Trapezoid (The Base)

Chapter 38

If he was not busy trying to staunch Chris' life-threatening wound, he'd have let his senses take leave and allow himself to go wild—wild enough to end another life. How should he respond when he was constantly knocked down when he finally found a way to stand up? A bomb had frozen his heart, but it had thawed. Did it take a bullet to permanently dismember it? How partly satisfying it would be to slowly drain the life out of the wickedly handsome fiend.

Richard sauntered forward and stopped in front of his victims two feet away. He openly seemed to enjoy the sight. The once breathtaking dress of the so-called Kristal Thompson was ruined, the crimson color of her blood spreading on the silver background. He fought to keep a blank expression, the hand of "Joey Grey" bathed in it too as he fought to staunch the flow. His lips turned up in a smirk as he monitored "Kristal's" labored gasps for breath and the drawing vacancy of her truly beautiful eyes. But what he relished in was the anger of torment etched in the deep blue locked on him.

It had been his main intention to shoot her vertebrae but his mediocre rookie pilot was a nervous wreck, dipping and tilting ever so often. But fate was on his side, the bullet's aim enough to kill her. How long would she live seeing that he was not there to offer a ride to the hospital? She'd live long enough to suffer for all the messes she had done to him. There was no telling what else she'd done that he had not found out yet. This was the least he could do.

It was undeniably entertaining to observe how the twosome had made it out the building. But now it was time to get back to his main intention for landing. Deep blue orbs had turned lifeless into a glassy murderous hue. Richard wet his lips in pleasure. He was in control. And it felt good. He brought out his Glock—his aim perfectly between the blues. The couple would die together. What a perfect way to end it all! Things might have gone wrong at the museum of music, but he always got back up on his two feet. He'll be back. But they won't—just like Pauline.

Maybe he'll say something now—before the funeral. "Kristal, it would've been fun if it lasted. Grey, it really is too bad."

Unable to resist the force pushing it out, a single bullet exploded out of its barrel, shattering the air—shattering life.

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Lisa lowered the weapon, a weapon she'd never dreamed of using. Her body trembled, adrenaline coursing through.

She'd done it.

Greenwood lay still—so still. With her perfect aim to the back of his cranium, there was only one answer to the inevitable question. He was dead. Blood started to ooze onto the concrete, pooling underneath his head. Arms tucked underneath his body, his hands still clutched his Glock. Suit without a single crease and expensive dress shoes had no choice but to hold onto the dead.

She'd killed Richard Greenwood. She'd taken a life.

For whom?

Her head came up to see a distraught Stevens with a half-conscious Christina Hopper. The shock produced by her ghastly deed faded as she focused on rescuing her fellow agents. Helping Stevens put Hopper on the chopper in the least medically-risky way; she fought the urge to shudder. Blood trailed the way to the vehicle to which she was a pilot. Without wasting a second, they were in the air on the way to the hospital. She took an assessing glace or two to the back of the helicopter at her passengers. Stevens whispered gently spoken words into the hair of the unconscious.

To her it was worth it—although Chris. . .well, she had no idea what she would have said.

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