Cold Light (40 page)

BOOK: Cold Light

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“What happened to her, it was her own fault. There was nothing else I could do.”

“You kidnapped her. You killed her. How can that be her fault?”

“Don't!” The chair spun back, knocked from beneath him. “Don't talk to me like that. As if you had any right. Who d'you think you are? I'm in control here, me. And you'll just do well to remember that. You hear?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, so you say. Got you frightened now, have I? Well, maybe that's not before time.”

“I mean it, I'm sorry.”

“Yes? You expect me to believe that? What you always say, all of you, when it's too late.”

“All of who, Michael?” Lynn asked. “All of who?”

But by then it was too late; he had heard the sounds of the helicopter, distant, coming nearer.

Not quite in position at the shed, still some twenty yards away, Resnick heard it too and swore repeatedly as he began to run, heavy-footed, cursing whoever had given the order too soon.

The caravan door burst open and Lynn emerged first, pushed out, Michael close behind her, one arm tight about her neck, the knife held unsteadily in front of her chest.

“Police,” Resnick called, stumbling, running, stumbling again as the helicopter circled above them. “Armed police,” came the distorted warning. “Stand still. Stand still where you are.”

They ran. Lynn's ankle twisted beneath her and she fell sharply sideways, Michael grabbing at her arm and dropping the knife as he did so, grasping for her hair and catching nothing, Lynn rolling fast as soon as she touched the ground.

For a moment, Michael gazed about him and saw Resnick running, arms flailing, towards him; he felt the currents of air from the helicopter tugging at his clothes and hair. He turned and began to run again, back towards the caravan; the marksman in the field was up on one knee now, the back of Michael's head smack in his sights.

“Michael!”

Lynn called his name, yelled with all her might, and he faltered in his step and turned towards the sound of her voice. Resnick's dive struck him halfway up the body, head into his midriff, elbow sharp against his chest. Winded, Michael toppled backwards, kicking wildly, as Resnick, breath rasping, clung on so hard it took three officers to prize him free. They cuffed Michael Best and read him his rights before dragging him away.

Only then did Resnick turn to where Lynn had sunk back to her knees and begin to walk towards her, walk, then run. No holding the tears now, no stopping till finally he lifted her into his arms and held her, sobbing, safe, the daughter he had never had, the lover she would never be.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This edition published in 2012 by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com