"Sean Williams - The Perfect Gun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Sean)

Leaving her in a comfortable position, I ducked around the corner and headed
for Marilyn's doorway. I'd taken barely five steps when the door opened and
someone leaned out.
I froze for an instant, then started to run. Whoever it was and for whatever
reason they'd chosen that moment to peer out of the room, I knew they'd see me
before long--a blurry but humanoid shape creeping down the corridor like some
sort of paranoid ghost. Better that I gained as much ground as I could before
they took action.
The person in the doorway looked both ways--away from me first, then right at
me. Her eyes widened in shock, and so did mine.
Marilyn!
Before I could react in any sensible way, she retreated into the room and
pulled the door shut behind her. The lock clicked loudly as I reached it, and
I fumbled the keys as I pulled them from my pocket. The key-ring dropped at my
 feet, and I bent down to pick it up.
As I did so, the door unlocked and opened again, and someone else emerged.
With my head low to the ground, I didn't have time to recognise him. And he
didn't see me either, looking over me as he was, not expecting me to be
crouching at his feet.
I put all my weight behind me as I leapt for his throat. He fell back through
the doorway, and I followed him inside, slapping a hand at the light switch as
we passed through the doorway, plunging the narrow passage into darkness.
While he was off-balance, I pushed him again. He grabbed at the fabric of the
cloak and tugged me with him. Locked in an ungainly embrace, we staggered down
the hallway and into Marilyn's dining room, where he stumbled and fell. I
landed on top him, dragged down by his weight, my left hand still locked tight
around his throat. With my right, I reached for the revolver.
"Don't move!" said a voice from behind me. "I have a gun, and although I can't
see you, exactly, I have a pretty good idea where you are."
I looked over my shoulder at Marilyn. She stood on the far side of the room,
pointing a small pistol in my general direction. Even at a time like this, I
couldn't help but notice how her eyes failed to meet mine. It made her look
uncertain, even ashamed. Even when I realised that this was because she
couldn't see my eyes, the feeling lingered.
"Let him go," she said, tightening her finger on the trigger. "I'm not afraid
to fire."
"Marilyn," I said, keeping my grip on the man beneath me but not shifting my
eyes from hers. "It's me. Court."
She hesitated. "What?"
"I've come to rescue you. We have to get away."
"From what?"
"From . . ." It was my turn to hesitate. The man beneath me gurgled, and for
the first time I actually looked at his face.
The man I held by the throat was Wallace Derringer.
I climbed off him, but pulled the revolver from my pocket and made sure he
could see it peeking out of the cloak. Glancing from him to Marilyn, I stepped
back in confusion.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"Stay back." Marilyn kept the pistol trained on my insubstantial figure.
"Don't come any closer until I'm sure it's you. This could be a trick."