The Shadow Hunter

might be a way.
    “
Raymond!
” she yelled. “
He’ll kill you next!
”
    Even as she said it, she was on the move again, knowing that her voice would draw their fire.

56
    Hickle was about to squeeze off another round when he heard Abby’s shout. From the connecting hall Travis called, “Don’t listen to her.”
    There was a shot. Travis had fired. Hickle had missed his turn. Still he hesitated, thinking about those words:
He’ll kill you next
.
    Travis seemed to guess what he was thinking. “She’s playing with your head,” he said in a loud, calm voice. “She’s a shrink, you know.”
    “A shrink?”
    “She’s been studying you up close like a lab specimen. She thinks she knows what makes you tick.”
    That sounded right. Sounded just like Abby. “Fuck her,” Hickle said, and he leaned through the doorway and fired once.
    There was silence for a moment. He allowed himself to think he’d hit her, or maybe Travis had. Then Abby shouted again. “He never wanted Kris to die. He’s framed Howard Barwood—”
    “Don’t pay any attention to her bullshit,” Travis snapped.
    “—and he’s setting you up as the other fall guy. Raymond, he’s not your friend, he’s
using
you!”
    Two more shots from the Beretta. Hickle knew Travis was rattled. Travis had insisted on not wasting ammo, taking only one shot at a time. Now he was violating his own rule.
    “What’s going on, Travis?” Hickle yelled.
    “Don’t let her get to you. You can’t trust her, goddamn it. You know that.”
    Hickle did know it. But maybe he couldn’t trust Travis either. “You never told me why you did all this,” he called out. “Why you jeopardized your own client, your business associate. You never said what it was all about.”
    “Take your shot, asshole. We’ve got her right where we want her—”
    “What’s in it for you, Travis?
Tell me!
”
    Travis hesitated long enough for Hickle to know he was improvising some lie.
    He had no time to use it. Abby answered first. “He has to keep Kris alive in order to save TPS. And he wants her husband out of the way so he can marry her, Raymond! So he can
marry Kris!
”
    And with a crash of terrible insight Hickle knew it was true.
    Travis had never wanted Kris dead. He had wanted the attack to fail. That was why he had requisitioned the armored sedan, why he had ridden with her. The whole thing had been a setup, and what he wanted…what he really wanted…
    Kris as his wife. Mrs. Paul Travis. He would get her money, and more than money—her lifestyle, her circle of glamorous friends, her world. He would have everything Hickle had dreamed of and fought for, everything that should have been his, as Kris should have been his, because she had always been his destiny.
    “Motherfucker,” Hickle breathed.
    With a roar of rage he charged for the connecting hall, pivoting around the corner, firing twice with the rifle, both shots aimed at the doorway, and then the flashlight snapped on, unexpectedly close, its glare catching him in the eyes, dazzling him for a crucial split second, and erupting through the glare a shapeless burst ofviolet like an afterimage of the sun, and another and another and noise everywhere.
    Hickle’s knees buckled. He staggered backward into the first hallway and slumped against a wall, the rifle leaving his hands as he clutched at the smooth unpainted wallboard. Slowly he slid down, leaving a track of blood, and sat in a spreading red puddle, trembling all over.
    Travis crouched by him, the flashlight sweeping the damage done to Hickle’s body by the volley of shots. “You’re a born loser, Raymond.” He did not say it unkindly. He was even smiling. “You can’t do anything right. You couldn’t kill Abby. Strike one. You couldn’t kill Kris. Strike two.”
    Hickle wanted to say something, utter some protest or excuse, but he had no more excuses, and anyway, there was a lot of blood in his mouth.
    “And you couldn’t kill me.” Travis bent closer, and his gun felt sleek and smooth as it slid gently under Hickle’s chin. “Strike three. You’re out.”
    Blammo, Hickle thought numbly.
    The last thing he ever saw was Travis’s cold smile.

57
    Abby heard the coup de grâce delivered outside the office wall.
    Her plan had worked. It was no longer two against one. She had gotten Hickle killed. She ought to have felt good about that, but all she felt was nausea, cold and burning at the same time.
    Think about it later. There was still