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Will looked down at his hand, seemingly surprised he had a gun.
“They just want to go about their day.” Roger paused. “How about you give me the gun, and we let them get back to their lives?” Roger took another half step. “We can get some coffee. Talk.”
“What is there to talk about?” Every muscle in Will’s torso stood out, evidence of his tension. “You think you can help me?”
“I can certainly try.” Roger let that sink in. “You gonna let me do that?”
Will eyed him.
“I need your help. So these people can stop being scared.”
“That won’t happen.” A defensive look crept into Will’s expression.
He thought there was something worth being scared about? Something regular folk should be concerned by…which could be anything. “Even still.” Roger held out one hand and motioned with his fingers. “I need you to give me that gun.”
The young guy behind the counter ducked out of sight. Roger didn’t blame him. There were at least six people in here and more who had run outside. Was anyone hurt?
He needed to contain the assailant so he could find out. The difference between a successful resolution and a tragic catastrophe often rested on a knife-edge, ready to tip one way or the other in a split second. What he did next could mean the difference between life and death for the people in here—or himself and his partner, or the assailant.
“Will, can you tell me what there is to be scared about?”
Will stared at him. “Can’t get no help. Can’t get no freedom.”
“From who?”
“Those commies still takin’ everythin’. Can’t get no help.”
“I’ll help you.” Roger took another step, still several feet back. “Give me the gun.”
Will glanced to the side, down the aisle. “You’re a liar. You’re not gonna help.”
“I am, but you have to trust me. I’m not going to let you down.” Roger needed him to hand over the weapon, so he said again, “No one is going to hurt you. We’re only here to help.”
Will kept staring behind him. Roger started to turn. To see if Officer Turnbull stood there.
Will said, “You’re not going to help. You’re one of them, sent to take me out.”
A gun went off. The guy behind the counter screamed.
Officer Turnbull had fired. Roger twisted back around to see what had happened to the employee. Will shoved at him, and they both started to fall. Pain exploded in Roger’s back. He hit the floor, and the world swam around him.
Another shot. He hadn’t recognized there had been another shot.
Not until it was too late.
TWO
Present day
A second beforethe elevator doors slid closed, a manicured hand waved between, and they retracted. Roxanne sighed. Maybe next time she would make the ride up to the Cold Cases floor of Vanguard Private Security alone, but not this morning.
She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and smiled politely as a prim young woman stepped in. Tight skirt and blouse, a light jacket, and designer purse. She eyed Roxanne and blinked, barely stifling the reaction.
Yeah, you look great, too. Roxanne had been a marine for years, and she’d never quite let go of having her hair tied back—today it was in two braids. She’d also never quite let go of carrying a pack or wearing pants with pockets that could actually hold things. Functional trumped stylish any day, even if she looked like a casually dressed operator rather than someone who worked in a corporate office.
If she came in wearing a skirt and heels, the guys in Cold Cases would have heart attacks. She preferred to save those outfits for undercover work. At night. On street corners.
Otherwise, it was flats and clothes she could fight in because it wasn’t worth getting caught off guard and leaving herself vulnerable.
