The Magician Murders: The Art of Murder Book III by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon [Lanyon, Josh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, lgbt, Romance
Publisher: JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2018-03-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

He had not gone too far when he heard voices.

“You’re just making it worse for yourself,” Dreyfus said. She sounded very young.

“I’m about to make it worse for you, if you don’t shut up.”

They sounded like they were on the other side of the wall. Jason pressed against the studs of the flimsy wooden barrier, putting his eye to a crack through the panel. Dreyfus stood a few feet away, her back to him. There were cobwebs in her ponytail. She had her hands up.

Ian Boz was pointing what appeared to be a Smith & Wesson .357 at her.

From his vantage point, Jason could see Dreyfus’ hands flex, her muscles bunch, preparatory to her jumping for the gun.

No. No. God no.

He took a step back, bumped against the other side of the makeshift passage, and charged forward, launching a kick with all his strength at the fragile plywood. Rusted nails screeched as a section of wall toppled forward like a falling stage set. Jason saw Boz’s astonished face and he saw Dreyfus leap forward.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Boz realized what was happening and turned back to Dreyfus, but instead of shooting her, he smashed the fist holding the revolver in her face.

Dreyfus cried out and crashed down on the floor at Boz’s feet. Boz turned the gun on Jason.

“Freeze.”

Jason froze.

Boz vented his feelings in a long stream of swearwords. “Get up,” he said finally to Dreyfus. His chest rose and fell in agitation.

She clambered to her feet, holding her hand to her face. Her nose was bleeding. Her eyes met Jason’s, and he could see the apology and misery there.

Jason tried to give her a look of reassurance, and God knew what that looked like because he was scared for her and furious with himself.

He said to Boz, “Listen to me, Boz. Don’t do anything more stupid than you’ve already done.”

He couldn’t tear his gaze from the pistol weaving between him and Dreyfus. He could see Boz’s lips moving, but could barely hear the words over the blood rushing in his ears.

Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot…

Boz’s words filtered through. “I’m warning you. I won’t go back to prison.”

Talking was good. The longer Boz talked, the less likely he would shoot.

“Okay,” Jason said. “If that’s what you want. Go.”

Boz’s jaw dropped.

“We can’t stop you,” Jason said. “But you need to understand. If you run, it’ll be interpreted as an admission of guilt.”

Boz steadied the pistol, pointing it straight between Jason’s eyes. Dreyfus made a pleading sound, sharply cut off.

“Or you could tell us your side of the story.” Jason was astonished to hear his own voice sounding relatively calm, even reasonable. “Since that’s all we were looking for.”

Boz’s eyes flicked back and forth between Jason and Dreyfus. “Bullshit. Why would the fucking feebs be involved? You don’t fool me. There’s something else going on here.”

Like what? What the hell else was this nut involved in that he imagined the federal government was likely to show up on his doorstep?

“We’re not— Listen to me.

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