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Beth shook her head, almost imperceptibly at first.
“He’d done me a favour, put you out before you even knew I was there. But he’d seen me. I pulled my gun on him and told him to crawl back inside the car. He sat there on the ceiling and I told him to lie back. Then I reached in and broke his neck. It was awkward; he was barely breathing when I returned to the ambulance, but I knew he wouldn’t make it to the hospital alive.”
The cradle must have been moving over the aperture now, but Beth was still processing what she was being told.
“I thought he’d finished you, was surprised to find you’d survived his attack. When I wanted to find out who had contacted Trip Stillman, I was even more surprised when I saw what you’d said on Facebook about the man who tried to kill you. I realised you didn’t even know it was your husband who put you in a coma.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why would I? I’m about to pull the trigger on you. It makes no odds to me.”
“You’re punishing me.” But Beth didn’t have any memory that could disprove his story. It was inconceivable.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Beth. But then Brits love irony, and this is definitely an irony worth...”
When he paused, Beth didn’t even look at the window but turned to Jody, knowing the cradle had briefly obscured his shot. “Move!”
She darted towards her brother. It would probably only take the gunman seconds to realise what had happened and reposition himself. Jody opened his eyes but didn’t budge. “Now!” Beth grabbed him by his tee shirt and tried to heave his bulk up off the couch. He looked at her if she were mad, but she was relieved to feel his frame respond, his weight reducing as he tensed his legs and pushed himself up.
She anticipated the bullets as they ran to the lounge door. Had she mistimed it? Maybe he would allow them to reach it before he pulled the trigger.
They staggered into the passage. Jody was in front of her as she heard the bullet hiss through the doorway and thud into the wall beside them. She locked her arms around his waist and dragged him down, quickly twisting onto her back, flattening herself and looking back through the doorway. She could see the smoked windows of the office block through the fractured glass of the bay but no sign of the cradle. She was looking at a higher floor. They were out of his line of fire.
Another two bullets puffed plaster out of the wall farther along, the pane of glass in the lounge collapsing and shattering onto the carpet. If they stayed down and crawled the length of the landing, they would drop down two steps to the kitchen level. “Keep moving.” She hissed back to Jody. But he didn’t. “Just a few more feet.” She used her heels to push herself back against him.
A fourth bullet embedded itself into the wall inches above their heads.
“Go!” She felt Jody move as she rammed him.
He squirmed away on his front and slid his body down the two stairs to the lower landing. Beth came down backwards and followed him on all fours around the corner of the kitchen wall.
Once they were inside, Beth grabbed a small knife from the magnetic strip on the tiles.
“What are you doing?” Jody was crouching by the fridge.
“He can’t shoot us here.” She had second thoughts and swapped the small blade for the carving knife.
Jody got uncertainly to his feet and snatched the receiver from the unit on the wall. “I’ll call the police.”
Beth was already heading for the stairs.
“Beth, stay here!”
As her bare feet slapped the steps, she told herself she had to intercept him. If she didn’t, Beth knew she’d always be anticipating his bullet. She couldn’t allow him to sow that fear again.
Having failed to kill them, it was unlikely he would linger very long. Could she reach the ground floor before he did? Maybe the rifle was the only weapon he thought he needed. If it was, she had a chance to put the knife in him.
Beth was out of the front door and descending the stone steps to the street. The road was busy with traffic. She looked up at the open window expecting to see him there with the barrel trained on her, but the frame was empty. He wouldn’t be expecting her to come out of the house so soon. Probably thought she was still taking cover inside. He had to be on his way down.
Beth ran into the road, tyres squealing and cars swerving as she weaved between them. She scarcely realised she was only wearing her nightshirt and leapt up onto the opposite kerb in front of the building. The doors were propped open and fine dust floated out. A young woman dragged two children back behind her as they saw the blade in Beth’s hand. Men in facemasks were working inside, the soon-to-be reception area draped with polythene sheeting.
Beth didn’t doubt she could push the knife into him. But it wasn’t just the spectre of him stalking her beyond today that drove her through the open doors. It was what he’d said about Luc, the notion he’d implanted that she knew she’d never be able to refute.
Standing in reception, the carving knife gripped firmly in her fist, Beth counted three workmen obliviously sanding down the newly plastered walls. The elevator doors were propped open and out of action. She could already feel the dust in her throat. Squinting through it, she deliberated whether to take the door to the car park or the one to the stairs.
Beth yanked open the door to the stairs and found an expression of surprise waiting the other side. It was a young man in a business suit with cropped silver hair. She pushed past him and headed up the first flight, turning and looking up the stairwell for movement above. There was no sign of the gunman’s descent, but she flattened herself to the wall and raised the knife in readiness as she hastily climbed.
