Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
A smart person would run. They would seek shelter beneath the heavy conference table, or at least behind one of the chairs. Even standing motionless would be better since that was less likely to draw his attention.
But my mind buzzed with fear, and I refused to let it control me. I’d given up control too much in my life already, and it made me reckless now.
I had hardly enough breath to form the word. “Scott.”
His focus, including his gun, swung my direction. “I worked here eighteen goddamn years. Before you, before him. I helped build this place. You can’t replace me!”
Terror froze Jim into a statue.
“Please, Scott. Don’t do this.” My voice stayed calm, even as a tremor crept along my body. “You’re better than this.”
My words had no effect on him. His eyes teemed with hurt, with utter betrayal, and he looked so lost. Like he wasn’t all there anymore.
“You can’t fire me.” The barrel of his gun shifted back to Jim. “I need this job. It’s all I . . . it’s the only thing left.”
The urge to do something, to try to diffuse the situation somehow, was so compelling I couldn’t ignore it. My voice dropped down into a whisper. “Look at me.”
He did, showing me his wild, chaotic expression. “I’m not going to give you the gun.”
“That’s fine.” My tone was eerily calm. “I don’t want it.”
I moved without consideration and stepped out of my shoes, partly because I wanted to seem less challenging, but also because I didn’t want to die in them. My actions temporarily disrupted Scott, and his expression changed to confusion. His extended arm sagged a few inches, lowering his aim away from Jim.
“I’ve been where you are,” I said. “I know how hard it is—”
Anger flashed through him, and his grip tightened on the gun, raising it back up. “You don’t have any idea.”
I swallowed thickly. “All right, tell me.”
It didn’t look like he was going to.
He stared at Jim with contempt as he considered his options. Did he even comprehend what he was doing right now?
Abruptly, a pained sound escaped him, and he glanced in my direction. “She left me, Kara. Twenty-two years gone, like they were nothing.” His violent shaking increased, amplifying how unstable he looked. “Without this, without her, I’m nothing.”
“You’re not nothing, Scott,” I said softly, “but I get it. I felt like that, too. I know what it’s like to put your soul into something, to change your whole damn life for another person.” The tremble in my voice matched his. “To give and give and give, only to have it fall apart, no matter what.”
I didn’t bother to hide my pain. I wanted him to feel the connection.
Since his back was turned, he didn’t notice the movement beyond the glass. I barely caught it out of the corner of my eye but didn’t dare drop my gaze. It remained locked on Scott’s, where I could see all the turmoil churning inside him.
His shoulders lifted with a heavy breath and then dropped with resignation. The gun lowered hesitantly to his side.
“It’s going to get better, I promise,” I uttered in the silence, maybe more for my own benefit than his.
He tilted his head and looked at me like I was a fool. “No, it won’t.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the door burst open so violently that it slammed into the wall on the other side. A security guard charged in, leveled his Taser at Scott, and fired before anyone could react.
The leads hit their mark, and a horrible clicking sound filled the air, followed by Scott’s guttural groans. He dropped the gun, went unnaturally wooden, and fell forward, crashing to the floor with a loud, sickening thud.
Everything moved so quickly after that.
Police arrived. I stood by and watched one of them put a knee in Scott’s back while he was cuffed and hauled to his feet. I stared at the stubby office carpet and tried to block out the fact he was crying.
I didn’t cry.
It wasn’t that I was incapable or that I didn’t have feelings. I had plenty. Perhaps too many, even. But crying never accomplished anything, and it was hard for me not to view it as a waste of my time. I didn’t like being sad, and I certainly didn’t like self-pity. I would much rather focus on solutions.
My first phone call after the ordeal was over was to my sister, Laurel. Thankfully, it wasn’t late in Munich when I phoned, but she freaked out to the point that I began to wonder who had just been threatened at gunpoint.
Given her history, plus her pregnancy hormones, I cut her all the slack.
The police took my statement together with Jim’s, and when the interview was over, he loosened his tie like it had been cutting off circulation.