Page 75 of The Murder Between Us
The shot boomed through Noah’s kitchen. Sparks erupted, igniting the midnight gloom enough for Cole to see Katie’s toes dancing, searching for the chair, and to see a black hole open in the center of Venneslund’s forehead where Cole’s bullet slammed into his skull.
He was across the kitchen before Venneslund’s body hit the ground. He holstered his weapon and grabbed Katie’s legs, holding her up as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes were already rolling back. He got slack in the rope, but they had to get her down now, now, now.
But he couldn’t let her go, and the chair was out of reach.
“Noah!” he shouted. “Noah, I need you to get to us!”
He saw it happen but still couldn’t believe it. Noah’s gaze locked on his. A thousand emotions burned through him: gratitude and relief and panic and joy and agony and love and fear, terror, horror. He held Cole’s stare, took a breath, his red-rimmed eyes clenching, squeezing, tears running down his face in waterfalls as he screamed into his gag—
Noah pulled his hand over the knife, dragging his stabbed palm deeper onto the blade, through the blade, over the handle, until he tore his left hand free. Blood ran down his arms, a torrent of it, too much, much too much. He didn’t seem to notice. Noah ripped the two knives out of his right hand and wrist, tore his gag off, and scrambled across the kitchen.
He was screaming, still, his voice raw and broken, screaming Katie’s name, screaming Cole’s name, screaming and cursing and crying as he used one of the knives that had held him to the wall to cut his daughter down. She collapsed into Cole’s arms, who collapsed into Noah’s arms, and both of them pulled Venneslund’s noose from around her throat. She wasn’t breathing. Fuck, she wasn’t breathing, wasn’t making any noise—
Katie’s eyes popped open as she inhaled, gasping, and looked from Noah to Cole and then back to her dad. Her tied hands reached for Noah, grabbing his blood-soaked T-shirt and pulling him to her as she tried to scream, tried to sayDad Dad Dad, but her voice was broken and her throat was black and blue.
But she was breathing, and crying, and she held Noah as Noah held her, and held Cole, and Cole held on to both of them, rocking on Noah’s kitchen floor as his tears joined their own.
Noah’s broken, bloody left hand grabbed him, drew him closer, until the three of them were one, bodies pressed into one mass, tears falling on each other’s faces, screams and sobs inhaled and exhaled together. “I love you,” Noah breathed. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Cole kissed Noah’s tear-soaked face and then kissed Katie’s temple.
“Police! FBI!” Ten pairs of boots thundered into the front hallway, holding at the same point Cole had. Jacob, bless the man—and he’d brought reinforcements.
“In the kitchen!” Cole called. “Officer down! Noah’s wounded, and so is Katie!” He glanced at Venneslund’s body, bleeding all over the kitchen floor. “We’re all clear in here. The killer is down. It wasn’t Garrett.”
21
It seemedas if every law enforcement officer and first responder in Des Moines descended on Noah’s house.
Cop cars, sheriff cars, FBI cars, fire trucks, and ambulances lined both sides of the block. Helicopters roared overhead—some from news channels getting the scoop, but mostly law enforcement agencies. The special agent in charge of the Omaha office, Samuel Bray, had flown in that evening planning to meet with Noah after they’d booked Garrett. He showed up at the crime scene, too, listening quietly from the back as Jacob—now the officer in charge of the biggest investigation in Des Moines’ history—briefed the assembled group.
Katie and Noah were in the back of an ambulance, bundled in blankets, getting an initial assessment and treatment from the paramedics. Both of Noah’s hands were packed and wrapped, and his right arm was in a sling. Katie had an IV going, fluids and sedatives helping to calm her down as she lay on the gurney, her neck wreathed in a cervical collar. Venneslund’s gunshot had gone through the meat of Noah’s thigh, and the paramedics had wrapped his leg in a dressing and bound up the wound, but said it looked like a clean through and through Noah’s outer muscle.
Noah hadn’t let Cole leave his side. He’d grabbed Cole’s hand as they were escorted from the house, fingertips hooked on fingertips, and pulled him close. Noah’s blood was still smeared all over Cole’s palm, had dried in the crevices of his nails and fingerprints as he hovered beside their ambulance.
“We’re clear to transport,” one of the paramedics said to both Noah and the driver. “Let me tell the OIC. We’re taking you downtown to Methodist. The trauma center.”
Noah nodded, gaze flicking to Cole’s. He reached for him again, his bandaged hand like a bear paw. Only the ends of his fingers were visible. Still, he hooked them around Cole’s hand and tried to tug him closer. “Will you come to the hospital?” Noah’s voice was still broken, his vocal cords shredded.
“Of course.” Cole stepped closer, practically inside Noah’s spread knees. He hesitated, then raised his hand to cup Noah’s face and cheek. Salt trails scratched over his palm. Noah gazed up at him. He leaned into Cole’s touch and closed his eyes.
Jacob arrived, radioed over by the paramedic, with Bray on his heels. “What’s up?”
“We’re taking them downtown. They’re being admitted to Methodist trauma.”
“Okay.” Jacob reached for Noah’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hang in there, buddy.”
Opening his eyes, Noah nodded. He was still leaning against Cole, holding on to him with his bandaged hand. “Thanks,” he croaked.
Jacob stepped back. Cole helped Noah to his feet. Noah swayed, almost fell into him, and Cole steadied him with his arms around Noah’s waist. Noah looked him dead in the eyes.
He pressed his forehead to Cole’s. Rubbed his nose against Cole’s, then his cheek. Kissed him in front of Jacob, Bray, and the entire community of Des Moines law enforcement. And probably three different news helicopters circling overhead.
“Noah,” Cole whispered. He nuzzled Noah back and wrapped his hand around Noah’s waist. “You’ve been through hell tonight. You need time to think—”
“No, I don’t. I’ve already thought, and thought, and thought,” Noah croaked. “I needyou. That’s what I need.”
“You have me,” Cole breathed. “You and Katie both. You both have me.”
