Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(30)

Elizabeth looked up from the cup, locking eyes with him as he leaned against the counter next to the stove. She nodded. Message received.

Only who’s listening? Why the hell is the house bugged?

Elizabeth quickly replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She’d told Gorgin who she was, but that was outside on the steps. Still, he’d referred to her as Agent Needham once she was inside. That couldn’t have been by accident. He wasn’t trying to pass her off as the Avon lady or a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar.

So now what?

Elizabeth was about to motion for the pen. She would write out her questions, hopefully on something bigger than a tea bag. She wanted to ask how to play this out—should she inquire about the Mudir as intended or instead make up an excuse for her being there?

It was as if Gorgin could read her mind.

“So let me guess,” he said. “In the wake of the Times Square bombings, every Muslim in the tristate area is getting a house call.”

“That would be a lot of house calls,” said Elizabeth.

“You’re right. Make that young single men of a certain age who just happen to be practicing Muslims. I believe the word is profiling.”

“That’s your word, not mine. It’s also not a word that the JTTF would use.”

Gorgin gave her a thumbs-up. They were ad-libbing the script, but she was sticking to it perfectly. So was he. Whoever was listening needed to think that Gorgin would never crack under pressure. That he could take the heat. It was only fitting they were in a kitchen.

Elizabeth still had no idea who this guy was or even what information she could expect to get from him, but there was no doubting the sense that he was someone she could trust. That was the point, right? It was why she’d been sent his way. Gorgin could help her.

For a moment, she even stopped watching his hands.

Oh, shit. No!

No-no-no-no-no!





CHAPTER 40


EVERYTHING HAPPENED at once. The worst things usually do.

The sound of the kettle whistling suddenly pierced the room, drawing Elizabeth’s eyes to the stove just long enough that she didn’t immediately see Gorgin’s right hand reach under the dish towel by the sink. He was already whipping his arm around toward her before she could reach for her holster.

There was no catching up; he’d outdrawn her. There was no getting out of the way; he was too close.

This is how I die.

Elizabeth watched the barrel of his gun line up with her chest. All that was left for him to do was pull the trigger.

But the barrel kept moving.

She hadn’t heard the front door opening down the hallway. She hadn’t heard the footsteps. And she definitely hadn’t seen the man with the thick black beard entering the kitchen with an AK-47 trained at her head. But Gorgin had.

Now he pulled his trigger.

He got off two rounds. Maybe three. He only needed the first. It was a perfect kill shot to the carotid artery.

The bearded man spun from the impact, his neck wildly spurting blood as he shifted his aim off Elizabeth and onto Gorgin. He was falling to the ground, his legs collapsing underneath him. Maybe he squeezed his trigger. Or maybe his finger just twitched. Either way, his AK-47 sprayed a line across the kitchen as he came crashing down with a thud.

Elizabeth looked at him by her feet and then up at Gorgin, their eyes locking as they’d done before. His stare said it all. She didn’t need to see the two holes in his chest, the dark redness oozing and spreading across the front of his hoodie. She knew how badly he was hurt.

Elizabeth sprang from her chair as Gorgin fell to the floor, gasping for air as he rolled onto his back. He was losing too much blood, too quickly.

Grabbing the dish towel from the counter, the one that had concealed his gun, she tried to clamp the entry wounds, only the blood kept coming. It wouldn’t stop.

Gorgin could barely speak but he wanted to. He needed to.

“The house,” he said, his lungs wheezing. There was more to the sentence, only he couldn’t finish it. He blinked a few times as if trying to gather his strength. “The house … it’s wired.”

“I know,” said Elizabeth. “You told me. They’re listening.”

Gorgin reached up, his hand flailing as he tried to grab her arm. “No,” he said. “The house is wired.”





CHAPTER 41


WHAT GORGIN meant hit Elizabeth almost as fast as the smell.

She first thought a stray bullet had pierced the stove and somehow triggered the gas. Except the smell wasn’t coming from the stove.

She looked up. Oh, Jesus. It was so thick she could literally see it. The gas was pouring out from the air duct in the ceiling.

Chemistry 101. The bomb ignites the gas, which levels the house and everything in it. There’s no evidence to be had. Or witnesses.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” said Elizabeth. She started to slide one hand under Gorgin’s back, another under his legs. Could she even lift him? She had to try.

“Don’t,” he said. “There’s no time.”

“I’m not leaving without—”

“Go.”

Elizabeth coughed, her lungs burning. She could barely breathe. It was now or never.

He had saved her life. There was no way she wouldn’t try to save his.