“You—don’t—get to—” he choked.
Somewhere in the scuffle, his groping hand closed on the gun.She felt the shift in his body as he tried to bring it up.
She shifted her weight, driving her knee into the back of his.He crumpled to one side.The gun went off again, a muffled explosion inches from the carpet.The smell of burned powder seared the air.
Almost immediately, fists hammered on the motel door.
“Kate!Kate!”
Through the roaring of the blood in her ears, the voice sounded distant, unfamiliar.Nevertheless, her heart kicked in gratitude.
“Move away from the door!”she shouted, still clamping Quinn in the choke, fighting to keep his flailing arm away from the gun.
The battering redoubled.The cheap lock splintered.With a final crack, the door flew inward, ricocheting off the chain, which snapped.Wood fragments skittered across the linoleum.
Marcus more or less fell into the room, arms up, service weapon out, eyes wild, trying to take in the chaos: broken furniture, shattered TV, bullet hole in the wall, Kate kneeling behind a thickset man in overalls, her forearm locked under his chin, his face mottled red and purple.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.
“Gun—” Kate managed.
His gaze darted.“I see it.”
He kicked the pistol away from Marsh’s slackening fingers and across the room with a sharp soccer move, then holstered his own weapon and moved in, helping pin the killer’s arm back in a cuffing position even as Kate’s grip began to shake with exertion.
“I’ve got him,” Marcus said.“I’ve got him, Kate.You can let go.”
She loosened the chokehold gradually, ready to clamp back down if Marsh should suddenly surge.He didn’t.He sagged, coughing, eyes rolling, one cheek pressed to the threadbare carpet, breath rasping but present.
Marcus hauled Quinn’s arms behind him with professional efficiency, using the zip-ties he always kept in his pocket.The plastic ratcheted shut with a sound Kate found profoundly satisfying.
Only then did she let herself sag back against the bed, every muscle trembling.
Marcus turned to her.His face was white, jaw clenched so hard a vein pulsed in his temple.
“You okay?”he demanded.“He get you anywhere?”
“Just… everywhere,” she said weakly, flexing her bruised arms.“I’ll live.”
His gaze scraped over her, checking anyway, making sure there were no dark blooming patches that shouldn’t be there.
“What the hell are you doing here?”she asked, the delayed reaction hitting—the shock, the disbelief, the sense that the universe had shifted twice in as many minutes.
He snorted, half-laugh, half-release.“Following you, obviously.”
“That’s a crime,” she muttered.
“So report me.”The words came out rough, affectionate, furious.“I tried calling, you didn’t pick up, and I knew Winters was on the war-path.It wasn’t hard to work out where you were headed from your laptop history, so I got on the last flight to Chicago.Like you, I didn’t like the sound of the guy they arrested in the greenhouse… too much like a plant… so I figured the best I could do was keep watch on you.And your mom was kind enough to tell me where you’d pitched up for the night.”
“How did you get into my laptop?”
“I’ve seen you type it like a hundred thousand times.And I hate to tell you this, but ‘laptop1234’ is a pretty flawed password.”
“And you were on stake-out outside my door?”
“Been in the parking lot since midnight.I figured if the greenhouse intruder was a fake, then the killer was going to pay you a call.And I’d rather be nearby than reading about it later in a report.”He rubbed his eyes, fatigue crashing over him in the wake of the adrenaline.
Emotion surged up in her throat—grateful, guilty, everything in between.“You heard the shots,” she said.
