It is the coldly correct answer to this dilemma. The only way out of the clinic is the door behind me. When a suspect escaped through the back last winter, Dalton ordered that exit boarded up. I thought he was overreacting. Now I am glad of it. There's one way out. I'm blocking it. If I do not respond to the threat, it ends here.
I should let it end here.
I cannot let it end here.
I put Val in that room. I need to get her out of it and stalling won't help because there is no magical third solution.
"I want to trade," I say. "Val and I will switch spots. You can take me hostage."
"I don't want you, Detective. Val here will do as I say. Won't you, Val?"
"Casey?" Val's voice quavers. "Just do what he wants. Please."
I set my gun in front of the door. "My weapon is down."
"Good. When I open the door, you'll kick it through." A pause. "Step back first. I want to see you across the room. Then on my signal, you'll walk forward and kick it through. If I see you charging the door or doing anything other than giving me your weapon, Val dies."
I back up across the room, within the sight line from the door. It creaks opens just enough for me to boot the gun inside. The waiting figure makes no motion to bend and retrieve the gun. That would give me an opening for attack.
"Walk my way," he says.
I reach the door, pull back my good leg, and . . . kick the door with everything I've got.
It flies wide open, and Brady falls back.
"Knock him down!" I shout to Val as I go for my gun.
Val flies at Brady. She swings, and her fist connects with his jaw, and her eyes widen as if in surprise at actually making contact. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.
Brady barely staggers, recovers fast and lunges at me, and I see a knife raised and twist out of the way just as it comes down. But that twist lands me out of reach of the gun. He scrambles for it. I kick. My foot strikes his jaw.
"Val!" I shout. "The gun."
She runs and snatches it up. Brady comes at me again. My fist plows into his jaw, in the same spot my foot had. He falls back snarling, but it's only a moment and then he's charging me with the knife.
I dodge his slash and dive over the hospital bed. There, on the floor, are the remnants of his wrist restraints. He cut them free with the knife. Where did he get--?
He circles around the bed, advancing as I retreat.
"Val?" I say. "Can you shoot?"
Her eyes round, as if I'm asking her to turn backward cartwheels. Shit. That means the gun is useless--Brady knows she won't fire it.
At least it isn't in his hand.
Brady keeps coming. I grab the rolling medical tray and fling it. The clatter startles him. I leap over the bed to get the gun from Val and--
She's backed across the room, and now she's by the door, weapon raised.
"If you can't shoot that," I say, "then run. Just take it and run. Get Eric."
"Val?" Brady says. "If you leave, I'll kill your detective."
"I can handle this," I say. "Just--"
He flies at me. I stand my ground, and he doesn't expect that and stops short. I slam my hand into his arm. The knife goes flying. He hits me, and I can't avoid that. The powerful blow slams into the side of my head. I stagger. Fall to one knee.
The knife. Damn it. Get the knife.