Page 122 of Over Her Dead Body

I can feel the situation getting away from me, which is ridiculous because I have not been in control of it for a single second.

The guard raises the gun toward him.

The assistant sees it.

So do I.

“Wait.”

The man behind the desk holds up a hand to the guard.

“He did not knowingly let Reid into this house. He believed him. I believed him. There are records, witnesses, cameras. If you’re trying to determine whether he was involved in whatever Reid did, you can determine that in about five minutes.”

The assistant nods.

“Yes.”

I keep going.

“His mistake was opening a door for someone who knew exactly what to say. If that is genuinely what we are dealing with here, shooting him would be a fairly significant overreaction to⁠—”

The man behind the desk gives the guard a small nod.

The gunshot cuts the sentence in half.

The assistant’s whole body jerks. His mouth opens, but whatever was coming out never does.

The chair rocks beneath him.

He reaches for the armrest and misses.

His knee hits the floor first. Then his shoulder. His cheek strikes the hardwood with a sound I will remember until the day I die.

Which, at the moment, feels less theoretical than I would like.

He doesn’t get back up.

I am standing before I know I have moved.

The guard swings the gun toward me.

“Sit.”

I don’t.

My chair presses against the backs of my knees, but my legs have apparently stopped accepting instructions.

The assistant’s shoe moves.

I stare at it.

Once.

Again.

“Sit.”

I sit.