"I don't think you should do that," she said continuing to pull his arm around behind him. Then she twisted it to the side and there was a sickening snap as it came out of its shoulder socket
He groaned lightly but did not speak. Instead he reached with his right hand and pulled an automatic out of a holster at the back of his belt dropping the chloroformed cloth in the process. While his left arm dangled uselessly, he brought around the pistol and tried to aim it at her torso. Her senses, though, were coming fully alive now and she seized his wrist and pushed it away just as he fired.
The round caught her at the outer edge of her shoulder. She felt it enter and exit, but there was no pain, merely a mild itch. Still holding his wrist, she picked up the white cloth and buried his face in it. She held it against his nostrils until his body twitched and went limp.
That was when the spotlight hit them.
"Drop your weapons and show your hands," came a basso voice over a megaphone.
Who had a weapon? she wondered. The one pistol around was lying on the ground next to the crumpled frame of Kenji Noda.
The police must have heard the shot and assumed they were being fired on.
She turned around to search for Winston Bartlett and saw him retreating to the McDonnell Douglas. Running, actually.
He saw what happened, she told herself. He's afraid of me.
"Stop and identify yourself," came the police megaphone. The spotlight was now squarely on Bartlett, who was bounding up the retractable steps.