Chapter 32 #3
Noah saw his reply as one way to dig the knife into Luther. "I would have figured you knew by now. Since she came running back to you."
"Natalie?"
Noah eyed him with contempt.
"Well. Who would have thought." Luther paused.
"It seems we've all been carrying secrets.
" He straightened in his chair. "So. There's only two ways I see this playing out.
I would like to think, Noah, you're a reasonable man, and with all that's happened, you might be inclined to get on board if I found a way to get you reinstated by your very helpful lieutenant.
And hell, maybe even a commendation. You see, all of this can be chalked up to look like a political attack.
A crazed gunman barges his way into my home to kill me and prevent me from running for mayor.
Your father was struck. Heroically, you stepped in, shot the sniper, and saved the day.
I can already see the headline for the Adirondack Daily Enterprise.
Former Fired Cop Saves Future High Peaks Mayor from Certain Death at the Hands of Crazed Sniper.
" He paused. "Okay, maybe that's a little too long.
Words don't come easy. Convincing people of what is in their best interest, however, does. How's that sound?"
Noah stared back. A pause. "And the second way?"
"Well, that's obvious. You don't accept the offer and I shoot both of you and weave a different story. One where I'm the sole survivor of a crazed gunman. Locals will eat it up and I'm sure it will win me an uncontested election in March."
"There is a third way," Noah said.
"Huh?”
"The one where I tell you to go fuck yourself."
"Have it your way then," Luther said, straightening his arm to fire at Noah.
Hugh rose to his feet, wiping blood from his lips. "Woah. Luther. Wait. Give me a minute with my son. I can fix this. Don't be stupid, Noah. Take the offer. If not for you, do it for Ethan and Mia."
"Don't you dare bring them into this," Noah said, pointing at him.
Hugh moved slowly across the room. "I was wrong. I admit it. This can still go another way. This can work."
"Listen to your father, Noah. This all can work."
"Work? For who? You?"
"We all have our cross to bear," Luther said.
"Son, look at me," Hugh said, his voice steady as he moved across the room, never once glancing at Luther. "Do you remember before your mother died, how we used to play baseball in the field behind the house?"
Noah frowned, thrown. "What?"
"And Luke," Hugh continued, eyes locked on him, "always wanted to be the catcher. Remember that?"
Luther scoffed. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?"
"He'd crouch back there," Hugh said, talking over him now, his tone calm, deliberate. "Give you the signs. One finger. Two. Calling the pitch."
Noah's confusion lingered but something in his father's stare held him there.
"And sometimes," Hugh went on, "you didn't like the call."
Noah swallowed. A flicker of recognition.
"You'd shake him off," Hugh said quietly. "Wait for the one you wanted."
A beat.
Hugh's gaze didn't waver.
"Because the catcher isn't just calling the game," he said.
Luther shifted behind him, impatient. "Enough."
"He's setting up the play."
Noah's eyes dropped, just for a second.
The rifle.
That was all it took. Hugh moved first. He spun hard, driving into Luther as Noah dove.
His hand hit the rifle. His fingers closed around the grip.
He rolled through the motion and came up with it just as the gun went off.
The crack split the room, loud and sharp.
Noah fired. The round tore into Luther's left shoulder, spinning him sideways.
The pistol flew from his hand, clattering across the desk before dropping out of sight.
Luther collapsed behind it, clutching at the wound, a strangled groan breaking from his throat.
Hugh staggered, but Noah didn't see it. He was already moving, closing the distance with the rifle trained, his breath sharp and fast as Luther writhed on the floor, one arm useless, the other scrambling for leverage.
Noah kicked the pistol farther away, then grabbed the nearest thing he could find, a lamp, ripping the cord free in one motion.
He yanked Luther's arms behind his back and cinched it tight, driving a knee into his spine to keep him down.
"What are you doing?" Luther gasped. "You can't arrest me. You're not a cop anymore."
"I'm placing you under citizen's arrest. Asshole.”
A sound came from behind him. A low, broken groan. Noah froze.
"Dad?"
He turned to see Hugh swaying on his feet, unsteady, and then he was moving again, rushing forward just in time to catch him as he stumbled back. Together they went down hard. His father's eyes were open, but the blood was already spreading across his shirt, dark and fast.
"No." Noah's voice broke. "No, no."
Hugh's hand found his arm and gripped it, his breathing shallow, growing weaker with each passing second. Noah knelt there, holding him, the blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, the stone beneath them.
And somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that the phone in his pocket was still recording everything.
Across the room, Liam lay motionless. Luther was behind the desk, bound, wounded.
Red and blue light began to pulse against the study windows. Faint at first, then brighter. The officer at the perimeter must have heard the shots, because the sirens were already coming.
Noah held his father and listened to them come.