Читать книгу Fatal Flaw - Sandy Curtis - Страница 5

'You should be more careful. Your back door was unlocked.'

The voice from the hallway startled Gordon Talbert from his doze. His head jerked up, and he almost cried out with the pain that shot through his neck.

A shadow emerged from the dimness into the living room.

'Who the hell…' Gordon's voice choked off as he saw what the figure was holding. Toby, his 18-month-old grandson, eyelids slightly open, rosebud lips sucking gently on dreams, oblivious to the arm around his ribcage and the tip of a thin knife pressed against his soft neck.

Gordon's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. He pulled himself out of the lounge chair, knees trembling, and steadied himself before taking a step forward.

'Don't come any closer, I might get scared and do something you'll regret.' The mild, almost mocking voice gave lie to the menace in the words.

Gordon stopped, his mind trying to make sense of the situation, but failing. 'Who are you?' he finally asked. 'What are you doing here? What are you doing with my grandson?'

The figure smiled, teeth white in the muted light from the living-room floor lamp. 'To quote an old movie, I'm your worst nightmare.'

'I don't even know you!' Gordon protested.

'You did once. Forty-one years ago. You watched as my life was ruined. You stood back and watched my pain, my humiliation.'

Gordon felt the blood drain from his face as he fought against the memory the words evoked. 'No! No. You're not… You…'

'Oh, I've changed. Quite a lot, as you can see.' The top lip curled in self-deprecation. 'But I never forgot.'

'I was only fifteen,' Gordon protested, but the guilt, once always so close to the surface but pushed aside for many years, flooded through him again.

'And I was only thirteen. Thirteen, Gordon. Imagine your child at thirteen, going through what I went through.'

'But I didn't hurt you.'

'You did nothing to stop me being hurt. A wise man once said that bad things happen when good men do nothing.' A sneer complemented the sarcasm in the tone, and Gordon flinched as his own campaign speech was flung at him. 'You did nothing, Gordon Talbert,' the voice continued, 'and my life was never the same again.'

'I tried to see you, the next day, to tell you how sorry I was, to see if I could help…'

'Too little, too late.' The hand holding the knife moved slightly, and the child flinched as the blade tip pressed into his skin. 'But to show you more mercy than you showed me, I decided to choose you second.'

'Second?' Terror ate into Gordon as Toby's eyelids fluttered open and he began to squirm against the arm securing him. He was a sturdy toddler, but he was firmly pinioned, and the knife's narrow blade didn't ease from its position.

'I've already dealt with Ethan. He was just as big a coward as he was forty-one years ago. He blubbered, Gordon. Blubbered like a baby and begged me to let him go.'

Bile rose in Gordon's throat. He wanted to rush forward, snatch Toby from the imprisoning arms and shield him from the hatred quivering through his captor. He took a step closer.

The knife bit a little deeper.

Toby wailed in pain.

'Don't! Please!' Gordon held up his hands and moved back. 'I'll do whatever you want. Just don't harm the child. He's innocent.'

The knife moved slightly away, but the toddler continued to cry, his sobs rising and falling with each breath. Tears rolled down his plump cheeks and onto his abductor's hand.

'Get the key to your gun safe,' the figure ordered.

'What?'

'Your gun safe. Open it.'

Gordon walked into the kitchen. His hands trembled as he opened a high corner cupboard, reached in and took a keyring from a hook. His mind whirled, searching for some way to gain Toby's safety. Kitchen knives. In the block. No, he wouldn't be quick enough. The knife against Toby's throat could slice through before he could even draw the blade from the timber. He walked into the laundry, his grotesque entourage stopping just inside the doorway while he opened the laundry cupboard and unlocked a metal safe attached to the wall. His gun case lay inside.

'Take out the gun.'

He unlatched the lid. The gun was heavy and cold in his hand.

'Load it. There's a bullet on the washing machine.'

Gordon glanced around. The bullet sat like a miniature monument. This was no random attack. This had been planned, planned to the last detail. His terror swelled until he thought it would choke him.

Toby's chubby arms beat ineffectively, his legs kicking back against his captor. The face above the child's head glowed with a hatred that was almost palpable, and Gordon knew he had to do whatever he was told in order to keep Toby alive. Despite fingers slippery with the sweat of fear, he managed to slide the bullet into the chamber.

'Good. You now have a choice.'

Choice? Gordon clutched at the word, hope vying with suspicion. 'What choice?'

'You can try to kill me, and hope that you're quick and accurate enough to do so before I slit Toby's throat, or…'

'You can't kill a child.' It was more entreaty than command. Gordon heard the panic in his voice as the words tumbled out.

The answering laugh held no humour. 'You'd be surprised what I've learned to do. But you haven't heard your other choice.'

Gordon fought to find saliva in his suddenly dry mouth. 'I'm listening.'

'If you put the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger, I promise you I'll put the boy back in his cot unharmed.'

'Wha… What?'

'You heard me. I want you to kill yourself. I was always taught to believe in divine retribution, but I thought I'd hurry the Lord up a bit. He seems to be a little slow.'

The sheer impossibility of the situation almost paralysed Gordon. Although a pistol club member for some years, he'd never been more than an adequate marksman, and the odds that he could shoot the face half-obscured by Toby's blond hair were slim. The way his hands were shaking, there was more probability he would hit the child. He could aim for the leg. If he took the chance and was lucky enough to be accurate, he had no hope of reaching them before they fell to the floor. The thought of the knife pushing into Toby's throat as he was crushed beneath…

Sweat oozed from every pore in his skin. He heard the vicious laughter, then the words, 'You have three seconds to decide. One…'

Like a man in the grip of a nightmare over which he has no control, Gordon stood, weak and trembling, the gun in his hand an impossible weight. There's no guarantee Toby will be safe no matter what choice I make.

'Two…' The knife pressed a little harder. Toby screamed, tears tumbling down his reddened cheeks.

Gordon thought of his wife and daughter. He imagined them seeing Toby's lifeless body, felt their grief pierce his heart and the burden of his guilt at the child's loss.

If I can get a head shot, his thoughts raced, the impact, his chest tightened, fall backwards, Toby safe.

'Three.'

Gordon lifted the gun.