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Sharpshooters make their way into the surrounding buildings. I feel their stares warm my back, but none get to shoot without clearance.
And up to this point, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of our perp.
“I’m a detective out of the Copeland City Police Department. You asked to speak to someone, so…” I lift my hands a little higher. “Here I am.”
The front door inches open. Just a crack. Then I hear a man’s shouted demand. “Throw your guns to the bottom of the stairs!”
He opens the door fractionally wider, until I catch sight of Minka’s challenging stare. Her eyes, unafraid. But purpling bruises littering her arm where Slade holds her tight.
Oxygen shudders in my lungs, and my nerves threaten to choke me.
Our gazes hold, but it’s not until Slade presses the barrel of his gun to her neck that my heart stops.
“Throw down your weapons,” he repeats. “All of them.”
“Okay.”
I swallow the ball in my throat and slowly reach down to the gun I carry on my thigh. I separate it and the magazine, and set them both on the concrete. Then I bend and take another from my ankle holster. I rack the bullet already in the chamber and set both pieces beside the first pair.
Straightening up, I free my nine-millimeter from the back of my jeans and set it down to join its compatriots. Then I lift my hands and meet Mayet’s stare. “That’s all of them. I normally carry another on my chest, but I took that holster off so I could wear this vest.” Carefully, I take another step forward, only to bite my teeth together when Slade’s finger squeezes closer to the trigger.
“I’m here because you asked for someone,” I remind him. Angling my head, I try to get a look at the gunman. But he hides behind the door and exposes only his hand. “You asked for me, Parker.”
“We have a list,” he shouts. “We need you to fill it immediately.”
“Demands?” My eyes drop to Minka’s hands as she unfolds a slip of paper. She doesn’t shake; call me crazy, but I see no fear in her expression at all. “Are they your demands, Parker?”
“They’re ourneeds,” he calls back. “We have sick people in here, so we need some medicine.”
“Can I… Can I step forward?” I ask him. “Can I come closer and get the list?”
“Slowly,” he bites out. “Walk carefully, Detective Fletcher. Because if you stumble, or so much as hint at running at me, I’ll put a bullet in her brain and end her life.”
“Don’t do that.” I lower my voice. Calm my breathing. But when my helmet continues to fog and impede my vision, I reach up with careful hands and unclip the strap beneath my chin.
Finally, Mayet’s eyes flicker with something other than disdain. Or boredom. Her lips quiver as I lower my helmet and set it on the ground, but I don’t stop. I don’t turn back for it.
“What kinds of sick people do you have, Parker? Is anyone in need of immediate medical assistance?”
“I already have two doctors inside.” He shakes Minka, like I don’t know she’s one of the doctors he speaks of.
He can’t know the history she and I share. He can’t know that we’re friends beneath the bullshit—or enemies, now that the truth has come to light. He has no clue I even know her name, so I don’t say shit. Instead, I inch closer.
“We need insulin for a diabetic,” he calls past the glass door.
Minka’s mouth moves, though no words come out. While Parker lists his needs, she wraps her lips around a silent message of her own.
Something-the-something.
Something-the-shot?
“We need pizza too,” he continues. “And food for a celiac.”
“A… celiac?” Frowning, I step closer. “I don’t—”
“Something gluten-free,” Minka commands. “From a restaurant without cross contamination.”
“Food?” I stop four feet from where she stands. Close enough I smell her in the air. Her perfume, but the disinfectant she uses at work, too. I smell her shampoo… and see bruising on her skin. Rings of color around her wrists, her forearm, her bicep.
