Page 73

CHAPTER 71

CARPENTER’S ONE GOOD eye peeks from around Ava’s skull.

“Get your hands up!” he barks. “And move away from the door.”

Neither Carlos nor I move—not our hands, not our feet.

“I said get your goddamn hands in the air.”

I ignore him and make eye contact with Ava. She looks nervous, but not as scared as she should be. One of the FBI agents said recently that I have nerves of steel, but I feel like my nerves are nothing compared to hers.

She looks a hell of a lot less worried than I feel.

Carpenter has me in a familiar position—with a hostage blocking me from getting a good shot. I can’t let him get away again.

“Listen here, Carpenter,” Carlos says. “You don’t want to do this.”

“You listen to me, you stupid fucking Texas Rangers,” Carpenter says, “either you put your hands up right now or I’m going to—”

“No!”

It’s Ava speaking, not me.

“You listen to me,” she says, doing her best to talk with the gun pressed to her chin. “You’re going to let go of me and put your hands in the air.”

Carpenter harrumphs.

“If you don’t,” she says, “Rory’s going to shoot.”

“My ass,” he says. “He’ll hit you instead of me.”

“You wouldn’t sound so cocky,” she says, “if you’d ever seen him shoot. I have.”

Carpenter lets out a chuckle, and then he starts barking orders at Carlos and me again. I’m only halfway paying attention to him. My eyes are focused on Ava’s intense stare.

“Do it, Rory,” she says quietly. “Take the shot.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I say.

All I can see of Carpenter is about an inch of his face, just enough to glimpse his one eye peeking from behind Ava’s head. It’s a shot I might try with paper targets on a range. But with someone’s life at stake, it’s too risky.

“I believe in you,” she says, and something about the conviction in her voice gives me confidence.

I take a deep breath and focus.

This is what I do , I tell myself, and there’s no one who does it better.

Carpenter barks, “You go for that gun, Ranger, and I’ll blow this bitch’s brains out.”

“You won’t even see my hand move,” I tell him. “Drop that gun now or die.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Carpenter snaps. “There is no way you’re that—”

Before he can complete his sentence, my bullet plunges into his one good eye and explodes out the side of his skull. His head jerks back, and his grip on Ava loosens. Ava doesn’t move, just lets him slough off her back like molting a snakeskin.

My ears ring from the sound of the shot in such a tight space.

Ava reaches up and touches the side of her face, making sure the bullet didn’t nick her.

“I felt it graze my hair,” she says. “I felt the heat of the discharge on my face.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, holstering my gun and taking a step toward her.

She throws her arms around me and holds me in a tight hug. She was so strong through the ordeal. Now she lets her emotions loose. Feeling her tremble in my arms makes it sink in what just happened—and what could have happened if I’d missed. My limbs start to quake and a wave of sickness washes through me.

“I’m sorry he got the drop on me,” she says. “I never should have worn my gun into the interrogation room.”

“No need to apologize,” Carlos says, putting a comforting arm on her shoulder. “He got us all.”

“And I shouldn’t have worn my gun into the interview, either,” I say, looking down at Carpenter’s corpse on the floor. A sea of crimson is spreading from his skull. “If one of us was going to make the mistake, I’m glad both of us did.”

The door bursts open and one of the Tigua officers asks if everyone is okay. We all leave the room—it’s a crime scene now—and as we do, we hear some kind of hubbub coming from the lobby.

“I just heard a gunshot,” a familiar voice shouts to someone out of sight. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

It’s Ryan Logan.

And he sounds pissed.