If you ain’t gonna track her down,
there’s gotta be somethin’ wrong with you!
Ever since turning from the bureau, Emma’s hands had been concealed in the deep folds of her chemise. Now both hands swept up, and McLaren saw the ugly twin guns held in her grip. His eyes snapped up to the face.
“Oh, if you knew how I’ve waited for this, Casey,” she said savagely. “Didn’t I plan it all so cleverly? Why don’t you draw one of your guns on me? I hear you’re as talented at shooting people as you are at putting them in jail. Go ahead, Casey!”
Shaking his head slowly, he advanced on her.
“Give me those guns, Emma, you hear?”
Emma backed up against the bureau, then lowered herself to the floor, almost as if her legs would no longer support her. McLaren watched in morbid fascination as Emma brought her right hand up, taking aim with the .45.
“Take another step and I’ll fire, Casey.”
“No, you won’t, Emma,” he said, his expression suddenly haggard as he lunged for the door.
Emma Smith shot him twice in the back at point-blank range.