CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FLINT COULD SEE that Terwilliger was bleeding from a head wound near his temple. The man had to have lost a lot of blood from his earlier wound and now this one. But he appeared to be strong enough to either choke the life out of Maggie or pull the trigger and shoot her in the head.
Flint worked his way closer, trying hard not to show how difficult it was to walk on his injured leg. The last thing he wanted was to look vulnerable in any way. A man like Terwilliger would feed on that.
“You’re a monster, Terwilliger, but not even you would kill your own daughter,” Flint said.
“You sure about that, Sheriff? She tried to shoot me.”
“Because you’re scaring her—just like you are now. Let her go. This is between you and me.”
The man shook his head. “Not until you drop your gun.”
“That doesn’t seem fair unless you drop yours, as well.”
Terwilliger laughed. “Looks to me like you aren’t getting around all that well, Sheriff. Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’m okay. How about you?”
“I’m fine,” the man lied. Flint could see that he was in pain and bleeding badly. He figured only meanness was keeping the man on his feet. Backed into a corner, though, Terwilliger could kill Maggie just out of spite, Flint knew. It didn’t matter that she was his blood. Finding her and abducting her hadn’t been about love. It had been about control, and right now he had all the control.
“I said put down your gun,” Terwilliger repeated and tightened his grip on Maggie.
Flint looked into her eyes. He saw her pleading look. Like him, she knew that the moment he put down his weapon, Terwilliger would kill him.
The law was on its way. He could hear sirens growing closer and could see how this was going to end. Terwilliger had probably told himself, like a lot of ex-cons, that he’d rather die than go back to prison.
Most of them changed their minds when the time came, but he didn’t think this man was one of them. Terwilliger would never see daylight outside of prison again and he had to know that.
“Now!” the man barked. The hold he had on Maggie was cutting off her air. Flint saw her struggling. Even if Terwilliger didn’t shoot her, he would strangle her to death if Flint didn’t do something.
“I’m putting down my weapon.” He kept it pointed in the man’s direction as he slowly began to lower it to the floor. Flint told himself it was too dangerous to take a shot. Terwilliger was using Maggie as a shield. Flint’s only chance at a shot was at the man’s head. And if Flint actually managed to hit him, Terwilliger might pull the trigger before he hit the floor and kill Maggie.
But if Flint didn’t take the shot...
“If you don’t drop your gun...” Terwilliger had lifted Maggie off the floor in the headlock. Flint could see her clutching at his arm with her fingers, fighting for breath. The gun was still at her temple.
“Drop the gun!” the man yelled.
It was now or never. The sirens were close now. Terwilliger was shifting on his feet nervously and glancing toward the open doorway next to the van. If he made a run for it, he might be able to get away. If he didn’t... In a few minutes this place would be crawling with cops.
His hand was only inches from the floor and yet the thought of chancing such a shot... He suddenly looked past Terwilliger. Jenna. She was barely able to stand but she’d picked up the gun that Maggie had dropped.
Flint saw Terwilliger’s eyes widen in alarm because none of them had seen Jenna since he’d fired into the van. The man hadn’t turned to see who was behind him, but Flint could see him filling in the blanks. If Jenna was alive and had picked up the gun that Maggie had dropped...
Terwilliger started to turn. Flint had no choice; he had to take the shot. He could see that Jenna was having trouble lifting the gun in her hand. He raised his weapon and fired.
The bullet caught the man in the side of the head. Blood and gore filled the air for a moment. It seemed to all happen in slow motion. Flint saw Maggie go limp in the man’s arms. Then both of them dropped to the floor. Past them, Jenna dropped the gun and slumped to the floor as well as the sirens grew louder and louder.
Flint tried to run to Maggie, but his bad leg gave out. He fell and had to crawl the last few yards as the winter night filled with flashing red and blue lights. Pulling himself to her, he touched her face, terrified that Terwilliger had managed to get off a shot. If they’d both fired at the same time...
Her face was splattered with blood, so he couldn’t tell if it was hers or Terwilliger’s. Her eyes were closed, but they fluttered open at his touch. He’d never seen such beautiful brown eyes. She began to cough as she gasped for air, and he realized that it hadn’t been a gunshot that had dropped her. It had been a lack of oxygen.
“Maggie?”
Tears filled her eyes as he took her in his arms. She cried against his shoulder as armed men began to spill in through the open doorway.
“Jenna?” she asked as one of the officers knelt down to check Jenna for a pulse.
“This one’s still alive,” the officer said and checked Terwilliger. He got on his radio, calling for an ambulance—and, looking at Terwilliger, a coroner.
“Maggie,” Flint said, reaching into his pocket. “I can’t wait any longer. Marry me?”