“Ease up, asshole,” Zach growled as he leaned down and slowly withdrew his backup piece from the ankle holster.
He could dive and try to shoot O’Neill as he rolled. He could swing around and knock the fucker down, but dammit, he could not risk Paige getting hit in the crossfire.
He let the weapon fall on the plush taupe carpet, his eyes flickering to hers. Her face was a mask— surprisingly contained. Christ. His brave, sweet Paige.
“Drop everything else,” O’Neill instructed.
Zach reached behind him. He extracted the tape recorder and gingerly pressed REC before he dropped it. A small pocket knife followed. His cell phone. Dropped it.
“Now, turn around and back away. It won’t do for you to get shot in the back.”
Zach did so with gradual, prolonged steps that kept Paige firmly out of view behind him. In his crisp gray suit, O’Neill remained thin-lipped and stoic, completely emotionless except for the determination in his eyes.
“Away from her!” he barked, waving the weapon. “Off to the side.”
Zach docilely moved to the side. And kept moving. Dragging that piercing brown gaze with him and away from Paige. Searching for calm. Calm. Calm. So he could fucking think.
O’Neill picked up Zach’s piece from the floor and aimed it at Paige with his left hand, keeping his other weapon trained on Zach.
Paige’s cell phone bleeped and O’Neill’s eyes shot to her.
“Detective Nordstrom is on his way, Lieutenant,” she said in a tremulous but defiant voice, her chin up at an angle. “He knows about the papers. I just sent a text.”
Amazed, Zach looked at her. She was holding up her cell phone, waving it in the air, and the screen was lit. And she appeared . . . damn, quite haughty and rebellious all of a sudden.
“You’re bluffing.” O’Neill’s voice was adamant, laced with bitterness. “You just wouldn’t die, would you? Oh no, you had to come back, didn’t you!”
Zach said, taking a step in his direction spreading out his arms, “No way out, O’Neill. Nordstrom may already have those papers in his hand.”
“Is that a fact?” His smile was sharp and cutting as he took a step forward, his aim holding. “The last man who got his hands on those papers died, Detective.”
“Larry, no!” Sue Ellen screamed, sliding behind her fancy carved wood chair, gripping its back until her knuckles were white. “You can’t do this! Not in our house!”
Zach met Paige’s concerned expression for a moment, trying to send a message that said . . . hell, he didn’t know. Hang on, baby.
This bastard had already hurt Paige more than Zach could bear. And he hadn’t been there to hold her, help her, save her. But he was here now. Fuck it, he was here now.
Hot, heady adrenaline flooding his veins, he gauged the distance between him and that bastard. Five steps. One second. Still not fast enough, dammit. His backup gun was on the floor, but it was no match for two guns already drawn. Even if he could avoid getting hit, Paige might die. No choice but one.
Stall for time.
“So the judge was on to you,” he said, fishing for answers.
Sue Ellen bit.
“His work is his life . . .” she choked, tears streaming down her face. “He would not hand in his badge for anything.”
“Shut up, Sue Ellen,” O’Neill said desperately.
“No!” She glared at him before looking at Zach again. “It’s been going on for years. Car theft . . . robberies.”
“Does it bring you comfort, Sue Ellen?” Zach pressed, arching his brow. “That your husband killed a man so you could continue living like this?” His arms spread to encompass their lavish surroundings.
“Silence! Rivers killed the judge, and that is that!” O’Neill roared, glowering at his wife. “He’ll either meet with his maker or meet up with his dad in prison. Like father, like son. The old man was reckless. Vehicular manslaughter, killed a whole family.”
Zach could envision his fingers quite clearly pressing into the bastard’s trachea, wrapping around his throat, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“You’re right,” Zach said in an even, casual tone. “Dad’s in jail for reckless vehicular manslaughter. Now try me for reckless, Lieutenant.”