This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(36)

I’m running as fast as my bad leg will allow. I tear down the narrow passage between two buildings, and I fly out onto the street just as another figure heads the opposite way.

“Kenny?” I call.

He looks over but doesn’t stop. “There’s a fire.”

“I know, but you’re posted at the clinic.”

“Val’s there.” He keeps running. “Brady’s secure. She said I can go help . . .”

The rest is muffled as he runs into the passage between buildings.

“No!” I shout. “Get back to your post!”

He’s gone. I slow, torn between running after him and—

A bang comes to my right. From the direction of the clinic. My brain screams gunshot, but as I spin, I see it’s just a door slamming shut as Diana runs from her apartment.

She sees me. “Casey?”

Come with me. That’s what I want to say. I need you. Come with me.

I can’t, though. Both because I don’t trust her, and because I can’t put her in danger.

“I need someone at the clinic,” I say. “Get . . .” I trail off. Get who?

“Mathias,” I say. “Get Mathias for me.”

She nods, no question, presuming it’s a medical emergency. Also, she’s happy to avoid going near the fire. I don’t blame her for that—she nearly died in the last one.

I run for the clinic. I know what this is. A diversion. Everyone in town is dealing with that fire. No one is paying attention to Oliver Brady.

Even Kenny is gone, because Val wants to prove herself. As soon as Kenny asked Val what she wanted him to do, she would tell him to go help with the fire. Brady’s hands were secured. He was weak from the vomiting. He was no threat.

The possibility that he was under threat? I could not trust her to realize Brady had faced two assassination attempts, and Kenny wasn’t only there to make sure Brady didn’t escape.

As soon as I dash into the clinic, there’s a crash in the examination room. I already have my gun out. Now I put my back to the wall. The door is beside me. I watch the knob. When it turns, I aim, take a deep breath—

The door opens, and Val appears, stumbling through. A hand on her arm propels her forward. She sees me. “Case—”

She’s yanked back before she can finish. The door slams shut.

“Lay down your weapon, Detective,” a voice says. “Or I slit Valerie’s throat.”





21





When I hear that voice, my gut clenches.

“Put your weapon on the floor. Open the door. Kick the gun through. Then follow with your hands up. Otherwise, I’ll kill her. You don’t want to call my bluff.”

I glance at the exterior door. Hoping for what? Divine intervention? Even if Diana finds Mathias, he’s not going to get me out of this. There are exactly two solutions.

I do as I’m told.

Or Val dies.

And here is the terrible truth: I should stand my ground.

It is the coldly correct answer to this dilemma. The only way out of the clinic is the door behind me. When a suspect escaped through the back last winter, Dalton ordered that exit boarded up. I thought he was overreacting. Now I am glad of it. There’s one way out. I’m blocking it. If I do not respond to the threat, it ends here.

I should let it end here.

I cannot let it end here.

I put Val in that room. I need to get her out of it and stalling won’t help because there is no magical third solution.

“I want to trade,” I say. “Val and I will switch spots. You can take me hostage.”

“I don’t want you, Detective. Val here will do as I say. Won’t you, Val?”

“Casey?” Val’s voice quavers. “Just do what he wants. Please.”

I set my gun in front of the door. “My weapon is down.”

“Good. When I open the door, you’ll kick it through.” A pause. “Step back first. I want to see you across the room. Then on my signal, you’ll walk forward and kick it through. If I see you charging the door or doing anything other than giving me your weapon, Val dies.”

I back up across the room, within the sight line from the door. It creaks opens just enough for me to boot the gun inside. The waiting figure makes no motion to bend and retrieve the gun. That would give me an opening for attack.

“Walk my way,” he says.

I reach the door, pull back my good leg, and . . . kick the door with everything I’ve got.

It flies wide open, and Brady falls back.

“Knock him down!” I shout to Val as I go for my gun.

Val flies at Brady. She swings, and her fist connects with his jaw, and her eyes widen as if in surprise at actually making contact. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

Brady barely staggers, recovers fast and lunges at me, and I see a knife raised and twist out of the way just as it comes down. But that twist lands me out of reach of the gun. He scrambles for it. I kick. My foot strikes his jaw.

“Val!” I shout. “The gun.”

She runs and snatches it up. Brady comes at me again. My fist plows into his jaw, in the same spot my foot had. He falls back snarling, but it’s only a moment and then he’s charging me with the knife.

I dodge his slash and dive over the hospital bed. There, on the floor, are the remnants of his wrist restraints. He cut them free with the knife. Where did he get—?