“Let her go,” he said.
Malcolm was so angry, Sebastian could hear him wheeze with each gulp of air. “The stupid bitch!” he was yelling. “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill you both, so help me God.”
“You’re going to need someone’s help,” Sebastian told him. “Because if she’s dead-you are, too.”
“She’s not dead,” he cried and lifted her head by the hair. “Say something!” he screamed at her.
Jane groaned and her eyelids fluttered open, but she seemed confused, dazed. And she was obviously bleeding. The sight of her injuries made every muscle in Sebastian’s body tense. Malcolm had beaten her. Sebastian hadn’t expected that. He’d expected Malcolm to care too much about getting to him to risk hurting her.
Malcolm was losing his edge, sacrificing reason to emotion. But that wasn’t a good thing. It made him less predictable and far more dangerous.
What now? Sebastian needed Jane to be conscious, alert. He needed her to walk out under her own power and be able to drive the car. He wanted her as far away from this place as she could get.
“Jane? You okay?” he asked.
There was no response.
“Answer him!” Malcolm raised his gun as if he’d hit her again, but Sebastian growled a warning that stopped his downward thrust.
“You hit her one more time and I’ll shoot you this instant. Do you understand me?”
“You don’t know how to shoot,” Malcolm said, but that went against all evidence to the contrary. Sebastian was no longer the trusting, law-abiding dad Malcolm had known a year ago. And there was enough uncertainty in Malcolm’s voice to tell Sebastian he’d noticed the changes.
Getting down on one knee, Sebastian took careful aim. “Try me.”
It was a bluff, but it worked. Malcolm didn’t strike Jane. Lowering his gun, he shook her with the opposite hand.
“Hey, snap out of it. Sebastian’s here. Tell him you’re fine.” He tore off her gag. “Tell him you want to go home.”
“I wanna go home,” she repeated dully, and Sebastian wished, more than anything, that he could make it possible.
“Untie her. She has nothing to do with this, Malcolm. This is between you and me.”
“Throw down your gun and I will.”
Sebastian couldn’t do that. The second he did, he and Jane would both be at Malcolm’s mercy. “I won’t give up my gun.”
“Sebastian, get out of here.” Jane seemed to be regaining her faculties, but Sebastian ignored her. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not right now.
“Cut her loose and let her walk out,” he told Malcolm.
“Are you kidding me? So she can help you? So she can call the police?”
Sebastian’s finger began to sweat on the trigger. He wasn’t getting out of this as quickly as he’d hoped. The police were probably on their way. Would they intervene before he could finish? Would the surprise cause Malcolm to fire? “This is your game, Officer Turner. What kind of play do you want to call?”
“That’s it. She’s dead.” Malcolm spoke as if he was tired of fooling around, as if killing Jane was his only way out. So this time when he put the gun to her head, Sebastian feared he’d really pull the trigger.
In a panic, he raised his own weapon to get off a shot he hoped would save her life. It was her only chance. But the blast that nearly blew out his eardrums told him Malcolm had fired first.
The noise took Malcolm by complete surprise. He’d been about to pull the trigger when someone fired at him from the other doorway. Who the hell was it? Had Sebastian called the police? Malcolm had been so caught up in his standoff with Sebastian, he hadn’t noticed any other movement, any other noise-but he hadn’t been listening for it, either.
Scrambling to take cover before he could be fired on from both directions, he managed to roll behind the couch, which effectively shielded him from both doorways. Jane was the only one out in the open. She was tied to that chair and couldn’t move, but Malcolm didn’t care about her. He thought it would be the greatest irony in the world if Sebastian shot her himself. Then maybe he’d rot in jail while Malcolm took off for the Bahamas or some other tropical paradise.
Another shot rang out. This one sounded as if it lodged in a wall. A third followed. Sebastian cried out to whoever it was to stop, but if this was a cop, he didn’t seem to realize that another person was at risk. He just kept firing.
Sebastian dashed in to save Jane-and took a bullet. Malcolm heard the shot and the resounding grunt. He’d been firing himself, had done so several times, but he didn’t think he’d hit anything.
In an instant, Sebastian toppled the chair and threw himself on top of Jane, protecting her with his body. Now that he was so low to the ground, Malcolm couldn’t hit him without standing up, and he knew the second he got up he’d be dead.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he cried out to the stranger.
“I want you,” came the response.
“Luther? Luther, stop!” It was Jane. She seemed to recognize the man’s voice, but Malcolm had never met a Luther. Who was this person and how had he found them? Why did he have a gun? He was quite obviously not the police.
And then it became clear.
“This one’s for Latisha,” the man yelled and fired again. “You will never touch my daughter, or any other man’s daughter, again.”
Malcolm became aware of Sebastian pulling Jane from the room. He wanted to stop them, but he couldn’t lift his head without the risk of having it blown off. It seemed the stupid son of a bitch who’d pinned him down from the opposite doorway was determined to keep shooting. But just as that thought went through his mind, the bullets stopped.
“Take her and get out of here,” Luther called in the ensuing silence, and it was only then that Malcolm realized his error. The bullet Sebastian had taken must’ve been his own because Luther hadn’t been shooting toward Jane. He’d been shooting away from them, giving Sebastian the cover he needed to get her to safety.
And now Latisha’s father was shooting to kill. There was nothing to stop him.
This was over. He had to get out, but how? The police were on their way. Even if he could make it to the door-and that seemed impossible-they’d be on top of him before he could get as far as the drive. And being captured would be worse than death. Then everyone he knew from before, his family, his neighbors, his friends on the force, they’d all know what he’d done.