Page 143 of The Chain

“You need to drop the gun now or—” Olly begins.

There’s a loud bang, and a bullet from Ginger’s .38 hits Pete in the torso and he’s down.

Rachel dives behind a concrete blood-collecting trough as another bullet misses her by inches.

“You shot him,” Olly says to Ginger.

“The theatrics were getting on my nerves,” Ginger replies. “Now, Rachel, it’s your turn. Drop the gun and put your hands up or we kill Kylie. Olly, keep your arm around that one’s neck but put your gun in little Kylie’s cheek.”

Olly sticks the barrel of his pistol in Kylie’s right cheek.

“Mommy!” Kylie wails.

Rachel’s stomach lurches. Her eyes are streaming. Pete is shot; Marty is down. And she’s so exhausted. Weeks of this. Years of this. Everything has gone wrong since that very first oncologist’s report from Mass. General.

She’s doomed and part of her wants to lie down on the filthy floor, close her eyes, and sleep.

But she can see Kylie’s face, and Kylie is her world. She crouches behind the blood trough and points the nine-millimeter over its lip at Ginger.

“Drop your gun and put your hands up!” Ginger screams as the snow whirls around her.

“No! You drop your gun,” Rachel replies, tears running down her cheeks.

“Put your hands up and we’ll let you go. You and the kids. Like your friend said. We know the game’s over,” Olly says. “Ginger here has screwed it up for us. Not for the first time. We’ll let you go and you’ll let us go. We can make a deal. Give us twenty-four hours and we’ll be in South America.”

Rachel’s heart leaps. Here’s a new possibility. A slim lifeline of hope.

“Promise it! Promise me you’ll let us walk out of here,” Rachel says. “If—if you’re fleeing the country, there’s no need for any more killing.”

“Put your hands up, drop your gun, and I give you my word that you and the kids will be unharmed,” Olly says.

“You’ll let me take the children and go?” Rachel asks.

Once she gets the children to safety, she can call the police and come back for Marty and Pete.

Olly nods. “I’m not a monster. You can leave with your family. And in return, you give us a day before you call the cops. All you have to do is drop your gun and put your hands up. Come on, Mrs. O’Neill, let’s work together on this, for all our sakes!”

Her mind is in overload. A collage of competing images and instincts.Don’t trust them, get the kids, don’t trust them, get the kids…

She has to choose, so she decides to believe him.

Get the children back first, worry about his intentions later,she tells herself.

She stands, puts her hands up, and lets the nine-millimeter fall to the floor.

“Come out from behind that trough, put your hands on your head, and get down on your knees,” Ginger says.

Rachel does as she’s ordered and Ginger pushes Kylie toward her. Kylie falls into her mother’s arms and Rachel hugs her.

“This time I’m never letting you go,” Rachel whispers.

Olly shoves Stuart toward the little pietà. He turns to his sister. “That, Ginger, is how you do these things. That is how it’s supposed to work. Not with this,” he says, waving the gun at her. “With this,” he says, touching the side of his own head. “You see what I did there? All I did was talk to her. No guns, no violence—a self-correcting mechanism. All you need is a phone and a voice. And a little bit of brains.”

“So you’re really going to let them go?” Ginger asks.

“Of course not! How can we possibly let them go? Jesus Christ, Ginger, I worry about you.”

“We’re going to kill them?”