Split Second
Page 119
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
She lurched away, hit her head against the glove compartment, and was thrown back again, her head bouncing off the seat. Then she slumped over, unconscious.
Coop brought the car to a sliding stop in the middle of the field. He saw his SIG on the floor where Kirsten had dropped it. He was looking for her gun when he heard the highway patrol cruiser pull to a stop right behind him, heard the cops shouting at him.
He had to respond or they’d probably shoot him. The pain in his side ripped through him, but he ignored it and shoved his door open, one eye on Kirsten. He raised his hands.
“You the FBI agent?”
“Yes. Cooper McKnight. I hit her; Kirsten Bolger’s in the car, unconscious.”
Coop was never so happy in his life to see Savich and Sherlock cruising toward them, Savich careful to keep the Porsche between the mown rows of tobacco stalks, so as not to scratch up that perfect paint job.
“Don’t shoot at the Porsche. They’re FBI!”
Coop waved, then turned to watch one of the cops answer his cell, nod, then say, “You sure she’s out of it, Agent? Hey, what’s wrong? Geez, you’re shot!”
Coop waved a hand and looked back into the car. He couldn’t believe it, but Kirsten was gone. He ran around the front of the car and saw her crawling through the rows of tobacco stalks several dozen feet from him. “She’s headed toward that house! Kirsten, stop, or I’ll shoot!”
Kirsten looked back at him over her shoulder, lurched to her feet, and started running toward the house in the distance.
Coop took off after her, his side forgotten, two highway patrolmen behind him, both firing toward her. He heard Savich shout, “Coop, we’ll try to cut her off before she gets to that house! Don’t hesitate—bring her down if you can.”
Yeah, Coop thought, breathing hard, feeling his blood slick on his skin. It was enough, it was more than enough. He paused, aimed his SIG, and fired.
CHAPTER 72
Allenby Motel
Lucy and Miranda stared at the smashed electric clock on the ancient rag rug that lay next to the small nightstand.
“You didn’t break it twice, did you?” Lucy asked, though she almost yelled out with relief.
Miranda was shaking her head back and forth. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened. Aunt Helen swore to me it would happen for me. I’m her direct relation, just as you are. She’s my father’s sister; it has to work, it should!”
Miranda grabbed a pillow off the bed and hurled it against the door. She yelled, “SEFYLL!”
Please don’t let it work, please don’t let it.
Both women stared at the pillow, still on the floor against the motel room’s door.
Lucy nearly wept with relief, though like Miranda, she didn’t understand why nothing had happened. Thank you, Sweet Lord, she didn’t shoot me.
The ring is cold for Miranda.
Miranda was moaning deep in her throat, pacing, cursing, shaking the ring, saying “SEFYLL” over and over.
Lucy had the rope loose enough now to slip her hand out of it. Miranda still held the gun in one hand, the ring in the other. But she wasn’t paying attention. Lucy knew she had to act, with the ring or without it, or Miranda would likely kill her out of jealousy and despair.
She whirled to face Lucy. “It has to work for me, Aunt Helen promised me, so that means I’m not doing something right. Tell me, Lucy. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
Lucy stared at her. “Miranda, when I hold the ring, when it lies against my throat, it feels warm. Very warm. I don’t do anything different than you did.”
Miranda said slowly, “You said it was cold for you, very cold.”
“It seems I’m not such a crappy liar after all.”
Miranda howled. She flung her tote against the far wall, screamed, “SEFYLL!” Miranda’s tote remained on the floor.
Lucy said slowly, “I can think of only one reason the ring doesn’t work for you, Miranda. It’s not meant to.”
Miranda stared at her. She began shaking her head back and forth. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible. I am Alan Silverman’s daughter!” Miranda ran toward her, waving the ring, beyond herself, beyond reason. “I am Alan Silverman’s daughter!”
When Miranda was close enough, Lucy jerked her right hand free, roared up out of the chair, and smashed Miranda in the face.
She fell hard, and Lucy turned to frantically work the rope loose. She heard Miranda stir just as she pulled her wrist free. She didn’t see her SIG, didn’t see Miranda’s Kel Tec, either, but she saw the ring. She grabbed the ring off the floor and ran out of the motel room.
Coop brought the car to a sliding stop in the middle of the field. He saw his SIG on the floor where Kirsten had dropped it. He was looking for her gun when he heard the highway patrol cruiser pull to a stop right behind him, heard the cops shouting at him.
He had to respond or they’d probably shoot him. The pain in his side ripped through him, but he ignored it and shoved his door open, one eye on Kirsten. He raised his hands.
“You the FBI agent?”
“Yes. Cooper McKnight. I hit her; Kirsten Bolger’s in the car, unconscious.”
Coop was never so happy in his life to see Savich and Sherlock cruising toward them, Savich careful to keep the Porsche between the mown rows of tobacco stalks, so as not to scratch up that perfect paint job.
“Don’t shoot at the Porsche. They’re FBI!”
Coop waved, then turned to watch one of the cops answer his cell, nod, then say, “You sure she’s out of it, Agent? Hey, what’s wrong? Geez, you’re shot!”
Coop waved a hand and looked back into the car. He couldn’t believe it, but Kirsten was gone. He ran around the front of the car and saw her crawling through the rows of tobacco stalks several dozen feet from him. “She’s headed toward that house! Kirsten, stop, or I’ll shoot!”
Kirsten looked back at him over her shoulder, lurched to her feet, and started running toward the house in the distance.
Coop took off after her, his side forgotten, two highway patrolmen behind him, both firing toward her. He heard Savich shout, “Coop, we’ll try to cut her off before she gets to that house! Don’t hesitate—bring her down if you can.”
Yeah, Coop thought, breathing hard, feeling his blood slick on his skin. It was enough, it was more than enough. He paused, aimed his SIG, and fired.
CHAPTER 72
Allenby Motel
Lucy and Miranda stared at the smashed electric clock on the ancient rag rug that lay next to the small nightstand.
“You didn’t break it twice, did you?” Lucy asked, though she almost yelled out with relief.
Miranda was shaking her head back and forth. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened. Aunt Helen swore to me it would happen for me. I’m her direct relation, just as you are. She’s my father’s sister; it has to work, it should!”
Miranda grabbed a pillow off the bed and hurled it against the door. She yelled, “SEFYLL!”
Please don’t let it work, please don’t let it.
Both women stared at the pillow, still on the floor against the motel room’s door.
Lucy nearly wept with relief, though like Miranda, she didn’t understand why nothing had happened. Thank you, Sweet Lord, she didn’t shoot me.
The ring is cold for Miranda.
Miranda was moaning deep in her throat, pacing, cursing, shaking the ring, saying “SEFYLL” over and over.
Lucy had the rope loose enough now to slip her hand out of it. Miranda still held the gun in one hand, the ring in the other. But she wasn’t paying attention. Lucy knew she had to act, with the ring or without it, or Miranda would likely kill her out of jealousy and despair.
She whirled to face Lucy. “It has to work for me, Aunt Helen promised me, so that means I’m not doing something right. Tell me, Lucy. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
Lucy stared at her. “Miranda, when I hold the ring, when it lies against my throat, it feels warm. Very warm. I don’t do anything different than you did.”
Miranda said slowly, “You said it was cold for you, very cold.”
“It seems I’m not such a crappy liar after all.”
Miranda howled. She flung her tote against the far wall, screamed, “SEFYLL!” Miranda’s tote remained on the floor.
Lucy said slowly, “I can think of only one reason the ring doesn’t work for you, Miranda. It’s not meant to.”
Miranda stared at her. She began shaking her head back and forth. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible. I am Alan Silverman’s daughter!” Miranda ran toward her, waving the ring, beyond herself, beyond reason. “I am Alan Silverman’s daughter!”
When Miranda was close enough, Lucy jerked her right hand free, roared up out of the chair, and smashed Miranda in the face.
She fell hard, and Lucy turned to frantically work the rope loose. She heard Miranda stir just as she pulled her wrist free. She didn’t see her SIG, didn’t see Miranda’s Kel Tec, either, but she saw the ring. She grabbed the ring off the floor and ran out of the motel room.
