The Maze

Ramsgate? Twenty stabs? Keep coming to me now, Marlin, if you want a bullet through your gut. I want to kill you, but I won't, not unless you force me to."

    He was shaking his head back and forth, his jaw working madly as he took one step back, then another. Then, suddenly, in a move so fast it blurred before her, he aimed the knife and released it.

    She heard Savich yell even as she jerked to the right. She felt the knife slice through her upper arm. It didn't hit the bone. "Thanks, Marlin," she said, and fired the Lady Colt. The impact sent him staggering back, his arms clutched around his belly.

    Savich yelled, "He's down! Hold your fire! Don't shoot!"

    He wasn't in time. Sporadic rounds of fire burst from a dozen weapons, lighting up the warehouse with dim points of light. Savich yelled out again, "He's down! Stop!"

    The guns of the dozen police officers surrounding the maze fell silent one by one. They stared at the ripped-up rotted flooring. Incredibly, they hadn't hit Marlin Jones. The closest shot had ricocheted off the side of one of his army boots.

    Then the silence was abrupt and heavy.

    "Sherlock, damn your eyes, I'm going to throw you from here to Buffalo!"

    She was lying on her back, grinning up at him even as he dropped to his knees beside her, ripping the sleeve off his own shirt. The knife was sticking obscenely out of her upper arm. "Hold still now, and don't move a muscle. This just might hurt a bit." He pulled out the knife.

    She didn't yell until she saw it in his hand, her blood covering the blade.

    "Don't whine. It barely nicked you. Hold still now." He bound her arm with his shirtsleeve. "I can't believe you did that. I'm going to kill you once you're okay again. I'm going to tromp you into the mat three dozen times before I even consider letting up on you. Then I'm going to work your deltoids so hard you won't be able to move for a week. Then I'll kill you again for doing this."

    "Is he dead, Dillon?"

    Savich turned to look at Ralph, who was applying pressure to Martin's stomach. "Nope, but it will be close." Ralph said. "You got him in the belly. The ambulances are real close now. You did good, Sherlock, but I agree with Savich. You nearly got yourself killed. After Savich is done with you, I think I should take you to my boat in the harbor, go a bit out into the ocean, and drown you."

    She smiled up at Savich. "I sure hope he bites the big one. If he doesn't die, he'll prove he's mad, which he is, and if he gets a liberal judge and easy shrinks then he could be pronounced cured and let out to do it all again in another seven years and then he-You pulled that knife out of me. It sort of hurts really bad now. Goodness, look at all that blood."

    Her eyes simply drifted closed, her head lolling to the side.

    "Damnation," Savich said, and pressed harder on the wound.

    He heard two men and a woman calling out, "Let us through. Paramedics! Let us through!"

    Savich took the Lady Colt from her slack fingers, stared down at the little gun that could so easily kill a human being, shook his head, and pocketed it. He didn't touch the bloody knife.

15

    SHE WOKE UP IN THE ambulance, flat on her back, an IV dripping into her arm, two blankets pulled up to her chin. A female paramedic was sitting at her feet. Savich was sitting beside her, his face an inch from hers.

    He said the moment her eyes opened, "It's all right, Sher-lock. Mrs. Jameson here redid the bandage on your arm, applied a little pressure, and the wound is only bleeding lightly. You're going to have to be checked for any arterial damage, then have some stitches when we get to the hospital, and antibiotics, but you deserve it. I'm going to tell the doctor not to anesthetize you at all and use a big needle. The IV in your arm is just water and some salts, nothing for you to worry about. I told you, the knife just nicked you, no big deal."

    Her arm burned so hot she was vaguely surprised that it didn't burst into flame. She managed to smile. "So I'm not to whine?"

    "Right."

    Mrs. Jameson said, "You've got great veins. How do you feel, Agent Sherlock?"

    "Really good actually," she said and nearly groaned.

    "She's lying. It hurts like hell. Listen to me, Sherlock. When Marlin threw the knife at you, if you hadn't already been moving away, it would have gone right through your heart and none of us would have been able to stop it. What you did really makes me mad. I never should have trusted you, never. I was sure you knew