Page 84 of PSYCHOlogical

Having her share meals with me in my home was a dream I doubted would ever materialize. Experiencing her satisfaction and appreciation of my offerings warmed my heart. Although our time together was short, it was sufficient enough to cause me to realize what I wanted out of life.

Tranquility.

I glanced at my watch. After placing my hands against the top of the door just as he instructed, I kicked it with the toe of my boot twice to announce my arrival.

Slowly, the door opened, taking the weight of my upper body with it.

A bearded man a head taller than me and fifty pounds heavier peered through the opening. He held a pistol in his left hand. His eyes locked on my open jacket. Upon seeing the bomb-laden vest, they immediately shot wide.

“Look familiar?” I asked with a dry laugh. “Before you think of any way to walk away from this, I’ll warn you. I’m holding a dead man’s switch in my left hand. Are you aware of what that is?”

The switch was a spring-loaded tube with a button at the end of it. Used as a trigger for a bomb’s detonation device, the switch required that the button be held down, once it was activated. If the button was released—if even for a nanosecond—the bomb detonated.

If my bearded opponent pushed me, struck me, shot me, or did anything that would cause my left thumb to move, the entire city block would be vaporized.

He swallowed heavily. His eyes shifted to my left hand, and then to my torso.

Despite the night’s forty-degree temperature, sweat cascaded along my face and dripped from my chin.

“Take all the time you need to look it over,” I said. “It’s the real deal. I used C4, because I had a few dozen pounds of it at my disposal. Each detonator is wired in series to the switch, so if you cut one wire on this bastard, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The look on his face was priceless. He desperately wanted to take charge of the situation, but he couldn’t decide if there was a viable way to do so. While he contemplated what his next step was, I made the decision for him.

“Lower your weapon, take a few steps back, and let me in,” I said.

I wanted him to feel as if he was still able to protect himself. Truth be known, there was little chance that he’d emerge from the situation victorious. Eventually he’d either end up dead, or we’d all end up dead.

“You don’t have the guts to—”

I laughed. “A dead man’s switch displaces courage. That’s why terrorists use them. It isn’t about having guts. After this thing is activated, there’s no looking back. I could be scared to fucking death. It doesn’t matter. If you do anything that causes me to release this button, they’ll be sweeping your DNA up with a broom five miles from here. Now. Lower your weapon and take a few steps back.”

He did as I asked.

I wiped the sweat from my brow with my right forearm and then entered the residence. Using the heel of my boot, I kicked the door closed.

His pistol, a silenced HK Mark 23 .45 caliber, was the choice of the Army’s Delta Force, mercenaries, and some Navy SEALs. Based on his choice of weapons and his accuracy when killing Taggert and Wilson, I knew he was no newcomer to killing.

I’d spent two days a week training at Quantico’s weapons training range. The range was used to train marine officers, Army intelligence, DEA, ATF, FBI, Homeland Security, and any other quick reaction force that used weapons.

That extensive training gave me the confidence to do what I was about to do. A simple distraction would be all I needed to have the upper hand.

With his pistol dangling at his side, he stood ten feet from me, staring at my vest.

I had no intention of killing him. At least not yet. Considering his size and determination, shooting him in the thigh, shoulder, or upper arm wouldn’t cause enough damage to force him to drop his weapon.

Naturally, he’d return fire. As close as we were to one another, he’d undoubtedly hit me with at least one shot.

Then, it’d all be over.

My only hope was to shoot him in the hand. Luckily, his hands were as big as a ham. Even so, there was a one in a hundred chance of me hitting it.

It was my only hope.

I wiped my brow with my right wrist. “It goes without saying that I want to negotiate Val’s release.” I exhaled a long breath. “Is there any chance you can get me a glass of water? I’m sweating like a—”

“I’m not getting you a glass of fucking water,” he barked.

Clutching the dead man’s switch tightly in my palm, I extended my left arm. “Look at my arm,” I pleaded. “Sweat’s dripping off the tips of my fingers.”