“No, the other one.”
Just then, Coluzzi appeared among the rocks on the far side of the well-hidden structure. He ran awkwardly up the steepest section of the incline, stumbling, clawing at the ground. He wasn’t terribly fast. Every few steps, he slowed to look over his shoulder.
A moment later, the female police officer emerged from the house, running after him. Even from this distance, he could see she was holding a pistol. She stopped after a few steps, took careful aim, and fired. The bullet sent up a spray of rock inches from Coluzzi, causing him to veer in another direction.
“Damn her,” said Neill.
“What is it, sir?”
Neill watched the woman scramble up the hillside, nimbler than Coluzzi. She was gaining ground quickly. In no time, she’d have Coluzzi within range.
“I’ve got a clear shot,” said Makepeace. “I can take him whenever you like.”
Coluzzi crested the bluff. Now on flatter land, he was able to run more easily. The distance between them lengthened. The woman stopped and raised her gun.
“Shoot her, not him.”
Makepeace took his eye from the scope. “Excuse me?”
“Do as I say.”
Makepeace turned the rifle away from Tino Coluzzi, toward the woman. He laid his finger on the trigger, barely caressing the smooth metal crescent, and placed her in his sights. He drew a breath, feeling his heart slow, his vision sharpen.
Ever so gently, he squeezed the trigger.
He saw the woman fall before he heard the rifle’s report and felt the butt dig into his shoulder. Next to him, Neill had raised his head and was squinting against the glare of the late afternoon sun. The woman lay still, her body twisted beneath her, arms outstretched. Coluzzi slowed, seemingly caught between continuing his flight and seeking refuge where there was no refuge to be had. For a moment, he stopped entirely, staring at the woman, then he turned and ran toward his car.
“What about him?” asked Makepeace. “He’s the one we want.”
Barnaby Neill looked back at the house, waiting for Riske to appear. There had been three gunshots. Neither Coluzzi nor Perez had been hit. Had Riske?
Coluzzi cleared the ridge and disappeared from sight. There was no need to follow him. Taps had been placed on all the numbers Riske had found in Luca Falconi’s apartment. Neill had heard every word Coluzzi had spoken since. He knew precisely where he was going.
“We can head him off at the car,” said Makepeace, slipping the rifle strap from his arm, shifting to his side.
“Keep your eye on the house,” said Neill sharply.
Makepeace retook his prone position, training the rifle on the hideout.
A minute passed. No one emerged. Neill breathed easier. It appeared that Coluzzi had made it easy for him. With Riske gone, there was nothing standing in the way between himself and ten million euros. He made a mental note to thank Coluzzi for that before he killed him.
“See anything?”
Makepeace pressed his eye to the scope. “No, sir.”
Neill placed his pistol against the back of his head. “Sure?”
Chapter 66
Simon heard the gunshot, the report whistling forever over the dry bluffs.
Rifle. High caliber.
“Nikki!” he shouted. Then louder. “Nikki!”
No reply.
Essentially blind, he struggled to his feet, hands groping the wall. His eyes burned beyond description. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to blink repeatedly. Tears were the only antidote to pepper spray. Tears and more tears. He slammed into something heavy…a dresser? Shards of light guided him to the door through which Coluzzi had escaped.
