Page 73 of Cowboy
"It was very personal to me," she says. "And to Saoirse. And to every other woman and child you trafficked."
Dylan laughs bitterly. "What, you think I care? They were merchandise. Just like you."
The other man interrupts. "Enough of this. We need to move. If she's here, Cowboy won't be far behind."
"I'm counting on it," Dylan says, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "In fact, I'm betting he's already here. Aren't you, Ciarán?" He raises his voice, turning in a slow circle. "Watching, waiting for your moment? Come out, come out, wherever you are."
I freeze, wondering if he's seen me. But his eyes pass over the utility room door without pausing. He's bluffing, trying to flush me out.
Caoimhe's eyes flick to the utility room then away quickly. She knows I'm here.
"He's not coming," she says to Dylan, her voice hard. "I made sure of it."
Dylan scoffs. "Please. That lapdog? He'd walk through fire for you. Always has, even when we were kids." He leans in closer to her. "Did you know he was in love with you even then? Pathetic, really."
"You're the pathetic one," Caoimhe retorts, and I can see her shifting slightly, positioning herself between Dylan and Saoirse. "Selling out your own family for money."
"Money and power," Dylan corrects her. "I had everything. And I'll have it again, once I tie up these loose ends."
I need to move now, while he's distracted. But the other man is still by the window, his back to me but positioned to see any movement from the utility room.
As if reading my mind, Caoimhe suddenly stands. "I need the bathroom," she announces. "Saoirse too."
Dylan laughs. "Nice try. Sit down."
"She's five years old," Caoimhe insists. "And terrified. Unless you want her to wet herself on your couch, I suggest you let us use the bathroom."
Dylan seems to consider this, then nods toward a door on the far side of the room—away from me. "Fine. Two minutes. And the door stays open."
Caoimhe takes Saoirse's hand, and they move across the room. As they do, Caoimhe knocks into a small side table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor.
"Sorry," she says quickly, but the distraction is enough. The other man turns toward the sound, and I seize my moment.
I burst through the door, gun raised, immediately taking aim at Dylan. "Drop it," I command, my voice deadly calm.
Dylan spins, his gun swinging toward me, but he's too slow. I fire twice, hitting him in the shoulder and chest. He staggers backward, a look of shock on his face.
The other man reaches for his waistband, but I'm already pivoting, squeezing the trigger again. He drops like a stone.
"Caoimhe, get down!" I shout, turning back to Dylan.
But he's not where I expected. In the chaos, he's lunged for Caoimhe, grabbing her and using her as a shield, his gun pressed to her temple. Saoirse screams, diving under a nearby table.
"Should've shot to kill, Ciarán," Dylan sneers, blood soaking through his shirt. "Now drop the gun, or I paint the walls with her brains."
I hold steady, looking past Dylan to meet Caoimhe's eyes. There's no fear there, only fierce determination. She gives me the slightest nod.
"You won't do it," I say to Dylan. "She's your ticket out of here. Kill her, and you've got nothing."
"You think I won't?" Dylan growls, pressing the gun harder against Caoimhe's head. "I've got nothing to lose now."
"That's where you're wrong," I say, taking a small step forward. "You've still got your life. For now."
Dylan's eyes narrow. "Stay back!"
"You're bleeding out," I continue, taking another step. "But The Agency has doctors. They can patch you up. All you have to do is let her go."
"Fuck The Agency," Dylan spits. "They're the reason I'm in this mess."
