Chapter Seventeen
Oman immediately turned on him, his weapon jerking up. Dev didn’t blink. He had no doubt that Oman would kill him if he had the chance, but Oman hadn’t yet figured out that he was looking at three-on-one, and the odds weren’t stacked in his favor.
Stepping deeper into the room, he kept Oman’s attention on him, giving Joss a chance to come out of the bathroom down the hall.
He needed the cop to take just a step or two forward…
Oman took one.
It was a small step, but it should get him out of line of sight of the small bathroom just off the main room. If he could keep the man’s attention on him.
Nyrene was tucked away in her bedroom on the far side of the house and as long no bullets started flying, she should be safe.
Safe.
He had less belief in that word now than ever before, but he was determined to do what he could to ensure her safety.
“Why did you kill Meredith, Oman?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the other cop said, an easy smile on his face. “You really shouldn’t have your gun drawn.”
Dev didn’t so much as blink. “You and me both know my weapon is holstered, Oman. You’re the only one with a weapon out.” Dev had intentionally left his weapon in the holster under his arm and he had no intention of drawing it unless he had to. Let Oman get cocky. Let him get stupid.
“You planning on killing me in cold blood?” Dev curled his lip at the other cop. “That ought to make the upcoming IAB investigation really interesting.”
Oman’s eyes flickered.
A floorboard creaked just as Joss appeared behind the dirty cop.
Oman went to spin around but Joss had already moved, putting the muzzle of his Glock snug against Oman’s temple. “You don’t want to be doing whatever it is you’re thinking there,” Joss said, his voice soft and easy. “If you do, I’ll pull this trigger, and trust me, I’ll have a much easier time explaining things to IAB than you will. After all, I’m not the one holding a gun on an unarmed man.”
“Okay, I lied,” Bennett said. “Maybe you’re not the only one who is armed.”
Oman had started to sweat.
It got even worse as Captain Amana revealed herself, stepping out of the kitchen, her own weapon in her hand and leveled at Oman. “Lower the weapon, Lieutenant,” she said gently. “This is over.”
“No.” Oman sucked in a breath, then another, just shy of hyperventilating, it seemed.
What happened next happened so fast that Dev’s mind went into overdrive just to handle it.
Oman shouted at him, the words a jumbled mess. Then he threw himself backward and sideways toward the door, away from the weapon Joss pointed at him. Dev didn’t even remember drawing his own, but he found himself staring at Oman over the matte-black length of his Glock, his breathing slow, steady, heart slowing down as he prepared himself to pull the trigger.
But Oman was doing the same thing.
Only Oman had the muzzle of his gun pressed against the underside of his own chin.
“You think you’re going to win this?” he said, panting.
“You dumb shit,” Joss said.
Heavy tension filled the air in the next moment.
Face going purple, Oman started to lower his hand. But it was slow, like something was forcing the hand down.
“Son of a bitch,” Dev muttered, recalling how something had grabbed him by the throat when he’d tried to get Joss to stop doing…whatever he’d been doing to Nyrene. It was the same tension in the air now that he’d felt then.
And, sure enough, when he looked at Oman’s wrist, there were indentations, like a hand gripped him.
Those indentations pressed tighter and tighter as Oman’s weapon hand was forced lower.
In a voice tense with strain, Joss said, “Do me a favor, Deverall. Relieve him of his weapon.”
Amana, unaware of what was really happening, stirred next to him.
“What the fuck is happening?” Oman shouted.
Ignoring him, Dev took the weapon from a rigid hand. It was like prying something from the frozen grip of a corpse. Once he had it, he reversed the weapon in his hand and used it as a club, smacking Oman across the temple.
He dropped like a stone and Dev stood over him, breathing hard. “You don’t get the easy way out, you chickenshit son of a bitch.”
* * * * *
Amana was in the middle of arguing with Joss, insisting that Nyrene needed to come in and give a statement.
Dev didn’t like the idea of her not being where he could watch over her, but he knew what Amana didn’t—Nyrene had people looking out for her that regular cops just couldn’t deal with.
He was trying to figure out how he was supposed to turn around and walk away from her now that his part in this fiasco was almost done.
He didn’t know how he could.
Silently, he leaned against the counter in the kitchen while Nyrene sat at the table.
Four cop cars were parked out front. Morell was in one. Oman was in another.
An edgy tension filled Joss, something that Dev had picked up on the moment the cop cars had arrived. Nyrene was oddly quiet.
He didn’t think he liked any of it.
He liked it even less when a knock sounded at the front door.
Nyrene tensed, looking up from her cup of tea with an odd, almost mechanical movement. She got up and he watched as she made her way into the small living room, one made even smaller by the dynamic presences of Amana and Joss Crawford.
Nyrene stood there in the doorway and smoothed her hands down her pants.
“It’s Taige,” she said, the words coming out dull and listless.
“About fucking time,” Joss muttered. He gestured to the door.
Nyrene shifted from foot to foot, her reluctance so obvious Dev wanted to tell all of them to get the hell out of her house.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he edged around her and paused at her side, brushing his fingers down her arm. “Why don’t you sit? I’ll get it.”
Night was coming on now and while he didn’t know what it was that had tension vibrating inside her, he suspected it had to do with the woman on the other side of the door. He knew Taige wanted Nyrene to help them lure in some of the people from this so-called Psychic Portal, but he thought she’d already done enough.
As he opened the door, he searched for the right phrase to make the woman standing on the porch see that.
But he took one look at her and realized it was a waste of time.
She met his eyes levelly, the gray hard and uncompromising. To his surprise, she didn’t force her way inside. “She has done enough, but they don’t care.”
Delivered as simply as that, and he knew.
“They’re coming, aren’t they?” he asked.
Taige inclined her chin.
“Fuck.” Stepping aside, he let Taige enter.
He could tell the captain recognized Taige Morgan by the way Amana’s jaw dropped, her normal unflappable attitude completely…well, flapped. Amana’s blue eyes blinked rapidly as she locked on Taige’s face and she reached up to smooth her hair back before, finally, she took a step forward, one hand outstretched.
“You’re Taige Morgan.”
Taige glanced at her, then accepted the offered hand. “I am. Captain, I hate to be blunt, but I need you and your cops to get the hell out of here.”
Amana blinked at the terse delivery.
Then she skimmed her eyes around the room, let her gaze linger on Joss before she slanted it back to Taige. After a moment, she nodded. But before she turned for the door, she looked at Deverall. “I expect some sort of explanation.”
“I don’t know how much I can tell you.”
“Just…” She waved a hand. “Tell me something.”