The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [89]
His chair screeched as he lunged for the floor. The leg shackles clattered and his body flew so quickly, all Gwen saw was the streak of his orange jumpsuit. Her own impulse was to dive for the pencil, as well, sending her chair tumbling behind her. But she was too late. He had beaten her to it. She scrambled on hands and knees, trying to get to her feet. But just as she heard running footsteps and locks sliding open, she felt her head jerked backward.
He was sprawled on the floor but had managed to grab a handful of her hair before she could pull away. He yanked her hard, throwing her off balance. He yanked her again, and she slammed against his chest. All she could see were three sets of shoes come sliding to a halt. That’s when she felt the pencil at her throat, the sharp point pressed against her carotid artery, threatening to penetrate through flesh and veins. And, despite the fear that shot through her, the first thing that came to mind was how stupid she had been to have sharpened the pencil just that morning.
CHAPTER 46
Tully kept his Glock aimed at the kid’s head. At this angle, it would be a clean shot. He could do it, but would the bastard’s jerking muscles still plunge the pencil into Dr. Patterson’s neck. Shit! Why hadn’t he thought of that damn pencil?
“Eric, come on now.” Morrelli was trying to talk sense to the kid. From the crazed look in Pratt’s eyes, Tully knew there would be no talking him out of anything. But Morrelli continued. “You don’t want to do this, Eric. You’re in enough trouble. We can help you, but not—”
“Stop it! Shut the fuck up!” the boy yelled, and yanked Dr. Patterson’s head back, exposing her neck even more.
His cuffed hands only allowed him to hang on to a clump of her hair with one hand, keeping her close to him while his other hand held the pencil, its razor point pressing into her skin. So far Tully could see no blood. But one good shove, and he knew it would be a major gusher. Jesus!
Tully tried to figure out the doctor’s position without taking his sight off Pratt. One of her legs was twisted under her body. One hand had instinctively shot up to grab at her assailant’s arm, and she kept her fingers tightly grasping the sleeve of the orange jumpsuit. Pratt either didn’t notice or didn’t care. That was good. She had some sense of control, though she was holding on to the arm that held her hair and not the pencil. He glanced at her face. She seemed calm and steady. But then her eyes caught his, and he could see the fear. Fear was good. Panic was not.
“What do you want us to do, Eric?” Morrelli tried again.
It was obvious he was bugging the hell out of the kid, but at least he was keeping him distracted. Tully was impressed with Morrelli’s demeanor, hands quietly at his side, despite two men with guns drawn on either side of him. He talked to the kid as if he had a jumper on a ledge.
“Just talk to us, Eric. Tell us what you need.”
“Eric,” Dr. Patterson said quietly, “you know you don’t want to hurt me.” She said it slowly—making a noticeable effort to say the words without moving or swallowing—but she managed it without a trace of fear.
Tully couldn’t help wondering if she had been through this before.
“No, I don’t want to hurt you,” Pratt answered. But before any of them could relax, he added, “I need to kill you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tully saw Morrelli shift just slightly, and he hoped to God the prosecutor wasn’t thinking of doing something stupid. He glanced at Dr. Patterson again, this time trying to draw her eyes to his. When she did, he gave her a slight nod, hoping she would understand. She watched him, keeping her eyes on his face, then finally moving her gaze down the length of his arm and to his trigger finger.
“Eric.” Morrelli had decided to try one more time. “So far there’s no murder charge against you. Only weapons charges. You don’t want to do this. Dr. Patterson only wants to help you. She isn’t here to hurt you.”
Tully focused his aim and kept it steady. His finger wanted to squeeze now. He waited, checked Dr. Patterson’s grip on the