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She was slick with blood, and it took her a second to realize it was all his.
Bardem was breathing heavily now, grimacing, clutching his injured arm and leaning against the rail.
She wondered, briefly, how coy he'd been when staring through that scope. How much enjoyment he'd ascertained by watching victims far below.
But now?
Now, he was on the receiving end of the bullet.
His madness had twisted his expression into one of fury.
He was shaking his head from side to side, staring at her.
"You... you killed her. You did nothing... nothing! She died here--you... feathear-headed bitch!"
He screamed at her, rage written across every inch of his face.
She didn't rise to the bait, but just watched him, hand still clutching her weapon, steady.
The water tower creaked from the rising wind.
Somewhere, in the scuffle, she'd lost her hat.
"Turn away, hands in the air!" she commanded.
But now he was sobbing, leaning against the rail. "You... you ruined everything."
"You were going to blow up cops, right? Then shoot the first responders? Is that it?"
He stared at her, fury in his eyes.
But he didn't deny it.
"Get down!" she commanded once more.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay..."
And then he flung himself backward.
"No!"
She yelled, lunging to try and snatch him, but too late. Her fingers grazed through the fabric of his shirt, missing completely.
She watched in horror as he plummeted thirty feet towards the ground.
She looked away a second before the sickening crunch.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The only light emanating from the quiet hum of machinery cast an artificial glow upon Ethan's pallid face. Rachel sat in the corner, her gaze fixed on him, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor punctuating the stillness like a metronome set to the tempo of their precarious reality.
Her eyes traced the outline of his form beneath the thin hospital sheet, noting how still he lay there, a stark contrast to the man of action she knew. Ethan Morgan, with his relentless drive and keen instincts, now reduced to this vulnerable state. He would recover, thank God.
The same couldn't be said for their serial sniper.
She could still hear the sound of his bones breaking, the look in his eyes before he'd flung himself to his death.
She grimaced.
