Chapter 13 - The Accomplice
Marcus stepped into the kitchen light. He was dressed in dark work clothes, wearing muddy leather boots, carrying a crowbar in his gloved right hand.
“Marcus,” I said, not moving an inch. “The police are already on their way.”
“No, they’re not,” Marcus sneered, taking a step forward. “Eleanor’s lawyer filed an emergency bail appeal an hour ago, claiming medical emergency. The cops are tied up at the detention facility because Eleanor faked a heart attack in holding. Miller is down there right now.”
He raised the crowbar, pointing it at the floor.
“Wesley had four hundred thousand dollars in gold bullion stashed in the dry well behind the furnace,” Marcus said, his teeth gritted. “That was my cut for the Dayton shipments. When you called the FBI, you froze my retirement. I’m taking what’s mine, and you’re coming with me as collateral to ensure your lawyer drops the civil suit.”
Buster exploded into a frenzy of barking, lunging against the leash I held in my left hand.
“Down, Buster!” I yelled.
Marcus laughed—a cruel, dismissive bark. “A golden retriever? Really, Nina? That dog wouldn't bite a piece of steak.”
He took two aggressive strides toward me, raising the steel crowbar.
“Drop it, Marcus,” I said coldly.
“Or what? You going to throw another grilled cheese at me?”
I didn't throw a sandwich.
I lifted my right hand from beneath the kitchen counter. In it was the high-voltage tactical taser I’d kept in my scrub pocket during my years working night shifts in the inner-city trauma unit.
*THWIP.*
Two pressurized nitrogen darts shot across the four-foot gap, slamming directly into Marcus’s heavy canvas jacket.
Fifty thousand volts of pulsing electrical current surged into his chest.
Marcus’s eyes rolled back. His muscles seized into rigid agony. The steel crowbar slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.
He collapsed face-first onto the rug with an undignified grunt, twitching uncontrollably as the taser cycle ran its full five seconds.
At that exact moment, the front door burst open.
Deputy Miller and two state troopers stormed into the foyer, firearms raised.
“POLICE! DON'T MOVE!”
Miller skidded to a halt in the kitchen archway, looking down at Marcus twitching on the floor, then up at me holding the smoking taser handle.
I looked at Miller, took a slow breath, and set the taser on the counter.
“He said you were at the jail,” I said.
May you like
Miller lowered his weapon, shaking his head with a mixture of shock and sheer respect. “Eleanor tried to fake a seizure. We didn't buy it for a second. Good work, Nina. Step away from the suspect.”
***