Gilda turned, stumbled across the room, opened her bedroom door, went inside and shut the door.
O’Brien looked at Adams.
“So long, smart cop,” he said.
He didn’t see Leo come out of the kitchen. The dog trotted up to him and stood up, its paws against O’Brien’s knee.
Startled, O’Brien, looked down, then kicked the dog away.
Adams’ hand flew inside his coat, yanked out his gun.
O’Brien fired a shade late.
Adams’ gun barked and a red splash of blood appeared under O’Brien’s right eye. He dropped his gun, staggered back as Adams fired again.
O’Brien slammed against the wall, heeled over and spread out on his face.
“The punk had me sweating,” Adams said softly. He blew out his cheeks, wriggled his shoulders inside his coat, and grinned at Ken. “Did he make you sweat, too?”