Page 64 of Operator
Goddammit, they could be dead because I let her talk me out of going with her.
Never again.
Never, ever again.
I’m coming for you, angel.
I find them in the spare room. The only room without cameras. I come into the doorway and see the baby in her car seat, forgotten by the bed. Letting out the breath, I quickly turn my attention to William, who has Gwen held in front of him with a knife from the kitchen at her throat.
I knew it. I knew that bastard had something to do with it. But there’s no time for gloating when Gwen’s ghost white face, streaked with tears, is in front of me. I lurch toward her, then William is backing up, the sharp edge of the knife biting into the delicate skin of Gwen’s throat.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says as I inch rock to a stop. “I’m just here to talk.”
“Let her go,” I tell him over the roaring in my ears. I glance toward Violet, who is purple-red with the efforts of her screams. I’m torn between going for her and going for Gwen. It’s the worst time to be incapacitated with indecision.
William doesn’t look like a killer. In fact, his expression is all wide-eyed panic. A sheen of sweat paints his face, and the hand at Gwen’s throat trembles. He’s in his mid-to-late thirties, with lank brown hair and a soft face. Not exactly the type who looks like they would orchestrate someone’s death. “I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Too late for that,” I say, much too firmly for the position we’re in, then force myself to calm down. Not only do we need answers from him, but goading him won’t get us anywhere. In fact, it’s more likely to get Gwen killed.
“Let’s just talk. I only want to talk.”
I grit my teeth and remind myself if he’s talking, he’ll be too distracted to do anything with that knife. “I’m willing to talk if you let Gwen go. If all you want to do is talk, then there’s no need to hurt her or scare her. Let her go to the baby so we can all sit down and discuss this.” The words are like ash in my mouth, but William’s posture relaxes.
“Let me get the baby, William,” Gwen pleads gently, her voice surprisingly calm. My eyes fly to her face and even though there are tears streaking down her cheeks, her expression is serene. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, but she’s upset, and we’ll be able to talk about whatever you want if she’s calm.”
I want to tell herfuck thatand shoot the idiot in the forehead, but I have to trust her, even if it goes against every instinct I possess. I’ll do anything to keep them alive, even if it means doing nothing.
William sighs in relief, and the knife eases away from Gwen’s throat. It’s a chef’s knife the size of my forearm, and its sharp edge has already cut a thin red line into the white flesh of her neck. “Thank you. I know we can all be reasonable. There’s an explanation for everything.”
“Let her get the baby,” I say, trying for a calmer tone. William nods to Gwen, and she stumbles to the car seat a few feet away. The tension in my stomach eases, but not much, once she has Violet in her arms. The baby conks out nearly immediately and I know she must have been exhausted from crying to fall asleep so quickly. I calculate if I can get to Gwen before William can do anything, but he moves closer to the two of them as though he can read my mind. His eyes are wild and dilated as he watches me. Not wanting him to panic more and do something drastic, I keep my feet planted in place.
As soon as Violet is soothed, I gesture for William to go ahead and hope he doesn’t see how shaky my hands are. He’d better start explaining himself alright. I’m this close to putting a bullet in him anywhere I can reach, answers be damned. But I need to hear them. Gwen needs to hear them. Goddammit, Ian deserves to be laid to rest. He deserves the truth.
The knife glints in William’s hand as he gestures while he speaks. I barely hear him because my brain is screaming for me to shoot while I have the advantage. Gwen catches my eye and I tune back in, but really, I’m waiting for the right moment.
“When I met Ian for his first mandated counseling session,” William begins to say, shakily, “I didn’t know anything about him. I only wanted to help him. To do my job. That’s why I joined the military in the first place. To become a psychiatrist and help people.” The desperation in his voice borders on a whine. I don’t give a fuck about his sob story, but he continues. “We met twice a week for months. He told me everything about his deployment and the firefight that resulted in the death of your friend. He felt so much guilt about it that it ate him up inside.”
I feel my expression harden at the thought of Ian sharing anything with this snake, but I keep my opinions to myself.
William is in a groove, so he doesn’t seem to notice my finger poised on the trigger. “It wasn’t until he started going into detail about what happened that night that things started going wrong. I don’t know how they found out, but they told me if I didn’t take care of him, they’d kill me.”
“Take care of him?” Gwen lets out a sob. “Who? What the hell did he see there?”
“Shut him up. Kill him,” William answers almost tonelessly.
“You son of a bitch.” Even though she’d been the one coaching me on restraint, she picks up a keepsake bottle of Jameson whiskey from the bookcase next to her and launches it across the room. It smacks William square in the nose, breaking it instantly, and I’m surprised when he doesn’t pass out. I can hear the crunch from where I’m standing. Blood sprays on her pants, but she doesn’t even notice.
When he crumples to the floor, she darts farther away with Violet in her hands. “I trusted you,” she screams as she moves to my side. Her voice is cold with anger—true anger, not the sass I normally get, but the kind of rage than can boil a person from the inside out. I’d seen her mad at me, annoyed, frustrated, sure, but I’ve never seen this cold fury from her before. I’ve still got the gun aimed in William’s direction, but Gwen’s done enough. He’s a sobbing mess at our feet. There’s no way he’s lying. A man like this wouldn’t kill someone in cold blood by choice. He’s not the one we’re looking for. The person we want is higher up on the totem pole.
But who?
William bursts into tears as he presses his face into the rug. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Ian trusted you.” The disgust drips from her voice with the barely controlled rage. I’m glad she doesn’t have the gun, because she would have already killed him. I maneuver myself in front of her, so she doesn’t go trying to put her hands on him and end up with a knife back at her throat. The baby mewls, which seems to bring her a bit back to her senses.
He’s still bawling about how it wasn’t his fault. “I wanted to help him. I did. But there are people. Very powerful people who wanted him dead. If I didn’t do what they asked, push him to take his own life, they would have killed me.”
The phrase “push him” catches my attention. The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What do you mean ‘push him?’” I ask.
