The Detective's Dilemma Read Online Free PDF Page A

without a trembling hand. That was reassuring. He could probably get it away from her fairly easily. She kept her distance, but if he charged her, he’d get it before she managed to raise and fire the weapon. She couldn’t keep it aimed at him for long—her hand would get tired.
    No, Walker would wait. He felt dire curiosity about what they’d do now. He looked back at her to see how far behind she walked.
    “Why are you smiling?” she hissed.
    Christ, she was right. No wonder his mouth felt odd—he grinned like a maniac as he walked along with a crazy woman.
    “What are your plans?” he asked.
    “Keep you out of the way until Isabelle and Peter are safe.”
    He ought to make a token effort to get away. “If I promise not to speak of your plans, would you release me?”
    “I’m going to release you. I have no interest in hurting you unless you force my hand. If we can stay calm, this will turn out well.”
    He understood that she spoke aloud to convince herself. No need to tell him to be serene. He felt surprisingly lighthearted. He began to hum.
    “Please stop making that noise,” she said.
    “All right, but only because you said please.”
    “How can you be so…so silly about this?”
    “Silly? Ha. I’m not the one risking my freedom, my good name, and my son’s life. I’m not running off without a plan in my head.”
    She snapped, “No, you’re the one threatening my child’s safety.”
    They turned onto a deserted street, no person or horse in sight in any direction. He’d had his fun. Now he would find out what was going on.
    He slowed and listened to her steps coming closer behind him. Closer. He waited and then twisted around fast.
    Walker reached out and grabbed her, seizing her shoulder. He hesitated too long as he considered what to do. Should he bring her down hard? But then she proved as slippery and swift as any street-raised hoodlum, because she dropped down enough to wiggle and slither from his grasp, agile and fast. She raised the bag holding the gun. Now her hand trembled, and he waited for the shot to ring out. Killing him was a solution for her—the one person who knew she was running away would be eliminated.
    The only sound he heard was her panting breaths. He tried to calm his racing heart with the thought that the gun probably wasn’t loaded.
    “I’m not going to allow you to win,” she said, still having trouble catching her breath but more confidence in her voice. “I am in charge here. You won’t do anything else stupid, or I will—I will shoot you.”
    Giddy relief swamped him. She wouldn’t pull the trigger. He nodded. “I understand.”
    She waved the ridiculous satin bag at him. “Go on. You just go.”
    Walker turned and continued down the street. He’d been an idiot. He hadn’t tackled her or smacked her into the pavement, because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He had also underestimated her. Mrs. Winthrop, the fine lady, had the escape instincts of a smash-and-grab man.
    Walker felt a rise of anger. He was a trained police officer who’d failed to prevail over a lady raised in the hothouse atmosphere of upper-class New York. He knew females like her, and they wilted when the real world touched them.
    She wasn’t wilting. Her gumption seemed to be just fine—admirable even—if she hadn’t dragged him along.
    You inserted yourself into her life; don’t blame her for responding to a threat. Hey, he could and would blame her. But he’d try to get the upper hand using another method.
    Years earlier, a seasoned roundsman who had talked people out of these situations told Walker to pose as the kidnapper’s friend. “If you get them talking, it’ll less likely end in violence,” he’d advised.
    “Thanks for not shooting me.” He spoke over his shoulder after they’d passed several brownstones and a sleepy cat on a stoop. “You know I had to try that.”
    Silence except for her footsteps behind him and the distant cry of a knife sharpener coming