Footsteps bounded across the landing.
Astor tensed for the blow.
And then the man was gone, running from the room with a speed Astor had never before witnessed or thought possible.
“Freeze!” came Alex’s voice.
Gunfire. One shot. Two.
Astor still could not move. He sat as if entombed, listening.
“Stop!” shouted Alex. “FBI!”
Another shot.
Alex, he wanted to cry out. Careful.
The warrior monk ran down the hall. He could hear the woman approaching. He did not need to feel her energy to know she was a force and dangerous. Her voice told him these things and more. He turned the corner to the landing and she was there, 10 feet away, running at him with a pistol in her hand.
“Freeze!” she called.
The monk ran straight ahead. Toward the railing. Toward the expanse of the two-story entry. He heard the gunfire, felt something strike his body, spinning him slightly. Still he kept running. He leapt as if hurdling. His foot landed squarely on the railing, and he propelled himself across the void, his head brushing the chandelier’s crystal prisms. There was no question of making the stairs. He focused on the balustrade, bringing up his hands, lunging for the width of wood. He caught it, his chest slamming into the railing. A rib cracked, but he held on. A breath to find his center, and he flung himself over the balustrade and rushed down the steps, leaping three at a time.
The old man was rushing to the house, struggling to pull a gun from his jacket. The monk leveled him with a forearm to the chest, sending the man sprawling onto his back. The monk didn’t slow. Eyes focused ahead, he charted a path through the orchard and down the hill. He felt a tear in his side, his muscles fighting him. He had been shot. The discomfort was considerable, but he had known worse.
A bullet whizzed past his head. A second clipped a branch nearby.
The monk ran faster.
And then he was out of range, dashing down the slope.
He reached the car minutes later.
“Brother,” he said, when his heart had calmed and he had driven a safe distance from the home. “I found him.”
“Who?”
“The cause of our problems.”
Only then did the monk lift his shirt to study the wound. He saw a bloody track across his side where the bullet had grazed him. Another millimeter and it would have entered his chest and killed him. The wound hurt, but no worse than many other pains he had suffered. He would live.
Alex knelt beside Astor, regarding the knife in his arm. “How is it?”
Astor could speak again. “Bad.”
Alex took the arm gingerly in her hands. “Impaled on the bone. Guess you move pretty fast.”
“I saw him behind me in the monitor.”
Alex removed a handkerchief from her pocket and unfolded it. “Hey,” she said. “Can you see Sully from there?”
“Where?” Astor turned his head, squinting at the bright light. Alex grasped his arm and yanked the blade free. He cried out as she clamped a handkerchief on top of the wound. “Just breathe,” she said.
Astor sank down into his chair, the pain reduced to a manageable level.
Alex settled down onto the couch. “I shot the son of a bitch and it didn’t slow him a step.”
“You’re sure you got him?”
“He was six feet away. I got him.”
John Sullivan limped into the room. “Prick knocked me down,” he said, resting against the doorway. “I got off a couple shots, but I never had a chance. Friggin’ jackrabbit.” And then he saw Astor’s arm. “What happened to you?”
“I got to be his pincushion.”
Alex held the knife by her fingernails. “He’s a very lucky boy.”
“I thought you said fast.”
“Fast and lucky.” Alex set the knife on the desk. “We just might find out who he was.”
“It’s him,” said Astor. “From Penelope Evans’s house.”
“You think?” asked Sullivan.
“I’m sure of it.”
“He wasn’t inside earlier. I’d swear it.”
“Don’t sweat it, Sully.” Astor wanted to say more, but his throat was tight and he was shaken. “Give us a minute.”
Sully nodded and stepped outside.
Astor picked up the gun off the floor.
“And whose is that?” asked Alex.
“Dad’s. I found it in his bedroom.”
Alex gently pushed the muzzle toward the ground. “You want to give it to me.”
Astor handed his ex-wife the gun. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“Forget why I’m here. I want to know why you crossed police tape to come inside here and who it was that jumped over this railing like Superman leaping a building in a single bound.”