“Yeah, you’re a real white hat, aren’t you? Do as I tell you or you’ll be the reason she gets hurt.”
Sam took a step toward Matthews who tightened his hold on Amanda’s throat. Sam backed off, the expression on his face anguished. “Amanda, I … ”
Amanda coughed to clear her airway before saying, “There’s more duct tape over there, Sam. Where the string is.” She hitched her chin toward the cabinet, hoping he remembered the evening he’d gone looking for string so she could tie up a roast. In the same cabinet he’d discovered miscellaneous strange travel souvenirs from her brother including a big, nasty Indonesian tribal knife and an Alaskan Ulu knife. Matthews started to follow Sam to the cabinet, giving Amanda the chance she wanted. She slid off the bar stool and took steps toward the back door, dragging the heavy seat with her.
“Don’t move, bitch. I want you where I can see you,” Matthews pointed the gun first at Sam, then at Amanda, seeming to be nervous about watching both of them.
“Chihuly’s barking again. I want to let him in. If I don’t he’ll be scratching at the door.”
“Leave it. I don’t want a dog in here.”
“But he’ll annoy the neighbors. And damage the door.”
“I said, leave it.”
“I can’t. I have to let the dog in.”
As Amanda had hoped, the argument she’d incited forced Matthews to pay more attention to her than to what Sam was doing. She saw him palm the Ulu knife under the role of duct tape and approach Beal Matthews from behind.
But he didn’t get to him fast enough. Matthews turned to see what he was doing before Sam could reach him. He might not have seen the Ulu knife but he surely saw the look on Sam’s face, which was anything but compliant. He raised the gun, aiming directly at him.
Dropping the tape, Sam lunged at Matthews, catching his arm with the sharp blade of the knife. Matthews swore, knocked the weapon out of Sam’s hand and grabbed for him. As the two men wrestled for control of the gun, Amanda picked up the knife, cut the plastic tie, opened the door and let Chihuly in. He joined the melee in the kitchen, barking and nipping at Matthews.
Amanda ran to the dining room for her phone. But before she could call nine-one-one, the sound of two gunshots came from the kitchen, followed by a loud thud and Chihuly yelping. Before she could yell for Sam, Matthews appeared in the doorway, bleeding from his arm and hands. He held the gun with a shaky grip.
“You bitch. I got shot because of you.” He raised the gun, but before he could pull the trigger, Chihuly came from behind him and chomped on his hand. Matthews tried to shake off the dog. Amanda picked up the nearest thing heavy enough to do damage. She took two steps toward Matthews, swung and hit him right above the ear. The large glass plate she’d used broke; he crumbled. Cracking his head on the edge of the dining room table he fell to the floor, unconscious. Chihuly whimpered.
She saw blood on his fur, realized that Matthews might not have been the only one shot. And she hadn’t heard Sam. “Oh, my God. Sam? Are you okay?”
There was no answer. She ran to the kitchen. Sam was on the floor, bleeding from his left shoulder, his right arm at an odd angle. “Sam! Are you … ?”
He got out, “Use that duct tape on Matthews. Danny … out front,” before he passed out.
Chapter Fourteen
Amanda couldn’t believe what a rapid and massive response an “officer down” call triggered. Within minutes of Danny’s call, the first patrol car was there, then an ambulance for Sam, more patrol cars and another ambulance. Danny had waylaid Drake Vos outside Amanda’s house as he left, handing him over to one of the uniformed officers before taking charge of getting the crime scene organized. Beal Matthews was loaded into the second ambulance.