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By that light, Paige saw the structure built from scaffolding that had been constructed along one wall, like the kind of thing a painter might have used to work on a high mural. There were paint pots on that scaffolding and intricately painted marks along the rear wall.
There was a figure there. No,threefigures, but only one of them was standing. One of the others was hanging from a web of ropes with a bag over his head, while the other, a woman, was currently being dragged up the scaffolding. Those two were bound, but to Paige’s relief, they seemed to be breathing and unharmed.
The man dragging her had all of Paige’s attention right then. He was somewhere in his thirties, wearing the kind of coveralls that a house painter might have put on for a job. He was wearing a baseball cap that was presumably there to shelter his features from the gaze of any watching cameras.
He was clean shaven, with his dark hair cropped short. He was average height, but broad shouldered. His features were sharp and striking, the kind of features, Paige reflected, that an artist might have enjoyed painting for their character. His dark eyes were locked onto the woman he was dragging.
He clearly hadn’t noticed Paige yet, which gave Paige a moment or two longer to move closer. Her weapon was up, but she couldn’t just walk forward firing. Not only was there too much of a chance of hitting one of the bound figures, but Paige also still didn’t want to kill someone if she didn’t have to. If she got closer, she could pick her shot, maybe even tackle this killer, and bring him down without anyone having to get hurt.
Paige moved in, but even as Paige watched, the killer hoisted up the woman he was dragging onto a rope, holding her in place with a hook. He threw a hood over her head that matched the man’s and started to lash them together as if in some cruel parody of a kiss.
What artwork was he trying to copy here? It would be a major painter, a well-known piece, because the others had been. He’d been focused on imitating iconic works. It didn’t matter right now though. All that mattered was stopping him.
Paige saw him step back and guessed that he was close to finishing. It would only be a moment or two longer before he drew a knife and started to stab both of them. Paige couldn’t risk giving him a chance to do that. She couldn’t let this go on even a moment longer.
“FBI! Freeze!” Paige had her gun levelled in a perfect shooting stance. She wanted to be ready if he made any sudden movements.
The killer looked over at her from the scaffolding, his head snapping up towards her. “You can’t be here,” he said, in a voice cold with anger. “No one can see my works before they are complete!”
Paige kept her gun trained on him with unwavering steadiness.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“My name? Edgemont. Nathan Edgemont. I assume you haven’t heard of me?”
That wasn’t what Paige was expecting. She was used to the grandiosities of narcissism or psychopathy, both of which would have led someone to assume that theyhadbeen heard of, that they deserved to be known throughout the world. Lucien wouldn’t have hesitated to assume that everyone should simply know who he was.
“No, I haven’t heard of you,” Paige said, keeping her weapon on him. “But I’ve seen your work. That stops now. You’re under arrest. Put your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”
He stood there, almost seeming to think about the possibility, as if he really might comply with Paige’s instructions and simply give himself up.
“I’d like to do that,” he said. “I’d really like to. But if I do that, I can’t complete my art. My works so far have been brilliant, almost perfect, but the ones I have yet to paint . . .”
It looked as though he was getting down on his knees in spite of his words, crouching low on the scaffolding.
“No, I can’t.”
Too late, Paige realized that he wasn’t giving up, he was reaching for one of the paint cans. Even then, she had a moment in which she might simply have fired, stopping this killer with a single shot. Yet there was no time to aim carefully, no time for anything except a lethal shot, and Paige found that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t give Adam Riker the kill that he’d been demanding from her for all this time.
That hesitation cost Paige, because an instant later a half-full can of paint slammed into her skull as Nathan threw it. The force of the impact stunned Paige, sending her down to her knees, her gun spinning across the paved floor of the courtyard.
Paige’s vision swam as she tried to work out what was happening. She could see the gun a little way away, the Glock lying there just waiting for her. Paige tried to stand, but she was far too dizzy for that. She crawled for it instead, determined to get back to the weapon before Nathan could finish what he’d come there to do.
She glanced around just in time to see him leaping down off the scaffolding, running at her with all the speed and fury that came from having his plans interrupted. No, not at her,pasther. He was going for Paige’s gun.
Paige grabbed for his ankle on instinct as he passed, knowing that she couldn’t let a killer get hold of a weapon like that. She pulled Nathan’s feet from under him as he passed, sending him tumbling to the floor in a heap. Paige scrambled to get on top of him and hold him down, but he bucked hard enough to throw her off and lunged for the gun again.
Paige didn’t try to grab for it this time, she just kicked the Glock away from Nathan’s grasp. It was more important to make sure that he didn’t get to it than for Paige to get it right now.
That didn’t stop her from lunging for it in its new spot, still not quite upright, still feeling dizzy from the impact of the paint can to her skull. That slowed her down, enough that Nathan was able to catch her and deliver a hard kick to her stomach, one that made Paige briefly curl up with her arms around herself in agony.
She had to keep moving. She couldn’t give in to the pain, because if she did that, Nathan would get to the gun first and she would die. Paige forced herself to roll over to her hands and knees once more and then made herself lunge at Nathan’s ankles again.
The two of them went down in a heap together, striking out at one another with everything they had. Paige knew that she didn’t have size or strength on her side, so she had to keep up such relentless pressure instead that he didn’t have a chance to slowly crush her into a bad position. Paige hit out with her palms, with her elbows, and with her knees, keeping up a barrage of blows as she tried to move into a position where she had some control over her suspect.
Nathan fought back, so Paige had to absorb the impact of his strikes, ignoring the pain of them as she kept trying to make her way towards the gun. She saw his hand reaching towards one of the pockets of his coveralls and pure instinct made Paige do everything she could to control that hand. Nathan stabbed his victims, didn’t he? That meant that he had a knife somewhere, and Paige couldn’t let him draw it, not when they were both so close together.
She hit him again, this time with a headbutt that made him slump for a second. In that instant, Paige had a choice to make. She could continue to try to grapple with him, but he still had a knife, and he was still stronger than her. Or she could go for the gun and get the one advantage that mattered in this fight.
