The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [140]
THE DOORBELL RANG, followed by immediate pounding.
“Ms. Williams, open up. Detective Teitel, Massachusetts State Police. I’ve been sent to stand guard.”
“Stand back,” Quincy told Tess.
He didn’t have to convince her. She clung to the wall, her .22 held before her in a shaky hand.
Quincy approached the door, keeping to the side. “I want to see your badge,” he called out.
“Okay.”
Quincy stepped up to the peephole.
The shotgun blew the door apart and hurled him across the room.
Screaming filled the room. It took Tess a moment to realize it was her own.
J.T. ROUNDED THE corner. Black-clad men swarmed the rooftop, screaming at the top of their lungs. Sirens split the air behind him. An ambulance roared toward him and he barely jumped out of the way.
He twisted his ankle and went down hard.
More gunfire split the neighborhood. A shotgun blast.
He staggered up and continued running.
Kill Jim Beckett. Kill Jim Beckett.
“HAY BALES, HAY bales!” Tess cried. She pointed her gun and tried to remember her stance.
Jim pointed his shotgun at Quincy, slumped on the floor.
“I’m going to kill you, Theresa,” he said calmly. “The question is, how many police officers will you take out with you?”
Tears streaming down her cheeks. Don’t hesitate. Don’t hesitate.
Quincy moaned. There was blood on his face, pieces of wood embedded in his skin. But she knew he was wearing a bulletproof vest, which would have spared him the worst.
Jim pumped the chamber.
J.T.’s form filled the doorway. Tess couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering there. Jim turned and calmly pulled the trigger.
“No!”
The shotgun blast burst her eardrums. J.T. fell back onto the sidewalk. Down he went, arms splayed like a cartoon character’s. Because the violence never ended. For her it just went on and on and on.
She pointed her gun, squeezing the trigger. Jim grabbed the .22 from her hand and pistol-whipped her hard. She fell to her knees, clutching her cheek.
“We do it my way.” Grabbing her arm, Jim dragged her upstairs.
Fresh blood stained his shoulder red. Had she hit him? She couldn’t think anymore. Her cheek was on fire from the blow, and ringing filled her ears. The madman was winning. Jim had gotten control.
No! Goddammit, no!
She kicked out at the back of Jim’s legs, aiming for his kneecap. He twisted away. She knitted her fingers of her free hand into a shovel and went after his kidneys. He slapped her across the face. She bit his shoulder, then tore into his ear.
“Fuck!” He flung her from him so hard, she hit the wall and fell to the floor. Even then she staggered up and aimed a kick toward his groin.
Fight, fight, fight. She fought.
And Jim Beckett rose in front of her as an enraged beast. He threw aside the shotgun. He grabbed her shoulder and yanked her toward him. She hit his clavicle with the heel of her hand. He grunted with pain.
Then he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed.
She fell to her knees. She struck out futilely. She thought she heard groaning downstairs and she struggled to buy time. She didn’t want to die. White lights appeared in front of her gaze, but she refused to give in.
She’d fought too hard, come too far to fall to Jim now. She would win, goddammit. She would win.
Jim smiled cruelly. His hands tightened their grip.
J.T.’S CHEST WAS on fire. When he drew in a deep breath, his insides burned beneath his Kevlar vest. He was pretty sure he was dying. The stars looked too bright above him and the pavement was too cold beneath him.
He kept thinking he was supposed to ask for Merry Berry, then memory hit him hard.
He struggled upright. He heard the smack of flesh hitting flesh. He hated that sound. Tess . . .
Furious, he staggered to the shattered doorway, his left hand barely holding his ribs together. He grabbed the doorway for support, and wooden slivers drove into his palm.
He used the pain to anchor him.
The colonel had raised a son who could walk two miles on a broken ankle.