The Kill Room

She was protecting him. When Jacob Swa

Slamming a fist into his ear, with surprising and painful force, she spat the chemical smoke residue from her mouth and pitched hard into him. Swa

“I’ll get backup.” Ru

Swa

Thinking again of her injury, he slammed a knee into hers, and she gave a gasping cry. The pain seemed to be intense. It loosened her guard for a moment and his strong hand clawed farther toward the gun in her hand. He was almost to it. Another few inches.

He kicked her joint again. This time she barked a high scream and her grip on the gun slackened even more. Jacob Swa

He touched the grip of the Glock – just as she flung her hand backward, releasing her hold. The pistol spiraled away, invisible in the smoke.

Shit…

Tugging at each other’s clothing, trading glancing blows and direct strikes, rolling on the floor, they fought desperately. Smelling sweat, smoke, a hint of perfume. He tried to force Sachs to her feet, which, with her damaged knee, would give him the advantage. But she knew it would be all over then and kept the fight on the ground, grappling and striking.

He heard voices from outside, calling for him to come out. The tactical teams wouldn’t risk an entry with the smoke and their star detective inside, invisible through the smoke. Also, for all they knew he’d had an Uzi or MAC 10 hidden on him and would spray the first dozen officers through the door with automatic fire.

Swa

He leaned toward her as if to bite; when she backed away fast he reversed direction and broke her grip. He rolled away and crouched, facing her. Sachs was in more pain and more winded. She was kneeling on the ground, cradling the joint. Tears filled her eyes from the ache and from the fumes. Her form was ghostly.

But he had to get the gun. Now. Where was it? Nearby, it had to be. But as he moved forward she glared at him, feral, hands turning from fists to claws and back again. She rose to her feet.

She froze and, wincing, reached for her hip, which like her knee also seemed a source of agony.

Now! She’s in pain, distracted. Now, her throat!

Swa

And then pain like nothing he’d felt in years exploded up the arm he swung, pain from hand to shoulder.

He jerked back fast, staring at the stripes of blood cascading through his fingers, staring at the glint of steel in her hand, staring at her calm eyes.

What…what?

She held a switchblade knife firmly in front of her. He realized she hadn’t been gripping her hip out of pain, but had been fishing for the weapon and clicking it open. She hadn’t stabbed him; he’d done it himself – with his furious blow aimed at her throat he’d driven the flesh of his open hand into the sharp blade.

My little butcher man…

Sachs backed away, crouching in a street fighter knife fight pose.

Swa

He quickly drew the Kai Shun and went into a stance similar to hers. There was, however, no real contest. He had killed two dozen people with a blade. She was probably a great shot, but this wasn’t her primary weapon. Swa

Feeling comfort in the handle of the Kai Shun, the weight, the dull gleam, the hammered blade.

He started for her fast, aiming low, imagining the slice, belly to breastbone…

But she wasn’t leaping back or turning and fleeing, as he’d anticipated. She stood her ground. Her weapon too – Italian, he believed – was positioned edge up. Her eyes flicked confidently among the blade, his eyes and various targets on his body.

He stopped, backed up a few feet and regrouped, flicking hot blood from his left hand. Then moving in fast once more, he feinted with a lunge but she anticipated that and easily avoided the Kai Shun, swinging the switchblade fast and nearly taking skin from his cheek. She knew what she was doing, and – more troubling – there wasn’t an iota of uncertainty in her eyes, though evidence of the pain was clear.

Make her work her leg. That’s her weakness.

He lunged again and again, not actually trying to stab or slash but driving her back, forcing her to shift her weight, wear down the joints.

And then she made a mistake.

Sachs stepped back a few yards, turned the knife around, gripping the blade. She prepared to throw it.

“Drop it,” she called, coughing frantically, wiping tears with her other hand. “Get down on the floor.”

Swa

“Do it now!” she shouted. “On the ground.”

Still, a flying blade can distract and a lucky hit can hurt like hell and possibly take out an eye. So, as she jockeyed to get the distance right, Jacob Swa

“I’m not going to tell you again.”

A pause. No flicker in her eyes.

She flung the switchblade.

He squinted and ducked.

But the throw was wide. The knife hit a china cabinet two feet from Swa

He relaxed and turned back to face her, as she stood leaning forward, arms at her sides, breathing hard, coughing.

She was his now. He’d get the Glock, negotiate some kind of escape. They could use the chopper for a ride out, of course.

He whispered, “Okay, what you’re going to do is–”

He felt the muzzle of a pistol pressing against his temple. His eyes shifted to the side.

The young officer, Ron apparently, had returned. No, no…Swa

She’d never been pla

“Now,” the young man said ominously. “Drop it.” Swa

He looked for a place where the Kai Shun wouldn’t get dented or chipped. He tossed it carefully onto the couch.

Sachs eased forward, still wincing, and retrieved it. She noted the blade with some appreciation. The young cop cuffed Swa

CHAPTER 89

The disabled accessible van wove through the emergency vehicles and parked at the curb near Spencer Boston’s house. Lincoln Rhyme had been at the staging area a few blocks away. Given his inability to wield a weapon, as he’d learned in the Bahamas, Rhyme thought it best to remain clear of the potential battlefield.