“Of course it’s me. Don’t shoot.”
My heart skipped a beat as I stuffed the pistol into the back of my jeans and scrambled on top of the display table. Trey waited, ice crystals in his hair, his coat billowing in the sleeting wind. He was holding onto the windowsill with bare white fingers, his teeth chattering as I cranked open the glass.
I stood on tiptoe. “How in the hell did you get here?”
“I’m standing on the dumpster. I told you this window was easily—”
“Not the window, here, at the shop!”
“Oh. That. I never left.”
I slipped my hands through the opening and held his cold face between them. “Jesus, Trey, where have you been?”
“I parked on the other side of the square so you wouldn’t see me. Or hear. But I could see and hear you. Until the electricity went out, and the towers went down—”
“The towers aren’t down. It’s a jammer. In Rose’s truck.”
His eyes flared. “I knew it! I told you—”
“You did. You told me a lot of things. And I’ll be very happy to keep listening if you can get us out of here.”
“I will.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Earlier. And broke your computer. And—”
I pressed fingers over his cold mouth. “Not now.”
“And I wanted to come back in, especially after the things you said, but I couldn’t. And then I saw Richard, and then I could, but before I could, I heard the rifle shot, saw you both move inside. And then I saw Rose come from behind a bulldozer, but I couldn’t get a clear shot, because I couldn’t get a clear background, not with you somewhere in the shop, and…I am so sorry.”
“Me too. But that’s for later.” I wiped his ice-crusted hair from his forehead. “Right now I need you to get us out of here.”
“That’s my main goal.” He looked beyond me to the security monitor. “Why is she doing this? What does she want?”
“She wants Braxton’s bones, and she’s willing to kill me and Richard to get them.”
“But you don’t have—”
“Actually, I do.”
“You what?”
“I’ll explain later. Can we make a run for it?”
He shook his head. “From where she’s standing, she can cover both the front and back doors.”
“We can’t stay here much longer.” I jerked my head toward Richard. “He’s been hit.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.”
Trey peered beyond me to where Richard slumped in the corner. The rain slanted in mercilessly, and the wind howled behind him. Trey’s eyes didn’t reveal an ounce of mercy either.
I shook my head. “We can’t leave him here. He’s in this mess because he tried to protect me. She’ll kill him out of pure spite, and he doesn’t deserve that.”
Trey blinked, and I saw his priorities rearranging themselves. Richard, no longer a bad guy, was now reclassified as hostage in need of rescue. A different flowchart, different protocol. I was dying to pepper him with questions, but knew I had to let him think. He had experience with barricaded shooter scenarios. I had zip.
He did a quick calculation. “How are you for ammo?”
“I’ve got every bit of it in here. Plus every long gun in the shop, still in the gun safe.”
“What can Rose access?”
“Nothing except the reenactment supplies. Clothes, campware…oh shit.”
“What?
I looked down at the video screen. Sure enough, Rose had found the kerosene. She looked demonic in the flashing emergency light—her white hair wild, her face dirty, shotgun held in one hand while she dragged the plastic jugs out with the other. She had no way out, and she knew it. The airport was shut down, every interstate a parking lot of spun-out wrecks; even her massive four-wheel drive truck wouldn’t get her out of the city. But it would get her back to her property. And she could burn the shop down before she left, pick us all off like rabbits when we tried to run. And then the fire would turn everything to ash, and the papers would call it an unfortunate accident. A candle falling over, a dropped cigarette. Of course this was how Tai Randolph would go, they’d say, that girl never could manage anything.
I gritted my teeth. “I am not letting that bitch burn down my life. I swear to God, Trey, I—”
“I know. Let me think.”
Trey readjusted his position. He was soaking wet, shivering harder. He didn’t have long before hypothermia set in.
“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t open that door unless she sets a fire and you have no other option. If I can find the jammer and disarm it, I’ll do that first, so keep your phone on. Call 911 as soon as you can.”
“Wait, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to neutralize the threat.”
“What does that mean?”
His voice was soft and terrifying. “You know what that means.”
I grabbed his hands. “No, no, no! You can’t do that. You’re not a cop anymore, they’ll send you to prison this time. You have to—”
“I have to do what’s necessary.”
I grabbed his collar and held tight. “You find the jammer, call 911, and then run, you hear me?”
“The police won’t be able to get here in time.”
“Damn it, Trey, don’t—”
He pulled free of my fingers, to the edge of the dumpster where I could not reach him. He had that look of trying to make words happen, trying hard. But then he gave up trying, and I watched as his expression shifted, becoming stiller, flatter, reserved and relentless. I watched him become an assassin, right in front of me, as cold and merciless as the night.
I felt tears spring to my eyes. “No. Please no.”
But a swirl of snow wrapped him like a shroud, and when it cleared, he was gone.