Her Final Confession

Chapter Sixty-Eight

O’Hara pushed her forward, closer to Noah. “Now, what we’re gonna do is stick together. You’ll get something that your girlfriend here can tie you up with, and we’re gonna come with you so you don’t get any ideas about being a hero. You try anything, anything at all, and this bitch is dead. You got that?”

Josie kept her eyes locked on Noah. He gave her a small nod, barely perceptible. Silently, she counted down for him: Three, two, one.

Noah dove off the steps onto the floor, and rolled out of sight into the living room. At that instant, she felt O’Hara’s grasp on her shoulder loosen, and the barrel of the gun slip to one side just a fraction. The outside of her right heel ran up along his jeans as she lifted her foot, using it as a guide so she didn’t miss when she brought it down hard on the top of his foot. With the sneakers he wore, it wasn’t enough to cause any pain, but it surprised him for just a second. In one fluid movement, she reached across her chest and seized his hand, clasping the pinky side and twisting his wrist. He cried out in pain, and she lifted his hand off her shoulder and slipped her body beneath it, twisting it violently up his back as he stumbled. The gun fell from his other hand, and Josie kicked it away. She slammed him into the wall, but he was strong, and he bucked back against her. His head flew back, striking her in the forehead so hard, she saw stars. She lost her grip on his hand, and he used the wall as leverage, pushing back against her.

She flew, her back striking the opposite wall before she slid down to the floor, dizzy and disoriented. He was on her then, pushing her onto the floor, straddling her, his hands closing around her throat. She clutched at his fingers. A hazy darkness hovered at the edges of her vision. Her lungs screamed, and the pressure on her windpipe was unbearable. As O’Hara squeezed harder, Josie felt her hold on consciousness slip. Although it was probably only seconds since he’d climbed on top of her, it felt like an eternity. As her body struggled to draw air, to break his grip, fear prickled over every inch of her skin. Where the hell was Noah? Then, suddenly, O’Hara was completely still. His grip loosened. Josie sucked in a breath. She saw Noah standing behind O’Hara, a gun pointed at the man’s head.

“Get away from her,” Noah said.

O’Hara put his hands in the air. Josie gulped the air and rubbed her bruised windpipe. She wriggled, trying unsuccessfully to get out from under him.

“Stand up,” Noah instructed. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

O’Hara didn’t move.

Normally, they would be telling a suspect to get on the ground, but Josie was underneath O’Hara, and try as she might, she could not get out from under him. His hips pinned hers to the floor.

Noah’s voice rose to a shout. “I said, stand up! Right now, O’Hara. Stand up, keep your hands in the air.”

O’Hara remained motionless. Finally, Noah said, “That’s it.” He took one hand off his weapon, grabbed O’Hara by the back of his collar, and started to push him over, off Josie and onto his right side. O’Hara seemed compliant at first, but with lightning speed, one of his hands balled into a fist and flew backward, striking Noah’s wrist.

A gunshot exploded in the small hallway. The muzzle flash burst across the semidarkness. Josie felt a release of the pressure on her pelvis and scrambled to her feet. Noah and O’Hara were a shadowy lump rolling toward the living room, bodies locked in battle. Stumbling down the hall after them, her head fuzzy and her vision still gray, Josie’s eyes searched the floorboards for the gun. Blood streamed from the cuts in her legs, making a slick along the hallway. Her fingers scrabbled over the wall, trying to find the light switch. From the living room came the sound of glass breaking, wood splintering, and a guttural grunting. Josie found the light switch for the living room and flipped it on. The coffee table was on its side, one of its legs broken completely off. A lamp from one of the end tables lay shattered on the carpet. In front of the small entertainment center, O’Hara straddled Noah, raining down punches at his head. Noah had his forearms over his face, blocking most of the blows.

Josie took another look around but still didn’t see the gun O’Hara had discarded. She tried to shake off her disorientation. A scream rose up from deep in her diaphragm, and she ran, throwing the full weight of her body into O’Hara. Together, they toppled. Josie heard a crack as the side of his head hit the wall. She took advantage of his momentary daze to climb to her feet and knee his head into the wall once more. His arms flailed and jerked, reaching for her. She kicked at his chest, knocking him onto the floor, flat on his back.

“Noah,” she called breathlessly.

She squatted down and tried to turn O’Hara onto his stomach so she could pin his hands behind his back, but he fought, one fist flying out and knocking her on the cheek just where Gretchen had split her skin only days earlier, knocking her off-balance and onto her ass. The howl of pain came out as a blunt gasp as her body tried to right itself. She saw him coming at her, and her hands reached up toward his head, grabbing for his throat or his eyes. Then she saw the flash of metal, and O’Hara’s head whipped to the side.

Noah stepped between them, turning the gun in his hands so that he could point the barrel at O’Hara’s head. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” he said.

Before O’Hara could fully recover from the pistol-whipping Noah had given him, Josie and Noah pushed him onto his stomach.

They had no cuffs and no plastic zip ties. Noah pinned the man’s wrists together high up on his back and then put one knee on his wrists and one knee on his neck. He held O’Hara’s gun to his head.

“Upstairs,” Noah said. “Get your phone. Call 911. Then go outside and check on the patrol unit.”