Miss No One - Mark Ayre (top 10 most read books in the world txt) 📗

hesitated. Fear of the people who wanted Abbie dead still held his tongue.

Hating herself for doing it, Abbie put the gun to Gary's head. Pressed the cool business end against the skull. Applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable after a few seconds.

Gary was a frightened teenager. He didn't deserve this.

But Abbie needed to know what she was facing.

"Whoever made you bring me here no doubt threatened you with all manner of torture if you didn't comply. I won't do the same. Nothing could move me to torture a teenager, but that does not make me harmless. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I will pull this trigger and end your life. There’ll be no torture. There’ll be nothing. You're afraid of the pain that might come your way if you disobey your masters, but I can protect you from that. No one can protect you from me."

Gary quivered and trembled. There was every chance the poor boy had wet himself, and, with every passing second, Abbie reviled herself more. After all, she had been sure this was a trap before she entered the school. Before she forced Gary over the gate she could have put on the frighteners, made him tell her the truth of the trap. Thoughts of Ben had made Abbie reckless. Following their earlier phone call, her emotions were heightened and she had overreacted to Gary’s bare faced lies about Isabella. Now this. She would never pull the trigger, but her actions could leave Gary traumatised for the rest of his days. Another innocent Abbie would have irreparably damaged. More guilt she would have to carry like a boulder on her back.

And despite all this, she couldn't stop. Or wouldn't, at least.

"You have three seconds to tell me their plan," said Abbie, "Before I put a bullet in your brain."

Abbie knew he would break before then. The count was a tool to inspire Gary's tongue to start wagging. She watched his mouth open before she'd even begun. He was about to spill all.

Then someone stepped around the corner.

"Oh dear, looks like I've caught you red-handed."

Abbie spun. Her gun was half-way raised towards the newcomer before she saw who it was.

"Kilman."

"That's DCI Kilman to you," he said, raising his own gun. "But don't bother correcting yourself because you have the right to remain silent."

The detective stepped forward, a triumphant smile on his lips.

"You're under arrest," he said. "And this time, no pretty little lawyer's getting you off."

Nineteen

“‘No pretty little lawyer’s getting you off,’” Abbie repeated. “Is that intentional innuendo?”

Abbie was no stranger to the whole having a gun pointed at your head thing. She had stared into the faces of numerous supposedly murderous men and women and, more out of habit than design, tended to try and read their eyes.

Sometimes, what Abbie saw signalled this would-be murderer was not going to kill her. Ana was a case in point. Though she had not come at Abbie with a gun, rather a knife, she had undoubtedly come claiming she was about to end Abbie's life. Abbie had suspected Ana would not find the will to carry out this threat. She said will, rather than courage, because she believed, more often than not, murder was closer to an act of cowardice than it was to one of strength. Many of Abbie's own kills she attributed to this same cowards trait.

Many people had threatened Abbie with a gun or a knife, a decent number of whom had a look in their eyes that said they would be unable to pull the trigger, metaphorically or literally.

Kilman had no such look.

"Drop the gun, put your hands on your head."

Abbie rose. She lowered the gun to her side but didn't drop it. Her hands remained by her hips and showed no signs of making the short trip to her head. Kilman looked as though he had the will to kill Abbie. But that did not mean he would.

She looked the detective straight in the eye.

"Should you even be armed?"

Rather than answer, Kilman went for his radio. His gun still aimed at Abbie's chest, he pressed a button on the radio's side, and it crackled into life. Never breaking eye contact with Abbie, the cop demanded an armed response unit at the school ASAP. He told whoever was on the other end of the line he had prevented Abbie from murdering a witness in her ongoing case, and he needed backup to secure her. She was armed and extremely dangerous.

"Extremely?" said Abbie as he released the radio button. "You flatterer."

The radio crackled into life again. Received and understood. Armed response was on the way.

"Drop the gun," Kilman said again. "Hands on your head."

"If I do that," said Abbie, "you might cuff me and kick me to my knees. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Would I not?"

"No. How pissed will the armed response team be if they turn up and find they've wasted a trip. Lot of taxpayers' money goes into kitting them up, and that's before we take petrol into account. Don't you want to give them something to do?"

"I want your gun on the ground and your hands on your head. You have three seconds to comply."

This almost made Abbie smile, but she held her blank expression. It was the same trick she'd used on Gary moments earlier. Only in this case, the ticking clock wouldn't get her to speak because only one ticking clock held her interest, and that was the one attached to Isabella's life.

"Or what?" she said. "My hands are by my side. I'm displaying no threatening behaviour. You'd have to shoot me in cold blood."

"I'll say it was self-defence," said Kilman. "You're a dangerous criminal, Abbie, and you don't want to test my patience."

Abbie sighed, then spun on her heel. Now she was facing away from Kilman.

"How about now?" she asked. "Still think you can paint the altercation as self-defence if there's a bullet in my back?"

"That's very clever," said Kilman. "You okay keeping your back to