Page 107 of With a Vengeance
Anna’s at the end of the car, quickening her pace as Reggie draws closer. Not that it will do her any good. When she crosses to the next car, she suddenly realizes what Reggie has known all along.
She’s reached the observation car.
The last one on the train.
There’s nowhere left for her to go.
“Stop!” Anna says, pointing the revolver at Reggie’s chest, her index finger dancing along the trigger.
Reggie keeps walking, joining her atop the last car, halting only when the barrel of the gun is pressed again his chest. “Just admit that you’re not going to shoot me,” he says. “Not up here.”
“No,” Anna says. “Down there.”
Pure panic shines in Reggie’s eyes as they flick from Anna’s face to the gun to their feet. Anna follows his gaze, making sure they’re standing exactly where she wants them to be.
Directly atop the observation car’s skylight.
Anna points the gun toward the glass and, without hesitation, pulls the trigger.
Fifty-One
The skylight givesway in an instant. Anna and Reggie both drop through it, glass raining down around them as they fall.
They land at the same time, the impact with the floor below knocking the air out of Anna and replacing it with all-consuming pain. She can tell it’s the same for Reggie, who writhes in agony against her, their limbs tangled.
Still, both of them survived the fall mostly unscathed. No broken bones, as far as Anna can tell. Just intense pain and a few small cuts from the shattered glass. Reggie sports a gash on his cheek, weeping blood. Anna has one on the back of her hand, in addition to a splinter of glass in the side of her neck. She plucks it out, the shard’s tip bright red.
Anna tries to sit up but is stopped by pain pulsing through her shoulder and hip. That leaves Reggie on his feet first, limping around the car in search of the gun that got lost in the fall.
Spotting it in a nearby pool of glass, Anna lunges for it. Reggie sees her do it and goes after it, too. Their bodies again collide—a breathless fight for the gun. Although Reggie’s arms are longer, Anna is faster, and she latches onto the gun’s handle before swinging it in his direction.
Reggie slowly climbs to his feet, hands raised. Anna remainson the floor, sitting up just enough to grip the gun with both hands and aim it at his chest.
“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” she says.
“You’re still not going to shoot me,” Reggie says. “I know you, Anna Matheson. You act all tough, but deep down you’re the same scared girl you were when your family was killed.”
Yes, Anna’s scared.
Terrified, really.
Of dying, of course, but also of failing. That more than anything. To not bring at least one of the people who destroyed her life to justice would be a disservice to her brother, her parents, her aunt. If that happens, then Reggie might as well also kill her, because Anna knows she won’t be able to live with herself.
That absolute terror of failure pulses through her, as rapid as her heartbeat. Still, she keeps the gun aimed at Reggie as she stands on legs shaky from the fear, the fall, the entire night.
“Are you certain of that, Agent Davis?” she says.
“Positive.”
Anna fixes him with a steely gaze. “You’re wrong.”
She doesn’t plan on killing Reggie. Just a single shot to the leg is all it will take to disable him. He said so himself. Anna’s aim drifts lower, the gun now pointed at Reggie’s upper thigh as her index finger stutters against the trigger.
She steadies it.
Begins to pull.
Prepares to shoot.
