AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There she was. Sobbing on a kitchen chair, shaking like a leaf. Relief swamped him. She was still alive. Thank God. He’d seen what this man did to his victims.
Quinn hissed, wincing as the killer kicked him in the side again. It didn’t feel like he’d cracked anything, but there’d be some definite bruising.
He took steps away from Quinn. Quinn made an effort to grab him, but he was too quick, and Quinn’s limbs weren’t quite cooperating the way he’d like them to. A protest died on his lips when the killer pointed the gun at Gloria instead of him.
“Remove your gun from your holster, Detective, and throw it away from yourself,” the killer said. “Do it now, or I put one in her brain. I have plans that I’d enjoy more but needs must.”
Quinn didn’t hesitate or spend a single moment trying to work out how to get out of this. Not while Gloria was still in the crazed man’s line of sight. He unclipped his service weapon and flung it to the left. It looked further away than it was; it wouldn’t be a chore to get to it if he could find a sudden burst of energy.
“Back up,” the killer said, turning the gun back on Quinn. “Against the wall.”
Quinn would do everything in his power to protect Gloria, but the preferred outcome wasn’t to get shot himself. He’d rather get them both out of there. The best solution and his “A plan,” always.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking away the spots in his eyes, and moved as per the instructions until his back hit the wall. He slumped against it, grateful for the support. Everything was still sluggish and lagging like his brain wasn’t getting enough bandwidth.
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in this. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m a cop,” Quinn replied. At least his voice wasn’t slurring. He would take that as a win. There were so few right now. “And you’ve been killing people.” Enough said.
“Traitors. They walked away and stole from us; this was the only outcome for them.”
Quinn tried to catch Gloria’s gaze. It was no use. She was looking down at her hands, her entire body vibrating, and tears streaming down her face. He needed to get her out of here.
“Who stole from you?” Quinn asked, stalling for time. There was a green shopping bag near him. Please don’t be empty, he begged silently. Gloria seemed scatterbrained enough that surely, she didn’t put all her groceries away the second she got them home.
The killer turned from Quinn and picked up—Quinn’s stomach dropped. A litre can of lighter fluid. He knew what that was for. This man enjoyed his fire. Would he slit their throats first like his other victims? Did he set the fires andthenkill them? The victim in Jericho’s apartment, George Brice, had been killed instantly and hadn’t fought back. So that couldn’t be right. Maybe he didn’t have a tangible pattern. That ratcheted up the panic fighting its way up Quinn’s throat.
No.
He needed to stay calm and get them to safety.
“This should have been an easy job,” the killer said, almost to himself. “Take them out, take out anyone associated with them just for doing business with traitors, and then go home.Youfucked it up for me.”
Quinn inched his fingers across, finding purchase in the green bag. “How did I do that?” he asked. He wanted to wipe his face, get the blood out of his left eye. Being able to see out of only one of them was disorienting and unhelpful. He didn’t need assistance in that department. The pain at his temple was a steady thrum that he was pushing to the back of his mind. He could focus on how much it hurt later, when he wasn’t at risk of being shot or burned alive.
“You’re always one step behind me and forcing me to rush. I don’t like to be rushed.”
That sounded like a personal problem. And a short trigger. Neither of which made Quinn feel any safer. “It’s my job.” His hand slipped into the bag, and he felt around for something he could grab. He doubted there’d be a weapon, but that’s not what he needed. He alreadyhada weapon. He just needed that split second of time togetto it. The killer was still holding his own gun loosely in his hand, and Quinn needed to even the playing field.
“This is underworld justice. It has nothing to do with pigs.”
It had been a long time since Quinn had been called that, to be honest. Probably not since he’d been on the beat with Riley. It wasn’t a common slur slung at the Australian police anymore. Not in most circles anyway. Not ones he frequented.
“Why does there need to be justice?” Quinn asked. The more he could get out of this, the better. He just hoped herememberedit.
The killer turned on all of the gas burners on the stove, the blue-and-yellow flames flickering high. He stopped and stared for a long moment before he yanked the tea towel from the oven-door handle.
His fascination with the flames gave Quinn enough time to pull an apple from the bag and slide it behind himself, out of sight. When the killer glanced at him, he was back where he’d started, no one the wiser.
“Stealing from your partner is bad business.”
“For sure,” Quinn agreed. He curled his leg under himself, twisting his foot so that he would have a better grip to push off from.
The killer frowned at him, watching him move, but must have decided it wasn’t worth taking offense at since he spoke again. “Stealing from family is a sin,” he said as though he needed Quinn to understand his point of view.
Quinn wondered whether he meant a religious sin or in a more generic way. It didn’t matter, but he was curious as to what had driven this killer to come here to murder a whole slew of people for some kind of fucked-up justice.
“And is that what they did? Steal from family?” Quinn asked.
