Page 76 of Killers of a Certain Age

He didn’t know what had happened at first, but I brought the blade out, holding it in front of my face, the metal wet with his blood. The sight of it threw him off and he loosened his grip. Before he could regroup, I twisted my hips and flipped him onto his back. Our legs were still locked and I used mine to hold him in place, my hip flexors screaming as I rose, looping one arm under his chin, just like Mad Dog had taught me. I put my other hand on top of his head, and as I looked down into his eyes, I realized he knew exactly what was coming.

He opened his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. And then I jerked hard, snapping his neck with a quick flick of thewrist. His body settled against mine, before he slid slowly down, like a rock coming to rest on the bottom of the sea. I laid him on the grass, rolling onto my knees. I was bleeding and out of breath, the stitches on my shoulder popped open and part of my earlobe entirely gone. Mary Alice and Natalie, bruised and bloody, were standing on the edge of the garden. Mary Alice was holding an axe and what was left of two guards was stacked up like cordwood between them.

I lifted a hand to wave, too tired to call out. Just then I felt a cold muzzle against my neck.

“Get up, slowly,” Martin said. The gun shook in his hand and I didn’t like it.

A nervous hand is a hand that will accidentally pull the trigger. Mary Alice hefted the axe, but Martin jerked his gun around to her. “Don’t move. And don’t come any closer. I just want to get out of here.”

“You tried to get us killed,” Natalie pointed out. “I don’t think we’re going to let that happen.”

“Jesus, Nat, you couldlie,” I muttered. He jammed the gun into my neck and Nat and Mary Alice stayed where they were.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Mary Alice said patiently, “we have friends here. You won’t get out alive.”

“I will if I have her,” he said, pushing the gun further. I wondered if he’d managed to pick up Vance’s spare. I doubted Vance would have let him keep his own piece.

“Martin,” I said, “let’s just be reasonable. I’m happy to come along for a little ride, okay?”

His laugh was shaky, edged with hysteria. “And have youkill me when we’re alone? You might be old, but I don’t like those odds.”

“Then I think we’re at an impasse,” I pointed out.

He held me tightly, so tightly I could feel the hammer of his heartbeat. “Stop talking. I just have to think.”

“Well, do you think maybe you could ease up on your grip?” I asked. “That gun in my neck is uncomfortable.”

“Shut up, shutup,” he said. He dragged me to the edge of the garden where the rosebushes had grown up in a thicket like Sleeping Beauty’s. There was a little gap and I realized what he meant to do when we got there. Both of us would never fit. He was going to shoot me and drop my body, using it as a shield as he made his escape alone.

He paused, raising the barrel of the gun to the back of my head. I felt the exhalation of his breath against my hair as he prepared to fire. A flash, a bang, and blood, hot and metallic, on my neck. It was over. I turned to see him slide to the ground, a hole in his forehead the size of my fist. I put a hand to my neck and brought it back wet. His blood, not mine.

And behind him stood Helen, holding Constance Halliday’s beloved Colt revolver and smiling.

It really was just like old times.

CHAPTER FORTY

A figure moved out of the shadows and Helen swung her gun to cover it.

“Hey, now, you wouldn’t really shoot a pregnant woman, would you?”

Naomi Ndiaye moved to stand over Martin’s body. She was wearing a Burberry trench coat slung over her shoulders. Her fitted T-shirt hugged a generous bump.

“Should you really have flown in your condition?” Natalie asked.

Naomi shrugged. “It’s not usually a problem until you’re past the second trimester. I know I look huge, but that’s a third baby for you.” She lifted her hands where we could see them. “I’m going to reach into the pocket of my coat, and you aren’t going to shoot me, Helen,” she said, giving Helen a long stare.

Helen nodded and Naomi’s hand slipped into her pocket.She came out with a bottle of something green. She twisted off the cap and for an instant I thought of gasoline or napalm or any one of a hundred nasty things she could have brought with her. But then she drank from it, a deep gulp, and gave a huge belch.

“Damn, that feels better. Ginger ale,” she explained, showing the label. “For the nausea.”

“Still?” Mary Alice asked.

Naomi made a face. “Hyperemesis gravidarum.”

Natalie nodded. “Princess Kate gets that, poor thing.”

“I get sick as a dog with each one of these babies. I’m usually done with it after the first trimester, but traveling can bring it back on,” Naomi added with a significant look at each of us.

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