Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [132]
“Now I’ve got you both and I’m going to kill you, as you killed my mother. It’s justice. It’s retribution.” He smiled as he raised his gun, aiming right at Thomas.
“No!” Becca yelled. “I won’t let you!” She hurled herself in front of her father.
Mikhail Krimakov gave a scream of rage when Thomas shoved Becca to the floor. But he didn’t have time to cover her with his own body. Mikhail shot him in the chest, knocking him backward.
Mikhail dropped to the floor, grabbed Becca’s ankle, and jerked her hard toward him. He slammed his arm around her neck, and pressed the gun against her ear even as the balcony glass door shattered inward and Adam leapt through the billowing draperies and the broken glass into the bedroom. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Mikhail smiled at him. “You try to kill me and the little bitch is dead. You got that?”
THIRTY
Mikhail said, the gun pointed in Becca’s left ear, “Her father shot my mother in the head. He’s paid for it. You move and I’ll blow her head off. You won’t even recognize what’s left.”
Adam couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to accept what he was seeing. “I should never have let you stay here. I should have drugged you, Becca, and hidden you away.”
But Becca didn’t hear him. Mikhail’s arm had tightened until she couldn’t breathe, until everything turned black and she heard voices in the distance, but they didn’t reach her, not really.
Mikhail eased up on Becca’s neck as he waved his gun at Adam. “Drop that gun and do it slowly and very carefully.”
Adam let the gun fall to the floor. It came to a stop, he saw, about thirteen inches beyond his left foot.
“I dropped the gun. You’ve killed Thomas. No one else is near. Let her go, you’ve already choked her unconscious.”
Thomas felt as if his chest was frozen, a good thing, he knew, because soon enough he would be in such pain he probably wouldn’t be able to think, much less move. Krimakov’s son was pressing a gun against Becca’s throat. Adam stood not four feet away, helpless, frozen in place, shattered glass all around him. Thomas knew he was trying desperately to figure out what to do. Becca’s eyes were closed, Mikhail’s hold against her throat was too strong, far too strong. She’d passed out. He had to do something, anything. He couldn’t let her die, not like this, not after she’d hurled herself in front of him, to save him, to take the bullet herself. He felt the pain pulsing deep in his chest, but with it, he felt such an intense surge of love for her that gave him a burst of strength. He managed to ease his hand down to his pants pocket, to the small derringer. A bit more strength, that’s all he needed, strength.
Mikhail saw the slight movement from the corner of his eye. “You’re supposed to be dead! Don’t move!” His hold against her throat lightened and almost immediately he saw that Becca was coming out of it. He clouted her hard on the side of the head, and shoved her away from him. He leaped to his feet, pulled a Zippo lighter from his pocket and set it to the bedding. In an instant, the blanket and sheets burst into flame.
Thomas fired the derringer. Mikhail yelled and grabbed his arm as the bullet punched him backward. He hit the wall but didn’t fall. Adam dove for his gun. Thomas fired again, but Mikhail had twisted low and the bullet grazed the side of his head.
Thomas fell back, the derringer falling from his hand. Adam twisted about, his gun raised, but Mikhail was out of the bedroom, and when Adam fired, the bullet hit the door frame. Mikhail slammed the door behind him and the flames gushed higher with the sudden rush of air, igniting the pillows, the thick brocade drapes that were ripped from Adam’s run into the bedroom.
Adam shouted, “Becca, are you all right?” He leaned over and slapped her face. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. The drapes are on fire now.” He scrambled on his knees to where Thomas lay on his