Page 77 of Dirty Love

“Listen. Listen to me.” I grip her chin. “I’m going to get you out of here. But you need to do something for me, okay?”

She nods jerkily and I kiss her forehead. “You need to stop crying now. You need to be a quiet little church mouse, and the next time the guy with the megaphone is talking, you need to run to that door right there and race down the stairs as fast as you can. Someone will take you from there. I’m going to stay here in your place, so if he looks over here, he thinks you’re still where he put you.”

“No, come with me,” she whispers.

“I can’t let him start shooting at the cops down there.” I kiss her forehead again. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.” The megaphone crackles to life again, and I haul her up, practically throwing her in the direction of where I just came from.

She spins and scrambles, then freezes at the door.

I force myself to keep breathing. She needs to get the hell off this rooftop. If I take a shot at Rook, he’s going to shoot back, and the walls around that stairwell won’t protect her. She’s safe from his eyes, but not his gun.

Unless I don’t miss.

Better not fucking miss, then.

Don’t gamble with her safety, asshole. No, I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime already.

In my ear, Jason clears his throat. “They’re settling in here for a long hostage situation. That feel accurate to you?”

I press my mic and lower my voice. “Doesn’t need to be. If I get a clear shot, should I take it?”

A long pause. “Yes.”

I swivel my head back to where Tabitha’s standing, still frozen, at the door. In the moonlight, she holds my gaze. I try to tell her wordlessly that I know she can do this, that she has to, that it’ll be okay. I don’t know if she gets any of that, but with a strangled cry, she turns and pulls the door open, disappearing inside.

Exhaling, I tap the mic again. “Tabitha’s coming down. Alone.”

“We’ll get her.” I don’t hear anything, and there’s no commotion in the alley below, but after a few seconds, there’s another radio crackle in my ear.

This time it’s Cole. “Got her. Far side of the building. Sheltering in place until SWAT can cover us.”

Excellent.

My pulse jumps in relief, cold sweat breaking over my back.

Now to take out this guy before he kills anyone.

People think you can shoot to injure someone, to incapacitate them in a way that still makes it neat and tidy for the cops to make an arrest. That’s not how it works. You always shoot to kill. Center of mass, good. Head shot, great. Turn out the lights. Bam.

But sometimes you miss, and you get their arm, a leg.

I’m a good shot, but at this distance, with the wind and the darkness, I’ll be lucky to hit whatever I can.

Oh, Spencer Rook. A week ago, you were a breath away from helping play a role in shaping the next President of the United States of America.

And now you’re about to eat my bullet. I brace myself against the wall and aim.

Snap.

He drops his rifle with a howl, and I take another shot. His shoulder this time. Suddenly the roof explodes with activity, SWAT pouring out of both staircases, and I hold my hands in the air, Grant’s pistol tumbling to the ground.

Good enough.

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