Talbot raged, "Because I loved you!"
"What?" Percey gasped.
Talbot continued. "You laughed when I said I wanted to marry you."
"Ron, no. I--"
"And you went back to him." He sneered. "Ed Carney, the handsome fighter pilot. Top gun . . . He treated you like shit and you still wanted him. Then . . . " His face was purple with fury. "Then . . . then I lost the last thing I had--I was grounded. I couldn't fly anymore. I watched the two of you logging hundreds of hours a month while all I could do was sit at a desk and push papers. You had each other, you had flying . . . You don't have a clue what it's like to lose everything you love. You just don't have a clue!"
Sachs and Sellitto saw him tense. They anticipated his trying something, but they hadn't guessed Talbot's strength. As Sachs stepped forward, unholstering her weapon, Talbot scooped the tall woman completely off her feet and flung her into the evidence table, scattering microscopes and equipment, knocking Mel Cooper back into the wall. Talbot pulled the Glock from her hand.
He swung it toward Bell, Sellitto, and Dellray. "All right, throw your guns on the floor. Do it now. Now!"
"Come on, man," Dellray said, rolling his eyes. "What're you gonna do? Climb out the window? You ain't going nowhere."
He shoved the gun toward Dellray's face. "I'm not going to say it again."
His eyes were desperate. He reminded Rhyme of a cornered bear. The agent and the cops tossed their guns onto the floor. Bell dropped both of his.
"Where does that door lead?" He nodded to the wall. He'd have seen Eliopolos's guards outside and knew there was no escape that way.
"That's a closet," Rhyme said quickly.
He opened it, eyed the tiny elevator.
"Fuck you," Talbot whispered, pointing the gun at Rhyme.
"No," Sachs shouted.
Talbot swung the weapon her way.
"Ron," Percey cried, "think about it. Please . . . "
Sachs, embarrassed but unhurt, was on her feet, looking at the pistols that lay on the floor ten feet away.
No, Sachs, Rhyme thought. Don't!
She'd survived the coolest professional killer in the country and now was about to get shot by a panicked amateur.
Talbot's eyes were flicking back and forth from Dellray and Sellitto to the elevator, trying to figure out the switch pad.
No, Sachs, don't do it.
Rhyme was trying to catch her attention, but her eyes were judging distances and angles. She'd never make it in time.
Sellitto said, "Let's just talk, Talbot. Come on, put the gun down."
Please, Sachs, don't do it . . . He'll see you. He'll go for a head shot--amateurs always do--and you'll die.
She tensed, eyes on Dellray's Sig-Sauer.
No . . .
The instant Talbot looked back at the elevator Sachs leapt for the floor and snagged Dellray's weapon as she rolled. But Talbot saw her. Before she could lift the large automatic he shoved the Glock at her face, squinting as he started to pull the trigger in panic.
"No!" Rhyme shouted.
The gunshot was deafening. Windows rattled and the falcons took off into the sky.