FIFTY-THREE
The handgun pressed hard against Brigit’s temple. She appeared stricken with terror, the man holding the g*n grinning like someone possessed. Chaise’s anger raged inside and he fought to remain calm, knowing any sudden movements would end with Brigit’s brains splattered all across the heath. So Chaise waited for the right moment, straining like a spring fit to snap.
Brigit whimpered, wriggled in the man’s grip. He applied more pressure, his free hand clamped around her mouth, her screams muffled. He was strong, determined, eyes narrowed as he spoke through clenched teeth, “I’m going to kill her, you bastard, but I’m going to kill you first, for her to enjoy.” She squealed and again he squeezed harder.
Chaise held his breath. The Walther pressed against the small of his back
