herself to shoot McGrogen. Damn it, no, he thought. His first thought was that even if she was able to shoot him, McGrogen would automatically fire the gun he still had pointed at Nina. His second thought was he didn’t want the trauma of having to shoot the man on Nina’s conscience.
He’d tried, Simon thought. Even after McGrogen had shot DeMarco, Simon had tried one last time to talk him down. But seeing Nina’s covert movements plainly told him something—either she didn’t think he had the skill to talk McGrogen down, or she believed McGrogen couldn’t be talked down. In the end, it didn’t really matter.
He’d had a bead on McGrogen’s face the whole time, on the space within that imaginary triangle formed by the corners of each eye and his chin. As a former cop, McGrogen would know it, yet he still looked at Simon, his gaze off of his best chance at escaping this situation—Nina.
His gaze suspiciously off Nina, Simon thought suddenly.
And sure enough, at that very moment, McGrogen’s gun arm drifted slightly to the right, away from his hostages.
Thoughts flashed through Simon’s mind. Though he hadn’t actually ever met the man before tonight, he’d reviewed McGrogen’s records before making the decision to shut down the retired annuitant program. As such, he knew how experienced McGrogen was. He was a seasoned cop and he’d been a good cop, too. He’d know he’d just given Simon an easy shot.
And that told Simon McGrogen wanted Simon to shoot him. That McGrogen didn’t want to be taken into custody. Didn’t want to have to live with the consequences of what he’d done.
Suicide by cop.
But Simon wasn’t giving the man that easy out.
He felt fear for them all. For Nina. For DeMarco. For himself.
But he had to take his chances. He needed to do something now.
So before Nina could fire DeMarco’s piece, Simon shot first.
He shot McGrogen in his right shoulder, knowing when he did, the impact would push his weapon even farther away from Nina. Sure enough, the moment the bullet hit him, McGrogen went flying backward and landed on the pavement.
“Stay down,” Simon shouted, the command meant for both McGrogen and Nina. Within seconds, he was standing over McGrogen’s body, his gun trained on him. A quick glance at Nina confirmed she still crouched over DeMarco, his gun still in her hand.
Their eyes met and held for a second, but then she dropped DeMarco’s gun and began ripping at his shirt and dealing with his wounds. “He shot him in the shoulder,” she called over her shoulder. “The wound’s not fatal but we need to get him to a hospital.”
Simon felt relief swamp him. He turned back to McGrogen, who was lying on the ground, eyes closed. “Why?” the other man moaned. “Why didn’t you shoot to kill me?”
So Simon had been right. McGrogen had wanted to commit suicide.
“Wasn’t going to happen,” he said to McGrogen. “You have several crimes to answer for, including the murders of Louis Cann and John Hastings. You’ve got a long legal case in front of you. And I want to make sure you enjoy every single second of it.”
Flipping McGrogen to his stomach, Simon cuffed him, probably taking a little too much pleasure in the man’s groans of pain. “Harold McGrogen, you’re under arrest for the murders of Louis Cann and...”
The door behind them banged open and several people, including Stevens, Archer, the mayor and Jase—who, along with Carrie, had been covering Simon’s back inside—exited the building. Jase and Stevens immediately rushed to Nina and DeMarco’s side.
“Jase?” Simon called. “Rita Taylor?”
“She’s with Carrie,” he said. “She took her out the front when DeMarco headed out that way. I kept an eye on things inside to make sure they didn’t pose a problem for you.”
Meaning he’d kept an eye on Gil Archer, just as Simon had asked him, too. He nodded his thanks to Jase, turning when Stevens said, “Granger, get your ass over here and tell me what the hell is going on.”
Simon complied, but only told him part of the story. He’d tell him the rest, but only when Gil Archer was no longer within earshot. As it was now, Simon kept his guard up and his gaze on the man, but he acted normal, assisting Stevens and the others any way he could. Within minutes, the ambulance came and took DeMarco away. First, however, Simon spoke to his friend. “Thank you,” he said simply, placing a hand on DeMarco’s uninjured shoulder.
DeMarco nodded