heel. I overtook him quickly, knocking into his back so we smashed onto the road together.

A spray of blood exploded across the pavement, and he threw an elbow into my side. The air rushed out of me, pain erupting from the ribs he connected with.

I spread my legs to brace myself on top of him and locked my arm around the elbow he’d rammed into me, twisting it up into an arm bar. “Police are on their way, asshole.”

“You fucking bitch!” He spit out blood, trying in vain to pull out of my grip. “At least I got your fucking husband.”

Husband? Antonio? The dream. The blood. I wrenched his arm harder and he wailed.

“I saw him fall when I hit him.” His words shot a fresh wave of panic through me, and I tensed. It gave him enough time to grab the back of my neck with his free hand and throw my balance forward. He pushed up with his legs, and my hands flew forward to catch myself from falling face-first over his shoulder.

His elbow found my ribs again, harder this time, higher. I wasn’t ready for it, the full force knocking me over. He scrambled on top of me, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol foul on his breath. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed anyone with his driving.

He straddled me, a wicked grin spreading across his face as his hands landed on my throat. “That bitch was supposed to lie low. But oh no, you work your fucking magic and sic the police on me. Just like the auction. Now they’re trying to recruit your husband, but I’m their man, not him!”

I tried rolling my legs up to wrap them around him or push him off, but his grip tightened.

“You should have left my girlfriend out of this.” He leaned into the choke, sending an army of black spots swirling around my vision.

But it was the opening I needed.

With his body canted forward, I bucked up with my hips, throwing his balance to the side, and rolled us so I was on top of him again. One swift knee into his crotch, and the glassy, angry stare evaporated. He squeezed his eyes shut and cupped his balls.

“Who are you?” I yelled, considering a second blow to his groin.

The sirens broke through the haze surrounding me as a squad car pulled up and two officers jumped out.

I didn’t recognize either of them, so stood and backed away from the driver. “He’s the shooter from—”

“Ma’am, hands, please,” said one of the officers, hand on her duty belt.

I raised my hands, ears still ringing from the gunshot, beads of sweat rolling down my spine. I had to get back to Antonio. He had to be alright.

“She attacked me!” The driver remained in the fetal position. “Tried running me off the road.”

The female officer’s partner—an average-height, but excessively muscled man—approached the driver. “Both of you on your knees.”

“Please—” My voice broke as I lowered, and I blinked several times to get ahead of the tears welling in my eyes. “—do you have any news about the shooting at Ferraro’s? Talk to Officer Williams. She’ll vouch for me.”

The female officer paused. “Name?”