Cut to the Bone(100)

“Blow it,” Annie ordered.

They unwound detonation cord and slapped on shaped charges.

Fourth strap flew apart. Fifth. Sixth.

“Too late!” Corey howled, nearly back to the mop handle. “The scarred bitch dies now!”

Sweat poured off Marty’s face as he sawed. SWATs joined in. Seven and eight parted, then nine and ten. Just one more, around her chest.

Corey pushed the mop handle with his fingers. Not enough leverage to trigger the kill shot. He inched forward to use his bloody palms. He tensed his abdomen and pushed.

“Fire in the hole!” the demo man shouted, twisting away.

Eight tiny, precise blasts sheared the door like a can opener. SWATs dashed inside, machine guns roaring. All three red buttons clicked as burning lead flayed Corey’s chest, legs, and head.

The battery spit lightning.

The last strap parted.

“Ahhhhhgh!” Emily howled as the dragon lit her up.

She slammed the viewing window like a slapshot. Bounced sideways, hit the floor upside-down, skidded back toward the chair. Her head clanged. Her tongue tasted like burnt sirloin. Her brain became a funhouse mirror of faces, hands, feet, knives, and electric chair.

She passed out.

Jason Trent’s eyelids fluttered. With the .45-caliber stitching, no one figured him alive.

But he was.

Still clutching the plastic knife, he sucked up his final particles of energy for a killing thrust.

“Come on, Emily, breathe!” Marty yelled, blowing life into his mirror image. “You’re tougher than the Trents! Tougher than the chair! Kick their ass and come on home!”

Emily was drowning in dragon’s blood. It was sweeter than she thought. Very thick. Not hot like its breath. Didn’t hurt a bit. Not so bad dying this way, she thought. She relaxed, let the dragon coo in her ear, tuck her under its wing.

An air pump blasted into her lungs as a jackhammer pummeled her ribs. The dragon clawed and screeched.

It startled her enough to change her mind about dying. She spotted a hole at the top of the dragon’s head. Swam toward it. Every stroke was agony.

“Wayne will be all right,” Cross said as paramedics hustled the governor down the mountain. “Knife missed the jugular.” He grabbed Emily’s hand. “Come on, Detective,” he whispered into her left ear. “I won’t let you go out like this. You were lead detective. Remember? From the spa? The case is over now. You’ve got to do the paperwork.” He squeezed so hard his own hand trembled. “You need to come back and finish your paperwork . . .”

Annie pushed, and Marty blew cadence as paramedics readied paddles and drugs.

Dragon’s blood transmogrified into Maypo. She loved that hot, chocolate cereal. Daddy and Mama made it Sundays after church, and she ate it even today. It reminded her of home.

“I got a heartbeat,” Annie panted, pulling back.

Maypo became cream soda, everyone’s favorite at her Sweet Sixteen. Light, bubbly, fun. Then cream became Chardonnay. Her first drink on her first date with Jack. Chardonnay became omelettes. Her first meal with Marty.

“She’s breathing!” Marty said, fighting his emotions as Emily sputtered and hacked.

Emily laughed and laughed. She and Marty got silly one night, filled their bathtub with whipped cream. Jumped in with a bottle of Champagne, fooled around for hours, sang themselves to sleep. She loved whipped cream. It reminded her of home . . .

“Where are you?” Emily groaned, eyelids fluttering open. “Marty? Marty?”

“I’m right here, baby,” Marty said, reaching for her. “Right here.”

Jason Trent twisted, lifted, and plunged.

Emily caught the blur from the corner of her bloodshot eye. She smashed her boot into the murderer’s jack-hammering arm. The razor-edge blade skidded off Marty’s back and into the broken floor. She snatched it from Jason’s hand and thrust it into his throat, picador to bull.

It pierced his jugular.

Jason croaked once, froglike. Blood gushed. The knife vibrated like a tuning fork. Jason’s eyes bugged, then blanked. His mouth opened and closed without sound. His bowels released.

Then his life.

Emily melted back to the floor as Annie shot him twice in the head.

“Baby,” she whispered as SWAT dragged the body away.

“Right here,” Marty said.

She clutched his hands. “I made a decision. It’s hard, but I have to do it because I just can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving.”

Marty’s eyes went wide. “Me?”

“No. The house. I’m selling the property and not looking back. It’s time to clear away the past. We’re going to use the money to pay for Troy’s surgery. Then we’re getting on with our lives.”