Kyle slowly raised his hand and slicked away the sweat that was stinging his eyes.
Half an hour had passed since Kay’s desperate message, and since then Roman MacFarlane had spent the time mumbling under his breath and pacing the carpet in front of the desk where Patricia Redding sat, terror in her eyes.
Beside him, Phillip had fallen silent while he cradled his broken wrist and glared at their captor.
The dog had stopped barking since Roman’s initial outburst, the occasional scratching sound still carrying through to where he sat, accompanied by a whine that made Patricia’s frown deepen every time.
‘He needs water,’ she whispered. ‘Please – he’ll be thirsty.’
‘He’ll be dead if you don’t shut up.’ Roman paused in his pacing and aimed the gun at her. ‘I could put one of these through his skull. That would keep him quiet, don’t you think?’
The woman whimpered, shook her head and lowered her gaze to the paperwork strewn across the desk.
A built-in cupboard stood open, its contents covering the carpet around her feet and fanning the edges of the ornamental rug in front of the fireplace. Books had been ripped from their shelves, and as Kyle watched Roman tearing the room apart, he held his breath.
The man was trance-like in his movements, but the young constable wasn’t prepared to take any chances.
He had no doubt that Roman could use the gun in his hand, and would if either of the two officers made a mistake.
‘Why did you come here?’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Roman spun on his heel. ‘To speak to Mark.’
‘What about?’
The other man’s top lip curled. ‘He has something of mine. I want it back.’
Kyle jerked his chin towards the discarded items littering the room. ‘Hence the search.’
He received a grunt in reply.
‘Perhaps if you tell us what you’re looking for, we could help,’ he suggested, rising to his feet.
The gun swung round to face him. ‘Stay where you are.’
Holding up his hands, Kyle forced himself to relax back into the armchair. ‘No problem. I just thought it might speed things along a bit. Help you on your way.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
Kyle smiled. ‘Unfortunately, you made it our business when you took us hostage.’
Roman suddenly paused in his destruction of Mark Redding’s study, and then strode across to the French windows and peered out into the night.
Please, someone, shoot him, Kyle thought, before realising how difficult it would be to get a clean shot through double-glazed glass without killing Patricia in the process.
A need for self-preservation appeared to flit through Roman’s mind at the same time.
He stepped back from the windows, then reached out and swished the thick curtains closed, hiding the occupants from anyone taking a keen interest in the house from outside, and turned back to Kyle with a triumphant smile.
Trying to hide his disappointment, the constable glanced across at his colleague, who had grown paler.
‘Hang in there, mate,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sure the cavalry isn’t far away.’
‘Stop talking,’ Roman barked. ‘What are you saying to him?’
‘Just that my arse is going numb. How’re you doing?’
The gunman suddenly moved around the desk and hurried across the rug towards them, his eyes determined.
Kyle shrank away instinctively.
‘Give me your vest.’
‘What?’
‘Your vest. Stand up. Take it off. Slowly.’
The gun waved back and forth, and Kyle found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the open maw of the barrel.
This wasn’t what it was like in the movies.
And this sure as hell wasn’t what he’d expected when he clocked in for his shift this morning.
He pushed himself out of the chair and tore away the straps holding the vest in place, eased it over his shoulders and held it out.
‘Here.’
‘And his. Take his off.’
‘Roman… leave him be. He’s in pain. He can’t do you any harm.’
‘Take. It. Off.’
Phillip gritted his teeth while Kyle manoeuvred his arms from the vest and handed it over before slumping back with sweat patches under his arms.
Satisfied, Roman slipped one of the vests over his head and threw the other one on the floor beside the empty hearth, his back turned to the two officers.
Kyle exhaled, taking a moment to search the room for something – anything – he could use to disarm the man.
His gaze passed across the set of brass implements hanging in an arrangement beside the fireplace. Although the poker looked promising, he knew he wouldn’t reach it in time.
Roman would fire the gun before he was halfway across the study, and where would that leave Patricia and Phillip?
His thoughts turned to what must be happening beyond the four walls – surely Kay and his colleagues would have realised what was going on, and given the training they all received, he guessed a tactical response unit was now somewhere in the vicinity.
He hoped.
Roman continued to pace the floor, muttering under his breath, and Kyle realised the man was quickly losing what meagre control he might have had.
His eyes flickered to where Patricia sat, terrified, behind her husband’s desk, and he realised that it wouldn’t matter what plans the tactical team had.
If they didn’t do something soon, Roman might panic.
A scratching sound from beyond the anteroom reached him, and he strained his ears.
There it was again.
Was someone at the front door?
Roman spun on his heel, his attention snapping to the open door of the study.
Kyle cleared his throat, clawing at an idea and hoping his hunch was correct.
‘What are you looking for in here, Roman? Perhaps I could help you look for it?’
‘What?’
He gestured to the open cupboards. ‘You were obviously searching for something when we turned up. Did you find it?’
Roman took a step forward, the gun raised once more. ‘Shut up. You can’t help me. You can’t––’
The scrambling of claws on parquet floor tiles echoed through the anteroom and then a black blur shot into the study, a ferocious snarling emanating from within its depths.
Teeth bared, the dog launched itself at Roman, the bulk of the animal knocking the man off balance while his eyes widened in terror.
‘Fuck,’ he managed.
Kyle curled up in the armchair, trying to make himself as small as possible while the animal sank its teeth into Roman’s thigh, part of his brain latching onto the sound of shouts from the direction of the hallway.
Heavy footsteps thumped towards the study, followed by a barrage of shouted commands, and Patricia screamed as she threw herself to the floor at the sound of a single gunshot.
Then all hell broke loose.