Long Lost - By Harlan Coben Page 0,55

if I could cover the distance that way. I couldn't. I was still too far away.

He pulled the trigger again.

Another shot rang out. Terese went down.

My scream turned into a guttural cry of anguish. A hand reached into my chest and crushed my heart. I kept moving forward, even as he turned the gun toward me. Fear was gone-I moved on pure, instinctive hatred. The gun was almost pointed in my direction, almost on me, when I ducked low and slammed into his waist. He fired off another bullet, but it went wild.

I drove him hard toward the wall, sweeping him off his feet. He swung the butt of the gun down on my back. In some other world at some other time, it might have hurt, but right now, the blow had all the impact of a mosquito bite. I was beyond pain, beyond caring. We landed hard. I let him go, scooting away, trying to get a little distance so I could go for the weapon in my ankle holster.

That was a mistake.

I was so consumed with pulling out my gun, with killing the bastard, that I nearly forgot that there were two other armed adversaries in the room. The man who'd been on my right was running toward me, his weapon raised. I jumped back as he fired, but again it was too late.

The bullet hit me.

Hot pain. I could actually feel the hot metal rip into my body, stealing my breath, knocking me flat on my back. The man aimed again, but another shot rang out, striking the man in the neck with such force it nearly decapitated him. I looked past the fallen corpse, but I already knew.

Win had arrived.

The other man, the guy who'd been on my left, turned just in time to see Win spin and pull the trigger again. The big bullet hit him squarely in the face, and his head exploded. I looked over at Terese. She wasn't moving. The man in the mug shot-the man who had shot her-started running away, slipping into the drawing room. I heard more gunfire. I heard someone yell to freeze and stop. I ignored them. Somehow I crawled toward the drawing room. Blood poured off me. I couldn't tell exactly, but I figured the bullet had landed somewhere near my stomach.

I clawed through the opening, not even checking to see if it was safe. Move forward, I thought. Grab the bastard and kill him. He was by the window. I was in pain and maybe delirious, but I reached out and grabbed his leg. He tried to kick me off, but there was no way. I dragged him down to the ground.

We wrestled, but he was no match for my rage. I gouged his eye with my thumb, weakening him. I grabbed his windpipe and started to squeeze. He started to flail, hitting me in the face and neck. I held on.

"Freeze! Drop it!"

Voices in the distance. Commotion. I wasn't even sure they were real. More like something from the wind. Might be something I was hallucinating. The accent sounded American. Familiar even.

I still squeezed the windpipe.

"I said, freeze! Now! Let him go!"

Surrounded. Six, eight men, maybe more. Most with guns aimed at me.

My eyes met the killer's. There was something mocking in them. I felt my hold slacken. I don't know if it was the command to let him go or if the bullet wound was ebbing away my strength. My hand dropped off him. The killer coughed and sputtered and then he tried to take advantage.

He brought up his gun.

Just as I hoped.

I had pulled the small gun from my leg holster. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand.

The familiar American voice: "Don't!"

But I didn't really care if they shot me. Still holding his wrist, I took my gun, pushed it under his chin and fired. I felt something wet and sticky hit my face. Then I dropped the gun and fell on top of his still body.

Men, a lot of them from the feel of it, tackled me. Now that I had done what I had to, my power and will to live drained away. I let them turn me and cuff me and do whatever, but there was no need for restraints. The fight was out of me. They flipped me onto my back. I swiveled my head and looked at Terese's still body. I felt a pain as enormous as any I had ever known consume me.

Her eyes