Serial Uncut - J. A. Konrath [36]
As he fell, I dove, snaking face-first down the opening on top of him, landing on his chest and pinning the shotgun between us.
He pushed up against me, strong as hell, but I had gravity on my side and I was fighting for my life. My knee honed in on his balls like it lived there, and the first kick worked so well I did it three more times.
He moaned, trying to keep his legs together and twist away. I grabbed the shotgun stock and jerked. He suddenly let go of the weapon, and I tumbled backwards off of him, the gun in my hands, and my back slammed into the step ladder. The wind burst out of me, and my diaphragm spasmed. I tried to suck in a breath and couldn’t.
Taylor got to his knees, snarling, and lunged. I raised the gun, my fingers seeking the trigger, but he easily knocked it away. Then he was straddling me, and I still couldn’t breathe—a task that became even more difficult when his hands found my throat.
“You’re gonna set a world fucking record on how long it takes to die.”
Then Candi dropped onto his back.
Taylor immediately released his grip, trying to reach around and get her off. But Candi clung on like a monkey, one hand around his neck, the other pressing a wet paper towel to his face.
He fell on all fours and bucked rodeo bull-style. Candi held tight. I blinked away the stars and managed to suck in some air, my hands seeking out the dropped shotgun. It was too dangerous to shoot him with Candi so close, so I held it by the short barrel, took aim, and cracked him in the temple with the wooden stock.
Taylor crumpled.
I gasped for oxygen, my heart threatening to break through my ribs because it was beating so hard. Candi kept the rag on Taylor’s face, and part of me wanted to let her keep it there, let her kill him. But my better judgment took over.
“Candi.” I lightly touched her shoulder. “It’s over.”
“It’ll be over when I bite one of his goddamn toes off.”
I shook my head. “Give me the rag, Candi. He’s going away for the rest of his life. Depending on the jurisdictions, he might even get the death penalty.”
She looked at me. Then she handed over the rag and burst into tears.
That’s when Donaldson stepped into the cab. He took a quick look around, then pointed my gun at me.
“Well what do we have here? How about you drop that shotgun, Lieutenant.”
I looked at him, and then got a ridiculously big grin on my face.
“You gave him the bullets, asshole.”
Donaldson’s eyes got comically wide, and I brought up the shotgun and fired just as he was diving backward out the door. The dashboard exploded, and the sound was a force that punched me in my ears. Candi slapped her hands to the sides of her head. I ignored the ringing and pumped another slug into the chamber, already moving after him.
Something stopped me.
Taylor. Grabbing my leg.
Candi pounced on him, tangled her fingers in his hair, and bounced his head against the floor until he released his grip.
I stumbled out of the cab, stepping onto the pavement. My .38 was on the road, discarded. I looked left, then right, then under the truck.
Donaldson was gone.
A few seconds later, I saw a police car tearing up the highway, lights flashing, coming our way.
11
“Thank you, honey.”
I took the offered wine glass and Latham climbed into bed next to me. The fireplace was roaring, the chardonnay was cold, and when Latham slipped his hand around my waist I sighed. For a moment, at least, everything was right with the world. Candi had been reunited with her children. Taylor was eagerly confessing to a string of murders going back fifteen years, and ten states were fighting to have first crack at prosecuting him. No charges were filed against me for my attack on the pimp, because Fran the waitress had sworn he shoved me first. My various aches and pains were all healing nicely, and I even got all of my things back, including my missing shoe. It was five days into my vacation, and I was feeling positively glorious.
The only loose end was Donaldson. But he’d get his, eventually. It was only a matter of