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What about me?" She beat him on the head, arms, any body part within reach—still holding his head hostage with a tight fist on the clear tube, not caring that this angle made it harder to breathe, or air wasn't getting through her clenched hand, as she continued to ask about herself.
Blue dove for cover, dropping to the floor and crawling around the back of the couch. Cruz wheeled to the side, trying to loosen himself, flinching and gasping—trying to avoid Miss Watson. He lost his gun in the process, with it bouncing off the floor, accidentally discharging.
Nash wasn’t sure it was a miracle or extremely bad luck—he supposed it depended on who you asked—that Adams walked in at exactly that moment. Her head was down and she was concentrating on what sounded like news coverage on a tablet and didn’t notice the commotion inside the room right away. The bullet whizzed through the air, smacking the wall inches from her face. Shock flickered as she ducked to the side, avoiding the pieces of the doorjamb flying through the air.
"Stop!" Nash ordered, grappling for his gun. Butters took the interruption as a sign to dive for Cruz, pinning him to the couch and restraining him. Nash threw him a pair of cuffs. Then he was dashing toward the door Adams had ducked back out of.
"Call for backup!" Nash shouted to Blue, who was popping up from her position behind the couch. He tossed over his cell phone. "I'm going after her."
She ignored his request running toward him, so they both hit the door at the same time. Turning sideways to fit through the opening, they pressed their backs against each other as they shuffled crabwise into the hall. In one of her hand’s she clutched the phone while the other held the gun Cruz dropped. "No. We'll go together. I'll relay information as you need me to," she said.
Arguing and trying to get Blue to remain behind was something he didn't have time for. Nash shoved her behind him as they raced after Adams.
"Tell backup to cover the elevator," he called back as they burst through the door to the stairway. He took two seconds to listen for the echo of feet, to assess if he guessed right and his suspect had chosen this escape option instead of waiting for the elevator.
But having officers stationed at the door and in the lobby was not a bad thing. They could easily grab her themselves if she popped out before Nash reached her.
"We're headed down the stairs. Adams is on the run, about a floor ahead of us. Consider her armed and dangerous," Blue said, taking the time for one small smile.
He rolled his eyes at her attempt to sound official. Nash took the phone from her once she hung up. He tucked it into a pocket before he ordered, "Do not shoot that thing. I don't want you to kill her, and the paperwork alone would be a nuisance, even if it's an emergency." At a whisper, his voice still carried, giving away their position—that they were chasing after her.
Bullets sprayed the stairwell in their general direction, sending them ducking back away from the railing and crouching closer to the floor to avoid being hit.
"I think this should count," Blue snapped, arms wrapped around her ducked head.
Nash never answered, leaning over the rail to return fire, his own bullets ricocheted off cement and metal. The pings, the explosion from the barrels of both guns, resonated through the stairwell—a deafening crescendo.
A faint cry almost escaped Nash's notice, the sound barely detectable through the barrage of other noises. He waited, breath held and arm stretched out to hold Blue back—waiting as silence descended—waiting for another onslaught of rounds to come their way.
Nothing. No shooting. No sounds of running. Nash started creeping down, cautious that it was a trap, that Adams was waiting for them just around the corner. He spotted the blood first. The bright drips of red steadily grew in volume and size until it looked like someone with a giant paint brush had dragged the bristles behind them.
Adams made one last effort to get away, struggling to stand, groaning and cursing. She pulled at the hook-like door handle, arms straining and face twisted with pain. Blood flowed, staining her jeans from the embedded bullet in her leg. Nash reached for her—to stop her—to catch her before she darted through the door. Not that she could escape very far down the long hallway, not after sustaining that kind of injury.
She tried to swing away from his grasping hands, using her own to bat away his. Nash watched as she twisted, stumbling, and there was nothing he was able to do to catch her. She wouldn't stop fighting him long enough. Her leg crumpled beneath her, causing her to roll head over heels to the next landing, blood splashing the walls and cement stairs as she tumbled.
Cam burst through the door at the bottom of the landing—no doubt hearing all the commotion they were making; gun gripped in both hands. "Trying to take my credit, sir?" he joked, kicking the gun which lay by her side, out of reach.
"Nope, have at it," Nash answered, coming to crouch beside the woman. "People injured. People are dead and for no reason. Are you happy now?"
Not only was she bleeding from the leg but also now from her ears and mouth. She let it run as she smiled up at Nash, grisly looking with blood smearing around her wide grin and gleaming teeth, insanity shining bright and horrible within her eyes. "No, because I didn't kill either of you. I tried to blow you up, but you didn't die. I should have done you both in person. Marco could die in peace knowing I eliminated you."
"I doubt Bray made a conscious choice to become involved with your operation," Nash surmised. "But what about Herrick? Did he know what was going on? That he would die for your imagined slight?"
"I didn't tell anyone my plans. Both men did what I needed, and then I removed them from the equation. I didn't need them after that," she tried to shrug as if their lives meant nothing to her.
I suppose they didn't, Nash thought. Clearly, this woman is a psycho. "So you beat the shit out of Bray while Herrick messed with the video. When he figured it out, when he came back to the room finding it a bloodbath and the body was nowhere to be seen—he confronted you? Confessed to it being you, you killed him—so he had to be eliminated," Nash surmised. "Where's the diamond?"
"Safe and hidden. A gift for my father. As well as your death, both perfect presents for all the damage you both caused over the years," she said to Nash. "Why are you here? I heard you were somewhere else—was told you would be somewhere else."
"Herrick was the one who knew you...." Nash talked more about the case, but paused and thought about Adams’ question. What location did she presume him to be at? His mind raced. The light bulb flicked on inside his head as he figured it out. "Oh, shit. Oh, God. McCann and Burgess. They are at the press conference."
Nash saw an answering horror dawning on Cam's face. "Go. Go. I'll stay here with her until paramedics arrive and officers can escort them to the hospital," Cam shooed them away.
Nash didn't give the injured woman at his feet a second thought, ignored all the different things she tried to yell after him as he charged past Cam.
Blue, hot on his heels, demanded, "What's going on? Where are you going?"
"The press releases." Nash grabbed her hand, pulling her faster down the steps. "They are talking to the reporters, giving them Adams' name as the suspect. Sharing information we collected so far. We hoped to catch her through the media, and then she showed up at the hotel. Let's hope the device is on a long timer. I hope officers have taken control of Cruz and that Butters is waiting for us by the town car?"
"Timer, for what?" Blue demanded.
"Explosives. Cara used one to try to take me out at Herrick's." He tore his phone out of his pocket as they ran through the lobby.
The big guy was waiting just outside the doors and used his considerable size to barrel through people. Like any other commotion that involved violence or the police, a crowd had formed in and around the building. Nash pushed against Butters' back, using him to make a path for them to reach the car, diving into the vehicle.
"Damn it. She doesn't have her phone on," Nash yelled, the call to Burgess not going through. He didn't have McCann's number. Never even thought of asking for it when Cam asked. He frantically dialed another number. "Dispatch call all agents! Any agents near the press release, evacuate the area and move those people out of there. There's a bomb! Get the Bomb Squad now!"