“Bad language, Marlin. You’re not a very good role model. Did the women you butchered always use bad language? Or was it because they insulted their husbands?”
“Bitch! Shut up!”
She shook her head at him. “I can’t believe you called me that, Marlin. I hate bad language, too. It makes me crazy, did I tell you that? I’ll have to punish you as well. Who goes first?”
He yelled, running at her, jerking the knife over his head.
Savich yelled, “Down!”
At the same instant, full lights came on. Marlin stumbled, blinded by the sudden lights. So was she, but she knew what to do.
She was already rolling as she jerked her Lady Colt from her ankle holster and came up onto her elbows.
Marlin Jones was yelling, bringing the knife down, slicing it through the air again and again, yelling and yelling. Then he saw her, lying there, the gun pointed at him.
Captain Dougherty’s voice came out of the darkness. “It’s the police, Marlin. Throw down the knife and back away from her! Do it now or you’re dead.”
“NO!”
“I want to kill you, Marlin,” she whispered, aimed the gun at his belly, “but I won’t if you put that knife down.” Her finger was stroking the trigger. She wanted to squeeze it so badly she felt nausea rise in her belly.
Marlin stopped in his tracks. He stared down at her, at that gun she was training on him. “Who are you?”
“I’ll tell you that in court, Marlin, or I’ll wire it to you in hell. How many times did you stab all those women, Marlin?
“Was it always the same number of times? Didn’t you ever vary anything? No, you didn’t. You stabbed them and then cut out their tongues. How many times, Marlin? The same number as Hillary Ramsgate? Twenty stabs? Keep coming to me now, Marlin, if you want a bullet through your gut. I want to kill you, but I won’t, not unless you force me to.”
He was shaking his head back and forth, his jaw working madly as he took one step back, then another. Then, suddenly, in a move so fast it blurred before her, he aimed the knife and released it.
She heard Savich yell even as she jerked to the right. She felt the knife slice through her upper arm. It didn’t hit the bone. “Thanks, Marlin,” she said, and fired the Lady Colt. The impact sent him staggering back, his arms clutched around his belly.
Savich yelled, “He’s down! Hold your fire! Don’t shoot!”
He wasn’t in time. Sporadic rounds of fire burst from a dozen weapons, lighting up the warehouse with dim points of light. Savich yelled out again, “He’s down! Stop!”
The guns of the dozen police officers surrounding the maze fell silent one by one. They stared at the ripped-up rotted flooring. Incredibly, they hadn’t hit Marlin Jones. The closest shot had ricocheted off the side of one of his army boots.
Then the silence was abrupt and heavy.
“Sherlock, damn your eyes, I’m going to throw you from here to Buffalo!”
She was lying on her back, grinning up at him even as he dropped to his knees beside her, ripping the sleeve off his own shirt. The knife was sticking obscenely out of her upper arm. “Hold still now, and don’t move a muscle. This just might hurt a bit.” He pulled out the knife.
She didn’t yell until she saw it in his hand, her blood covering the blade.
“Don’t whine. It barely nicked you. Hold still now.” He bound her arm with his shirtsleeve. “I can’t believe you did that. I’m going to kill you once you’re okay again. I’m going to tromp you into the mat three dozen times before I even consider letting up on you. Then I’m going to work your deltoids so hard you won’t be able to move for a week. Then I’ll kill you again for doing this.”
“Is he dead, Dillon?”
Savich turned to look at Ralph, who was applying pressure to Martin’s stomach. “Nope, but it will be close.” Ralph said. “You got him in the belly. The ambulances are real close now. You did good, Sherlock, but I agree with Savich. You nearly got yourself killed. After Savich is done with you, I think I should take you to my boat in the harbor, go a bit out into the ocean, and drown you.”