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Then he was up, stumbling, staggering forthe door. Out of the closet and into the hallway, the flickering fluorescentspainting his hollow face in ghoulish shades and shadows.
Ella heaved herself to her feet, blooddripping into her eyes from a gash on her brow. The world swam, tilted, but shegritted her teeth and pushed through, giving chase with single-mindeddetermination. Ella's lungs burned, her whole body one giant bruise. But shecouldn't stop, wouldn't stop. Not until she had Doyle either in chains or on aslab.
They spilled onto the stage, grappling andheaving. Ella caught a glimpse of Luca hunched over Vanzetti's limp form, bloodon his hands and a desperate, animal light in those eyes. Then Doyle's fistcaught her in the mouth and the world tunneled down to blood and rage and thedriving need to end this goddamn sideshow once and for all.
She slammed her forehead into his nose,felt cartilage crunch and splinter like dry kindling. Doyle howled like abranded calf, staggered back with blood pouring down his chin.
Ella pressed her advantage, dove low andcaught him around the waist. Heaved with all her strength, every ounce of hernot-inconsiderable fury.
Doyle's feet left the ground, eyes goingwide as dinner plates. For a single, crystalline moment he hung suspended in aslo-mo snapshot of surprise and dawning dread.
Then he crashed down, the back of his headcracking against the mic stand in a burst of feedback and sparks. Hit the stagelike a sack of wet cement.
Ella breathed a sigh of relief.
She knew a total knockout when she sawone.
Ella stood over him, chest heaving, blooddripping from her ravaged knuckles. Stared down at his slack, stupid face, theconfusion and fear swimming in his pain-glazed eyes.
‘Wha...’ Doyle slurred, tongue thick andclumsy behind shattered teeth.
‘Justice.’ Ella spat a glob ofblood-tinged saliva. ‘That’s all folks.’
‘I wouldna...’ Doyle heaved himself uponto his elbows, coughing wetly. ‘I still got... still got one more gag in me,one more bit...’
Then Luca materialized out of the gloom,pistol trained dead center on Doyle's forehead.
‘Sebastian Doyle. Don’t move an inch,’ hecommanded.
Ella collapsed against Luca, steadiedherself on his shoulder. Then she dropped to one knee beside Doyle’s crumpledform, shook out her cuffs and slapped them on his wrists.
Luca’s aim remained steady. Ella lookedover to the other side of the stage and saw Freddy Vanzetti sitting upright,clutching his stomach, breathing like a wounded animal.
Alive.
That was enough.
Ella found her cell, signaled theirlocation to the chief. Two minutes and this place would be swarming with cops,medics and forensics.
Luca adjusted his aim and said, ‘If youmove, you die on this stage.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Ellalaughed.
Game over.
Punchline delivered.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Ella perched on the edge of theLaughingstock's stage, legs dangling over the orchestra pit like she waswaiting for the matinee to start. The club was a hive of activity now -uniforms tramping through, techs tagging and bagging, EMTs hauling out the singlecasualty on a rattling gurney.
It was a dance she knew well, thepost-case shuffle. Usually she'd be chomping at the bit to get gone, to ditchthe circus and find a dark hole to lick her wounds in peace. But today, withLuca warm and solid beside her, the itch under her skin had dulled to a lowthrum.
‘Hell of a show,’ Luca said, kicking hisheels against the scuffed wood. ‘Dinner and a near-death experience. You sureknow how to treat a guy.’
Ella bit the inside of her cheek, tastedblood and the phantom burn of cheap whiskey. ‘Stick with me. I’ll take you onall the best bad rides.’
‘A bad ride? Sounds like a promise.’
