‘I told you.She’s in Ohio or Chicago or somewhere.If she was here, she wouldn’t be calling me at nine in the morning, would she?’
The woman’s hesitation was written all over her twitchy legs.She’d no doubt come here with two objectives: kill Luca Hawkins and find out Ella Dark’s location.However, she couldn’t do the former without completing the latter.
Luca analysed his proximity to Doyle and realized she was now two paces away.Not ideal, but in Philadelphia, the close-quarters combat instructor at the DEA had mentioned something in his lecture.DEA agents found pistols pointed at them on a weekly basis, so you needed to know the best way to disarm an attacker.
Forget the gun.Focus on the person.Guns don’t decide to shoot.People do.So you don’t grab the weapon.You control the wrist, collapse the elbow, and rotate the barrel away from your center line.You make the gun point somewhere that isn’t you, and then you make it yours.
The guy had made it look simple, but he’d also been doing it for twenty years and could dislocate a man’s shoulder with less effort than it took to open a jar.
Luca didn’t have that kind of weight behind him, but Doyle was a slight woman at about 5’4.He was fairly sure he could beat the shit out of her using just one fist.
‘I don’t buy it!’Doyle screamed, and the mask finally slipped.The dry, composed woman was gone.He silently willed her to scream louder.Alert the neighbors.Maybe one would call the police?
But then what?They’d knock on the door and Doyle would empty sixteen bullets into him and go out in a blaze of glory.
No.That wouldn’t work.He had one chance to make good on this, and that chance was fast approaching.
Beside him, the coffee machine began to pour water into Ella’s favorite mug.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.She’s not here, and won’t be for a long time.’
He tracked the coffee machine out of the corner of his eye.The water was still pouring.He could hear the mechanical stutter as it forced the last of the liquid through the filter and into the mug.He knew this machine.He'd used it every morning for three months.He knew the rhythm of it the way you knew the rhythm of your own breathing.First came the gurgle, then the hiss as the pressure equalized.Then a pause for five seconds, where the machine sat in silence, and you thought it was done.
Then the absurdly loud ping that was way too invasive for a kitchen appliance.
Ella had complained about it a dozen times.She’d said it was like living with a smoke detector that went off every time you wanted a cup of coffee.Luca had laughed about it then.He wasn’t laughing now.
The gurgle was slowing.
‘You’re lying,’ Doyle said.‘She’s closer than you’re saying.I know she is.’
‘Feel free to call her,’ Luca gestured to his phone.
‘Youcall her.’
The machine hissed.The pressure valve released with a soft gasp, then the hiss died.
One.
‘Sure, if you want me to.’
Two.
‘Yes.Call her.If you give anything away then-’
‘Can’t promise.’
Three.
‘Youwillpromise!’
Four.
Luca’s thighs tensed.His hands began to sweat.He shifted his weight forward, fractionally, onto the balls of his feet.
Here went nothing.
Five.
