Page 130 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Get out,” she screamed. Another shot. This time, the desk near my head cracked, and pieces of the particleboard exploded.

I wrenched a drawer open and snagged the first item I saw—Tallus’s red rubber stress ball—and I whipped it toward her, buying myself another fraction of a second. It thudded against the wall on the other side of the room. I grabbed a stapler next and launched it.

Faye screamed and shot again.

That was three.

Keep going, you bitch. Empty it.

In our first meeting, Faye had shown me pictures of the guns Noah had collected. I’d admired the revolver specifically because it was an antique. A gorgeous piece unlike any I’d seen before. A collector’s item. It was a single-action, five-round cylinder. Of all the choices Faye had had, it was the least practical if her intent was to kill. The revolver required cocking between each shot, so unless she was a professional marksman—which she wasn’t—it would slow her down.

I fished inside the drawer for more ammo, but there was nothing else worth throwing. Without thinking, my back plantedagainst the desk, I heaved the desk chair off the ground and launched it over my head.

The second it left my hands, I rounded the desk, clocked Faye as she avoided the latest missile, and was about to launch myself at her when she spun and fired at random. The shot went wide, landing with a deadening thunk in the office door several feet away.

Despite what I knew about the gun, instinct made me dive back behind the desk for cover. Once hidden, I cursed the missed opportunity. I’d had a window. She couldn’t have fired twice in quick succession. I could have taken her down.

Four shots.

One left.

But I was fucked.

I had nothing to throw, and my hiding place was a joke. If I thought for one second some friendly neighbor might hear the shots and call the cops, I was dreaming. This building was a carcass on a good day. There were more vacant offices than full ones, and at this time of night, the likelihood was they’d all closed shop for the day.

I was the only idiot illegally living where he worked.

Listening to Faye’s labored breathing, I calculated my next move. I could run and take my chances that she would shoot erratically again. I could…

“Stand up,” she demanded.

I didn’t. The woman really did have a low opinion of men. Well, we weren’t all stupid.

Three full minutes passed. No sound outside our ragged breathing. What was she doing? Did she realize the predicament she was in? If I lived, she was fucked. If I died, she had yet another unexplainable crime scene to cover.

Was she calculating a new strategy?

I strained to hear.

Prepared to take my chance and run, the unthinkable happened.

A knock sounded at the door. Tallus called out, “I know you’re home, Guns. I saw the Jeep in the parking lot. You’re not ignoring me. I’m coming in.”

And he did because the fucking door was unlocked since I had a fucking client with me. I wanted to scream.

There was no pause or hesitation.

As the doorknob turned and Tallus pushed his way inside, I stood with a roar, hoping to distract or disorient Faye so she wouldn’t take her last shot at an unsuspecting Tallus the second he showed his face.

I threw myself over the desk toward her as the final shot echoed in my ears.

29

Tallus

With a fist, I pounded on Diem’s office door, the irritation at being ignored festering under my skin. If he wanted to ignore Doyle, fine, but I refused to be dismissed so easily.

“I know you’re home, Guns. I saw the Jeep in the parking lot. You’re not ignoring me. I’m coming in.”

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