Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"You bitch! You fucking bitch!"

The brief sound of a struggle, MacIver holding Leslie back, trying to reason with her. I pushed to my feet, gun still on that spot, ears telling me they were both a few feet away.

Ken moaned. The shot, if I'd aimed right, had gone through his left lung, dangerously close to his heart, but not fatal. Not yet. Better to keep him alive and in mortal danger, dividing their attention.

"I'm going for help," MacIver said.

I sidestepped to the tire wall and backed up past a gap between stacks. Through it, I could see across the entrance and aim a gun, but Leslie had stopped MacIver and they were arguing.

I pressed my hands against one tire stack, testing it, but it would take all my weight to knock it over and I couldn't predict where it would land.

"We have to reason with her," MacIver was saying. "Come to an agreement."

"Reason with her? She shot Ken!"

"We - we'll pay her. Insurance. We factored this into the forecast, and we have enough - "

"To pay blackmail money to a killer? Start and you'll never stop."

They continued talking about me as if this ti

re wall was soundproof. I staked out the area, creeping about as my eyes continued to adjust.

"For God's sake, Leslie! Ken's dying. Who cares about blackmail? We'll just pay her to let us out of here."

Leslie's harsh laugh echoed through the warehouse. "Let us out? Palmer, look around. We're ten feet from the door. She's the one trapped. Now, here's the plan."

Her voice lowered as she whispered instructions. I crept forward, straining to hear, but Ken's labored breathing drowned it out.

"No," MacIver said finally. "I mean it, Leslie. I've had enough of this, and I won't let Ken die."

His loafers slapped the concrete as he strode to the edge of the tire wall. Leslie called for him to stop, but his figure rounded the corner, stepping from the blackness into the gray gloom.

"I want to negotiate," he said.

I shot him in the forehead.

Chapter Forty-eight

"You bitch!" Leslie shrieked as MacIver crumpled to the floor.

"Did I mention the part about people dying?"

I flicked on my penlight, the weak beam illuminating MacIver's outstretched hand, still holding Ken's gun. Leslie stopped cursing.

"Yes, I knew he was coming around that corner to shoot, not negotiate," I said. "Did you really think I'd fall for it? Or just good enough odds... so long as someone else was taking the risk? That's how you operate. Get the guys to do the dangerous parts. It's easy, isn't it? We can slide into damsel-in-distress mode without even realizing it."

The barrel of Leslie's gun slid around the corner. I fired. She yelped and stumbled back, shoes scratching against the pavement as she recovered.

"The difference between you and me?" I went on, un-fazed. "You do it intentionally. You tell them what you need, the ugly job that has to be done, say you're too scared to do yourself, and they jump right in to help."

"Would you shut up?" she said between gritted teeth.

"Why? Am I distracting you? I could talk all night, but Ken doesn't have that long." I paused. "Are you even thinking about Ken? What's little Miranda going to do without her daddy?"

"She's got me."

"Ouch, and you call me cold. He can still hear you, you know, lying on that cold floor, dying. Think of all he's done for you. And this is how you repay him."