The door crashed back against the wall, the sound exploding in the dark silence.
Richard dropped, already moving before the door hit the wall, his grip on her wrist dragging her down with him. An explosion deafened her, blinded her. Another one, nearer, came so close on the heels of the first one the sounds almost blended into one. A strange percussion hit her, a small burst of air blasted against her skin.
Gun shots.
Her realization was immediate, but by that time there was nothing but the tinny ringing in her ears and the sharp smell of cordite burning her nostrils.
Her hearing and sight began to clear. She saw him now, flopping in the doorway. She heard him, a guttural, inhuman groan. The air fluttered out of his lungs like a balloon going flat, and then she smelled him.
She gagged, but fought back the bile that rose in her throat. “Are you all right?” Richard demanded, his voice harsh with urgency as he spun on his bare heel to face her.
“Yes,” she managed to croak. He stood from his crouched position and went to the bed, switching on the bedside lamp.
She squinted, almost blinded again. Before her eyes adjusted to the light, Richard was on the phone, his gaze locked on the body sprawled in the doorway. “This is Richard Worth,” he said quietly, to whoever was on the other end of the line. “Kai Stengel just broke into Sweeney’s apartment and tried to kill us.”
Kai?
Stunned, Sweeney blinked several times and looked at the body, then wished she hadn’t. Kai sprawled facedown in the bedroom doorway, his head turned toward her and his eyes open, set in the emptiness of death. There was a small, almost neat pool of blood under him, but the doorframe and the wall behind him were splattered with blood and gore.
“Don’t bother,” said Richard. “I shot him. He’s dead.”
As he replaced the receiver on the hook, Sweeney rose shakily to her feet and turned to him, instinctively wanting to go into his arms. She froze. Dark red rivulets streaked down his arm and chest, streaming from the top of his left shoulder.
“Oh, my God, you’re shot!”
He glanced down at his shoulder. “Just a little,” he said calmly, catching her as she launched herself at him.
She fought free of his grasp and pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed. “You can’t be just a little shot,” she said fiercely. “It’s like being pregnant; you either are or you aren’t. Stay here.”
She whirled and ran. Her first aid supplies were in the bathroom vanity cabinet. She had to step over Kai’s body to get out of the room, but she hesitated only a fraction of a second. Richard was bleeding, and the urgent need to take care of him overrode everything else. She was careful where she put her feet, but she didn’t slow down.
When she returned, laden with her first aid kit and a towel and washcloth, Richard had pulled on his jeans and was stepping into his shoes. “I told you to sit down!” she all but roared at him.
“No, you didn’t. You told me to stay here. I’m here.”
His mild tone infuriated her. But he sat down on the bed again and let her press a gauze pad to the top of his shoulder. “It’s just a burn; it won’t even need stitches.”
He sounded so remote that she gave him a sharp glance. His face was expressionless, his eyes cool and watchful as he looked at Kai. She remembered that he had been an army ranger, and suddenly she knew that he had killed before, that this was the way he operated in a firefight.
After a moment she lifted the pad and saw that he was right; the wound across the top of his shoulder was a raw streak that sullenly oozed blood. Sirens wailed, coming closer and closer; they sounded as if they were right outside, then the noise abruptly stopped. Sweeney picked up the wet washcloth and began cleaning the wound. Richard took the cloth away from her. “I’ll do it,” he said, and slipped his free hand under the T-shirt to pat her bare butt. “You’d better get some clothes on, unless you want the cops to see this pretty ass of yours.”
She scowled at him, but went to the closet and took out a pair of jeans, pulling them on without bothering to put on underwear. She was just in time; it took the first responding cops only a minute to get inside the building and up to her apartment. Richard made his escape while she was zipping and snapping, stepping past Kai to get to the front door before the thunderous pounding broke it down.
Four uniformed cops poured into the apartment. Sweeney had a glimpse of avid expressions on the faces of her neighboring tenants as they milled in the hall outside her door, then Richard pulled her into the kitchen, removing both of them from the scene so the cops could do their work.
The next few hours were a tumult. Detective Ritenour arrived hard on the heels of the uniformed cops, beating the EMTs by a couple of minutes. He was dressed, but his shirt was wrinkled and his tie hung crookedly. Richard had called the detectives instead of 911. More uniformed cops arrived, and the emergency medical team, and Detective Aquino. Her apartment was full of people. Radios crackled. More people arrived.
Richard kept her in the kitchen, seated with her back to the door so she couldn’t see any of what went on behind her. Two of the medical team looked at the wound on his shoulder and applied an antibiotic salve and a bandage. He finished cleaning him-self up at the sink, scrubbing away the blood with a wet paper towel, and refused any further medical treatment.
Aquino and Ritenour took their statements. They found the window in her studio where Kai had entered. There was no question about Richard firing in self-defense.
“I think we’ll find he killed Mrs. Worth,” said Aquino. “When he saw the painting Ms. Sweeney was doing, it must have been a real shock to him. Took him by surprise, otherwise he would have tried to do away with you then,” he said, looking at Sweeney. “Then I guess he thought he could pin the whole thing on you by telling us about the painting.”