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Saving the evidence to Heather’s open cloud storage, he then chose key shots and sent them to Ross and the Haleswood Sheriff’s Department with a quick case overview and request for backup. Capable or not, he didn’t want Heather anywhere near Lester after hearing what the guard had said about her.
Feeling more than a little guilty, though it hadn’t just been his mistake that put her in jeopardy, he didn’t take the time to do any more than sign out of Heather’s programs when room service knocked on the door.
“Just a second.” She was still in the shower, so he didn’t interrupt her. He peered through the peep-hole, saw the waiter looking down at his cart and opened the door.
Another stupid mistake, he thought, as his eyes landed on the gun aimed at his chest. Maybe they’d all be better off if he took the bullet point blank and let Ross and Heather’s brother take it from here. Except that left Heather to deal with this.
“I was expecting you,” he said to Bingham. Just not quite so soon. “Where’s your buddy?” Dale looked up and down the hall, knowing Bingham wouldn’t be this brave if he hadn’t managed to lockdown the floor. Still the alcove in front of their suite was a clear advantage for his boss.
“How thorough of you to put it together,” Bingham said with an irritable shake of his head. “Where’s the little lady?”
No way Dale would compound this mistake by letting anyone get to Heather. Protecting her was his first priority, as it should have been from the beginning. He was damned tired of putting her in harm’s way.
“She’s resting.” Dale stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him. He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “We had a long night celebrating.”
“Drop the act, Nichols. I know it’s a sham.”
“Drop the gun,” Dale countered.
“Just cooperate.” He gestured toward the door with the gun. “Let’s take this inside.”
Dale patted his pockets. “How stupid. I locked myself out.”
Bingham looked back into the hallway. “You’re wasting time,” he snarled. “Open the door.”
Dale shook his head. “Can’t.”
“Knock, damn you.”
Dale did his best impression of Heather’s disarming, polite smile. “She needs her sleep.”
Bingham swore. “Just come with me. It will be easier for everyone.”
Dale didn’t believe that, knew Bingham didn’t expect him to believe it. “What’s the problem, boss? I’m trying to have a weekend off here.”
Bingham’s jaw clenched and his neck turned red in angry blotches above the pale yellow of his polo shirt. “And I have a tee time in an hour.”
“Don’t want you to miss that.” Dale shuffled his feet.
“Let’s move, Nichols.”
“Sure.” Dale shrugged and took half a step, then he upended the cart into Bingham’s body. His boss managed to hold onto the gun as they tumbled back into the hallway.
Dale flung himself on top of his boss, wrestling for control of the gun while Bingham shouted for help. Dale didn’t much care who might answer Bingham. This ended here and now. He plowed a fist into Bingham’s gut, drove an elbow into his jaw. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Bingham couldn’t answer as he tried to get his stunned diaphragm to cooperate. He shook his head, his eyes pleading, but Dale wasn’t in a forgiving mood. He hauled his boss to his feet, pinned him to the wall and gave him a hard shake.
“You’ve let Lester walk on how many charges?”
“Not here,” Bingham wheezed. “Inside.”
“Hell no.” Dale wouldn’t take this anywhere near Heather.
“Wrong.” Bingham gasped for air. “Mistake.” His eyes slid from side to side, up and down the hallway, but no one was coming to assist Bingham.
Dale put every bit of pent up frustration over Lester’s continued operations and the risk they posed to Heather as well as the general community into his scrap with his boss. Bingham was older, but no slouch.
And desperate, Dale realized as the man went limp long enough to slide from Dale’s grasp and grab the closest weapon—a piece of a broken plate.
