Page 88 of Manner of Death
Oh, fuck. They weren’t getting out of here in his car, were they?
Unaware of Bashir’s mind spinning out, Sawyer opened the driver side door and got in. With the door still open, he started the engine. It came to life as normal. No sputtering. No exploding. No—
Someone tried the doorknob.
Sawyer revved the engine. “Let’s go!”
Bashir started toward the car, but then something slammed into the door. Something hard and solid. A chair, maybe. The door was, like most of the house, well-constructed, but it was only going to be able to withstand so much. And Boyce was a big dude with an even bigger temper; he was the reason one of the morgue drawers had a dent in its stainless steel front.
Bashir glanced back and forth between the car and the door.
His fingers curled around the gun in his hand.
He could end this now. All of it. Boyce probably wouldn’t even know what hit him.
“Bashir!” Sawyer called. “Come on!”
Bashir swallowed. Then he hit the button for the garage door opener and leveled the gun at the door Boyce was trying to break down.
Two things registered at once:
First, the garage door opener’s motor was still dead silent.
Second… the doorframe was dangerously close to giving way.
“The garage door isn’t opening!” he called over his shoulder. “You’re going to have to ram through it!”
Would that even work? Or would the car hit it and—
The middle of the door to the house burst open, sending splinters flying in all directions.
Bashir squeezed off a shot, firing blindly, but he didn’t realize until too late that Boyce had used a kettle ball to smash through the door… and that he’d thrown it through the gaping hole. It was a big one—probably the thirty-five pounder Bashir’s trainer made him use for some of his more diabolical workouts—and it collided with Bashir’s chest. He staggered back, clipped his shoulder on a post, and then stumbled over his lawnmower, momentum sending him sprawling onto his back on the concrete.
The gun clattered across the floor.
The rest of the door shattered off its frame and hinges.
And just like that, Boyce had them trapped and unarmed in the garage.
Chapter 24
“Throw your phones inside the house.”
That voice…it didn’t sound like Boyce, but that was because it was obviously being manipulated. It wasn’t supposed to sound anything other than deep and intimidating, which it was doing a good job of. Sawyer had to fight down his panic when the bulky, indistinct form of the man stalking them came into view in the broken doorframe.
It had to be Boyce. He didn’t remember the man being that damn big, but layers could cover up a myriad of tells.
“Phones,” the man said, sounding annoyed. “And keys. Now.” He raised an arm, and now Sawyer could make out the handgun—it was big, the kind that would put a hole in someone that couldn’t be fixed by the best doctor.
And they had no gun—Sawyer had seen Bashir’s fly out of his hand. It could be anywhere now. Even if Sawyer saw it, he was in no condition to dive for it. And Bashir didn’t have the kind of garage where everything doubled as a weapon. There were no hammers hanging on the walls, no random handsaws or prybars or even a screwdriver that Sawyer could see. They had no weapon at all…except for the obvious one. Or maybe it wasn’t so obvious, since Boyce hadn’t even mentioned it yet.
Fuck it, it was worth a try.
“Give us a second,” Sawyer said as calmly as he could manage. He pulled the key out of the ignition, turning the car off, then fiddled with the fob for a moment. Come on, get off, get off…
“Hurry the fuck up!”
“I’m sorry.” Sawyer knew better than to antagonize the man with the gun. “I’m moving slow since my accident.” He finished his little modification then got out, holding his phone and the car key up in his good hand. “I’m going to toss these into the house.”