Page 51 of The Handler
I snatch the kettle and bash him in the head with it as hard as I can. Boiling water cascades over his face. He screams and lifts the gun. The hole on the barrel is huge, blocking out the entire kitchen.
I brace for the blast that will rip out my heart.
Enzo’s arm juts up. The boom of the gun firing deafens me.
Tyler has Enzo in a chokehold with one arm, the other gripping Enzo’s elbow. The bullet meant for me is embedded in the ceiling. A huge hole that would have killed me. I back up, getting out of Tyler’s way. Please don’t let him get hurt.
Tyler smacks Enzo’s wrist on the counter. Enzo screams, and the gun clangs to the floor. But he’s still fighting, wrenching his body against Tyler’s hold. If Enzo gets free…
Please don’t let anything happen to Tyler, I pray.
With a leg sweep, Enzo drops. The psycho has shifted from screaming in pain to a stream of incoherent obscenities. Tyler wrenches Enzo’s arm up behind. “Shut the hell up, you piece of shit.”
“I’ll kill you and that—”
Tyler grabs Enzo’s hair and smacks his face into the tile floor. “I’m too well trained to kill you without cause. But I will fuck you up if you say one more word.” Tyler pulls his weapon from behind his back and points it at Enzo’s head. “Call the police.”
Tyler’s command gets me moving. I dart into the office and nearly lock the door. But if Enzo moves a hair, he’ll be the one taking a bullet.
I explain the situation to the emergency operator who answers my cell call. Adrenaline hits my system hard, and I lean against the doorframe. Shakes engulf me. This is insane.
I nearly died.
I should have died.
How did Tyler get to the kitchen without me seeing him? All I could see was Enzo’s gun. All I could hear was his hateful voice. All I want is for Tyler to hold me until I stop quaking, but he has his hands full. I slide down to a crouch and keep responding to the operator who tells me the police are nearly here. At least Enzo is quiet. Both of us know Tyler wasn’t kidding when he told Enzo to shut up.
“Drop the weapon,” an unfamiliar deep voice barks the command. A police officer appears, barrel first, in my kitchen door. He’s pointing his gun at Tyler.
What the hell? I stand.
“Ma’am, stay where you are.”
Freezing, I raise my hands to my chest palms out. The emergency operator’s voice echos from my cell phone.
Stone and Alex are at the far end with a second officer.
“Tyler Davis. FBI. Going to set this down right here.” Tyler places his gun on the countertop and lifts his hands. His knee is still firmly planted on Enzo’s back.
“Arrest this man. He assaulted me. Broke my wrist. And that bitch attacked me,” Enzo wheezes from the floor, but nobody pays him any attention. The police have been looking for him. He can’t play the victim.
“We’ll take it from here.” The officer is much calmer now that he’s the only one with a weapon in hand. He picks up Enzo’s gun and places it next to Tyler’s.
Tyler rises off Enzo, using the dirtbag as a push point. The officer handcuffs Enzo and turns him over. Ouch.
“Call an ambulance,” the cop instructs his partner.
Enzo’s face is blistered. One eye is closed, the eyelid too puffy to open. A part of me is sick that I did that, and the other part is kind of proud that I tried to defend myself.
The cops march Enzo out of my house telling him he’s under arrest for the murder of Betty Keppel and another man’s name I don’t recognize. “And the attempted murder of Blake Foster.”
My name could have been on that list. The room spins. Before I hit the floor, Tyler wraps his body around me, holding me together. He guides me into the living room.
We take turns giving statements. The barrel of the gun and Tyler wrestling with Enzo flashes like scenes of a movie behind my eyes. Tyler calls Gabe to tell him what happened. Stone—his face a stern mask—paces through the downstairs, checking each door and window to ensure everything is locked. One thing doesn’t make sense.
“How did Enzo get in without breaking down the door?” I ask Tyler once he’s done talking to Gabe.
Tyler looks pointedly at Alex.
