"Don't try anything," Tracy said. "I'm still pointing this at you." Her voice caught. She tried to speak again but sobbed.
McLeod brought his arm up slowly and examined it. No damage.
"I—I guess you know I couldn't do it, Darius. I couldn't hurt you. But I don't want you to hurt Cripp. I want to give Cripp a fair chance. Have you signed an application for his death yet?"
"No."
"Will you?"
They were friends again. McLeod couldn't sense it. Friends who might try to hurt each other, of necessity, but friends. "I don't know," he said.
"Give him a break, Darius. There must be another way out. I could tell you things, if I could only trust you...."
McLeod laughed easily, massaging his forearms. "Better not," he said. "Better get out of here."
"Maybe someday."
"Maybe. Thanks for telling me you couldn't do it. That's good to know." He shouldn't have said that. He was acting compulsively, striking back blindly.