“Put them down!” Grant hollered. “Slide ’em here!”
I saw his finger on the trigger and felt my heart twitch. There was no way he would miss me from there. No way.
“Drop ’em!” Ralph bellowed. “Do it!”
Sikora didn’t seem to care that someone else had yelled the words, he just kept his eyes glued on me. Kept his gun steady.
The two officers gauged the situation for a moment, and finally both of them shoved their guns toward us.
“Nobody else move!” Sikora yelled, then glanced toward Ralph. “And you. Back off. Now!”
“Easy.” Ralph raised his hands and shuffled one step away from us toward the wall. “I’m backing up. OK?”
“Farther!”
“I am.” One more step.
“Go on.”
Two steps.
Sikora glanced at the officer standing beside her partner. “Get outside the door! No one comes in here. If anyone tries to, I mean anyone, if that door opens, Bowers is dead.” He tipped his head to the left. “The bailiff and the judge, you go with her. Go!”
After a moment, the judge appeared from behind his bench where he’d been hiding. His face was etched with anger, but he said nothing. He and the bailiff followed the officer out the door, and then she swung it shut behind them.
Ralph and I still had a chance at diffusing things if only we could get close enough to take Sikora down, but to do that I needed to focus the man’s attention on me. “It’s Grant, right?” I said. “Your name is Grant Sikora? I met with you after your daughter’s death?”
He eyed me, didn’t answer. Took in two choppy breaths.
I pointed. “The officer you shot, he’s going to be OK.” I spoke slowly, trying to calm him down. “End this now. I understand you’re angry-”
“No.”
“You have a right to be angry-”
“No!”
“But shooting people won’t help to-”
“Quiet!” Rage in his voice, but his jaw was quivering. A tear escaped the corner of his left eye.
He’s sorry, so sorry.
“No one else needs to get hurt.” I edged toward him. “You’re not a killer.”
He shook his head violently. “He killed her. He killed my Celeste.”
Are there other agents in here? Where are they?
Sikora shouted past me, into Richard Basque’s general direction, “You killed my daughter, you son of a-”
“Did she believe?” asked Basque, cutting Grant off.
“What?”
“The Lord said that those who live and believe in him shall never die. Did your daughter believe?”
“Shut up.” Grant was shaking, possessed by grief and rage. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
His eyes locked on Basque again. He’d made his decision.
He swung the gun away from me toward the man who’d tortured, killed, and eaten his daughter.
My chance. My only chance.
Now or never.
Now.
13
I lunged toward Sikora and grabbed for the gun, locking my fingers around his wrist and pivoting at the same time. I pulled the barrel away from the crowded courtroom and toward the empty northern wall. And this time I made sure Grant Sikora couldn’t jerk away.
He must have slipped his finger off the trigger because the Sigma didn’t discharge. With strength fueled by adrenaline, he tried to pull free again. I twisted his arm around his back, trying to control him, to disarm him, but with his other hand he snagged something from the evidence table and slammed it against my side; a crushing heat, a burst of pain cruised through me and I wondered if he’d broken my rib.
Whatever he’d grabbed, Grant pounded my side again, but I wouldn’t let go.
A flash of movement-Ralph on his way toward us, but it would be a couple seconds before he could help me.
Then I realized Grant was holding the hatchet Basque had used on three of his victims. Thankfully, he’d only been able to swing the handle at me and not the blade, but still, it hurt enough to make me gasp for breath.
As he swung the hatchet handle at me again, I sucked in a breath and chopped at his forearm, sending the hatchet clattering to the floor.
Now, for the gun.
We were facing each other with the Sigma between us. As we wrestled for it, Grant pivoted and we smashed into the witness stand.
“Drop the gun!” Ralph flipped the evidence table aside, scattering its contents. Rushed toward us.
Grant Sikora’s face was set with determination, and I realized that if Basque had slaughtered someone I loved, I would have been just as determined, just as enraged as he was. “He…” His teeth were clenched with the effort of fighting me off, but he managed to speak through them. “He… killed… her.”
“Please,” I said. My side was throbbing so much it was hard to breathe. “Don’t-”
“He ate her,” Grant said. “Ate my Celeste-”
I felt the barrel pressing into my bruised ribs. I tried to pull it away, but Sikora pitched to the side. The soles of his shoes slipped, and together we crashed into the wall.
And that’s when the gun went off.
14
Everything can change in an instant.
I felt the gun’s jarring repercussion ride up my arm and jolt into my shoulder.
So this is it.
Time clicked forward.
After all these years, it ends like this.
I waited for the ache of the bullet’s impact to sweep over me.
Felt nothing.
And then I saw Mr. Sikora’s face.
No.
His eyes losing focus, his grip on my arm loosening.
No, please, no!
Liquid warmth spread across my abdomen, but the wound wasn’t mine.
Ralph was beside me.
“Get an ambulance,” I said. He rummaged through his pockets for his phone as I eased Mr. Sikora to the floor and onto his back.
After pulling the gun from his hand and sliding it away from us, I cradled his head as gently as I could while applying pressure on the gunshot wound with my other hand.
But I couldn’t stop the bleeding.
“Don’t let him…” Grant coughed, struggled for breath.
I wanted to tell him that everything was going to be OK, that he didn’t need to worry, that the shot wasn’t serious, but I’m not a very good liar. “Relax,” I said softly. Nothing but the truth. “Help is coming.”
He drew in a gasping, strangled breath but said nothing.
The blood on Grant’s chest was frothy and bright, which meant the bullet had hit his lung, possibly nicked his heart. Even if the paramedics arrived within the next couple minutes, I didn’t think he’d make it.
“The paramedics are coming,” I said. Considering the recorded message in Colorado and the tight security here, I doubted that he’d loaded the gun himself. “Who loaded the gun for you, Grant?”
He struggled for a breath. “Hurry.”
“They’re on their way. Tell me a name. Who was it?”
He swallowed, took a coarse breath. “You have to get… hurry. ..”
Four officers came bursting through the door and swarmed around us. One of them retrieved the S amp; W from the floor, the other three aimed their weapons at Mr. Sikora’s face.
“Back off,” I said. “Give him some space.”
They hesitated.
“Back off!”
As they retreated, Grant Sikora pulled me close. “Please.” He coughed a fine spray of blood onto my cheek. I was sure I was the only one who could hear him.
“Promise me you won’t let him do it again.”
“Grant, you need to-”
“Promise me.” Urgency. Desperation. “For her. For Celeste.”
I had to say something. “I promise,” I said softly. “I promise I won’t let him do it again. Now, please. Tell me who loaded the gun. A name.”
But he never heard me finish my request. As I was speaking, he closed his eyes, his hand fell away from my arm, and Grant Sikora died.