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He pounced, and the gun exploded. Cheryl collided with the tile wall behind her, and daggers of pain shot through her shoulder. She squeezed the trigger again, and the deafening sound ricocheted off the tile. Johnny’s limp body thudded to the floor and the bathwater swirling around her feet mixed with the blood seeping from his chest.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Nick bolted toward Cheryl’s suite with Samson at his side. He released the door latch with the key card and they exploded into the foyer and through the empty living room. Silence surrounded them.
“Cheryl?” Nick chest tightened to the point of pain.
“You hear that?” Samson nudged him. “Sounds like running water.”
They inched their way toward the master bedroom, and Nick shouldered through the door. Cheryl’s discarded clothes were thrown across the bed. The light was on in the bathroom and the sound of running water and whirlpool jets grew louder.
“Shit,” Samson hissed from the doorway.
Pink-tinged water seeped over the tiles and onto their shoes. Cheryl’s back was plastered to the white tile wall. Her hair was soaked and hanging in clumps over the shoulder of her equally wet, blood-spattered robe. She gripped a Magnum with two hands outstretched and pointed at Johnny slumped against the jacuzzi tub, water cascading over his crumbled body.
Samson edged around the room, turned off the faucets, then leaned over Johnny. He pressed his fingers to Johnny’s neck, then shook his head.
Cheryl swung the gun in Nick’s direction. “I killed him.”
“I can see that, babe.” Nick met her gaze. Her focus was disconnected and vague.
“I killed him,” she whispered again.
Nick inched his way toward her. “It’s okay.” He needed to disarm her and settle her down.
“You were right.” Her voice rough, her eyes haunted. “He is dangerous.”
“Lower the gun, babe.” Nick eased closer, gauging his steps. He only had a few minutes before she lapsed into shock.
The gun shook in her hands. “He tried to kill me.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He kept his voice even careful not to make any sudden moves.
“It’s very heavy.” The hand still gripping the gun fell to her side.
He reached for her and she backed away from him. “Just give me the gun and everything will be all right.”
“It’s not all right.” She raised the gun. “Don’t lie to me.”
He raised his palms. “I’m not lying. From now on it’s gonna be you, me, and Portia.”
“She’s your daughter.” They were only a foot apart and if her finger jerked even slightly he’d be eating a bullet.
“I know, and I can’t wait to get to know her, to have a life with her and you.”
“No, that will never happen.”
“Sure, it will.” He raised his right hand slowly. “That’s why you have to give me the gun, now.”
“He tried to drown me.” She whimpered. “I had to do it . . . Had to do it . . . Had . . .”
He grabbed the barrel, pointed it toward the floor then twisted it out of her grip, and handed it off to Samson seconds before she collapsed into his arms.
“I got you, baby.” He cuddled her shuddering body and held her tight as he stroked her back. “I got you.”
Ahalf hour later, the suite hummed with controlled chaos. Cobra and Joker arrived, swept the room, then Cobra wiped Cheryl’s prints off the gun and stuffed it into his waistband. EMTs on the Serpent’s payroll arrived and bagged Johnny’s body. Cobra mumbled something to the paramedics, while Joker spoke with the floor manager of the hotel.
Cobra flanked Nick. “Joker told the manager it was a suicide and he definitely wants to keep it all quiet. Offing yourself in one of their luxury suites isn’t the kind of publicity the Bellagio wants. He assures me the maids and cleaning staff are extremely discreet.”
None of it shocked Nick as they’d done similar clean-ups in Brooklyn.
