She did as directed, wincing just a little when it clattered on the floor. “This is a bad idea, Jay.” They were nearing the front door. “You really need to let me go.”
“Outside,” he said. “When we’re outside.” He bumped her forward with his hip and then held her up. “What’s that?” He didn’t have a free hand to investigate so he bumped her again with his hip. “Jesus, Liz. Is that a gun? Are you carrying?”
She didn’t answer. All of her attention was focused on the door. She’d felt the soft vibration under her heels as someone moved across the porch, and for the first time since Jay escorted her into the house, she was well and truly afraid. The Walther had given her confidence, and now its presence provoked nothing but fear. Fear for the police who were surely outside. Fear for herself. Even fear for Jay. A standoff with a weapon could not possibly end well.
Jay jerked her off her feet when the front and back doors were thrown open almost simultaneously. He released the arm he’d been holding behind her back and then practically threw her at the officer coming through the door.
Ramsey could not stop her forward momentum. Buddy’s solid body did that. He stumbled backward and she went with him. Jay leapt over the tangle of limbs and was outside before Buddy recovered.
Ramsey scrambled to her feet, felt behind her for the Walther, and realized it was gone. “He’s got my gun,” she told Buddy.
Buddy was getting up as Sullivan appeared from the back of the house. “Did you hear that?” he asked Sullivan.
“Yeah. I did.” He looked at Ramsey. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Jay’s on foot. He doesn’t have a car. He came with me.”
“Later,” said Sullivan. “Let’s go, Buddy. You take your car; I’ll do the footrace.”
“Thank God,” Buddy said feelingly. He got his keys and headed out.
“Secure your house.” Sullivan had nothing else to say to Ramsey as he followed in Buddy’s wake.
“Be careful,” she called after him. “Don’t let him hurt you.” She wasn’t sure Sullivan heard her or that it mattered if he had. He would do whatever it was he needed to do, and if Jay injured him, shot him, she would own it. Ramsey closed the door, leaned against it, and stayed there until her knees gave way. It was a slow slide to the floor. Ramsey drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead against them. Her eyes felt gritty, not damp. Tears would have been a relief. She didn’t know how long she sat there before she got up, retrieved her phone, and called Mr. Finch to tell him that she’d changed her mind about the transaction.
42
Without a clueas to the direction Jay had gone, Sullivan chose the route that offered the least resistance. That meant going down the street rather than heading up it. It seemed reasonable to suppose that would have been Jay’s path as well.
To cover a wider area, Buddy took his car in the opposite direction. When Sullivan glanced behind him, he caught Buddy’s taillights taking the turn to circle the block. Hitting his stride, Sullivan applied himself to considering what someone with virtually no knowledge of the neighborhood would look for refuge. If Jay hoped to avoid a confrontation, he had little choice except to find a hiding place and stay put, at least until it was dark. The trouble was, dark wasn’t far off.
Sullivan reached the corner, looked both ways, and decided to circle back toward Ramsey’s house through the alley. When Buddy came around with the car, Sullivan raised an arm above his head and made a circling gesture. Buddy tapped his headlights twice, acknowledging that he understood, and moved on.
Sullivan had to slow his pace as he headed up the alley. He mostly stayed between the deep tire ruts, but once he had to dodge a fat Tomcat that refused to cede the high ground and ended up stepping in a mud puddle. He swore under his breath as water ran down his pant leg. He also picked up a companion. The Tomcat was following at his heels.
Sullivan didn’t know if it was dumb luck or if what he’d learned from Ramsey about her ex had helped him make all the right choices. When he turned into Ramsey’s yard from the alley, Jay was trying to break into her garage by throwing his shoulder against the windowless side door.
Sullivan stopped running and approached with caution. He kept his hand close to the butt of his weapon. “That usually only works in movies,” he said when Jay paused between strikes.
Jay spun around. Ramsey’s Walther was in his hand.
“Drop it,” said Sullivan. He observed Jay’s puzzled expression as he looked down at the gun. It was almost as if he’d forgotten it was there. Sullivan didn’t believe it for a moment. “Drop it.”
“Officer. There’s been—”
Sullivan drew his weapon. “On the ground. Now. Hands behind your head.” Off to the side, Sullivan heard Ramsey open her kitchen door and then caught her in his peripheral vision as she stepped out. “Go back in, Ramsey.”
She froze. “I didn’t know…I heard—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly. “Back in.” His eyes never wavered from Jay, but that was immaterial the moment Ramsey unwittingly presented herself as the third leg of a triangle. The sudden appearance of the fat Tomcat was also a precipitating factor for which there was no accounting.
Ramsey dropped to a crouch to scoop Mr. Peeve into her arms and then flattened herself against the deck as a gun fired. Peeve howled and took flight, leaving Ramsey to bury her face against the composite decking instead of his warm, soft fur.
She wasn’t certain that the first shot had actually been in her direction, but she knew the second one was not. She recognized it was Jay’s voice she heard, and not a word of what he said could she ever repeat, which was a rather novel revelation since she had a fairly extensive blue vocabulary herself.
Ramsey got up to her knees. “Sullivan? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
