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23
“DON’T DO THIS,” I SAID. “NO MATTER WHAT TRUST MAY HAVE BEEN BROKEN. No matter what was done to you, Fowler, this is not the way to deal with it.”
His eyes flashed. “That’s not for you to decide. Now, get out before I start thinking it’s a good idea to finish you off too. Go back to that family you love, Cross. And pity mine.”
I could see by the flat quality of his expression and eyes that I did not have much room to negotiate. Standing slowly, I said, “I appreciate your side of things, Henry.”
“And I appreciate you listening, Mr. Foreman,” Fowler said.
“Can I take one of them with me?” I asked, motioning toward his hostages. “A gesture of goodwill?”
“Leave.”
“Show me you’re willing to compromise,” I said, backing out of the room. “Otherwise you limit my options, Henry. You force my hand, make me inclined to take harsher measures.”
“I don’t care, Cross,” he said. “Threats work only on men who are scared for their lives, and I lost mine a long, long time ago.”
“Henry—”
He pointed the pistol at me. “Leave or you die right now.”
“I can’t believe you want to kill them,” I said.
“You don’t, huh?” he said, and marched up to Dr. Nicholson, who cowered as if he expected to be kicked again.
Fowler glared at me with an I-told-you-so expression, extended his arm, looked back at his ex-wife’s husband, aimed the gun, and shot him.
CHAPTER
24
NICHOLSON BUCKED, AND THEN HE SAGGED, AND HIS BRIGHT HOLIDAY SWEATER turned into a sponge for the blood seeping out of him. With the gunshot still ringing in my ears, I grabbed a sofa throw pillow and moved straight at Nicholson. His wife beat me to him.
“Barry!” she screamed. “Barry?”
I went to my knees, tried to lift his sweater and shirt to see the extent of his injuries.
“Get the hell away from him, Diana!” Fowler yelled. “Don’t you dare help him. You never helped me when I was hurting.”
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Diana screeched, “You filthy, insane animal!”
Jeremy, Chloe, and Trey were sobbing. Melissa Brandywine was up on her hands and knees dry-heaving.
I was still trying to see the wound.
There’s no such thing as a good bullet wound, but a gut wound is particularly bad. It can kill in a few minutes or a few hours. A bullet might rupture the colon, for example, or the liver. Fecal matter could splatter in the system and cause a bacterial infection that won’t stop. Bones could shatter into the kidneys, into the spleen, causing a swifter death. In any case, we had to believe the man was a mess inside and needed a doctor now.
“I said to get the hell away from him!” Fowler shouted again. “I mean it!”
I thought it would be a matter of seconds before he put a bullet into Diana, or me, or both of us. Then she stood up, her eyes blazing. “Go ahead, then!” she shrieked. “It’s what you want, Henry. Go ahead and kill me. But let the rest of them go. Let Cross take Barry and the children and Melissa out of here, and then you can do to me whatever it is you think I deserve.”
“No,” Fowler said. “Barry’s not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
She pivoted and crouched beside me. “What can we do?”
I could see the entry wound now. It was to the far right of the navel, close to the side of Nicholson’s torso. That was good news and made me wonder whether Fowler’s point-blank shot had been intentionally bad.
