She got up and stood with the light behind her. It was deliberately intended to distract him. Under other circumstances, it would have.
"If it were a small circuit, over just a fraction of your body, I could cut it out," she said. "But the way it is, I can't. It would kill you."
At least she was honest about it. And he still didn't know what she meant when she had written, with his hands in the apartment, that she would help him. He would have to find out.
"I can smash the machine," he said. "That's the other solution."
She leaned against the wall. "You can't. And neither can I, though it's technically my machine. It's in the police department with an armed guard around it at all times. Besides, the machine can defend itself."
He looked at her without understanding. It didn't sound right. He was sweating under the makeup and part of it was coming loose.
"Then what did you mean when you said you'd help?" he asked. "You promised, but what can you do?"
"I never promised to help." It was her turn not to understand. Her hand slipped down and so did the robe.
She was lying to him, had been lying all along. She never intended to help, though she said she would. The purpose? To lead him into a trap. She'd been successful enough. He looked up in anger, in time to see an object hurtling from her hand.
It struck him on the side of the head, hard. Some of the makeup chipped and fell off, but that was less important than yanking out the tangle gun. He fired twice, once at her feet and once at her shoulders. He had aimed at her head, but the shot went low.