Dead Heat by James Patterson Page A

only chance to change the game. If I can goad him into pointing his gun at me, even for a split second, we will win. If Jaffari moves his gun just an inch away from Felipe’s head, Paz will not hesitate to end this thing. However, Jaffari stays calm, and I can’t get a rise out of him.
    ‘People will understand,’ he continues. ‘A bit of psychology, some precise hypnosis and a little neurolinguistic programming, and someone like me can make an average person do almost anything. Even the greatest athletes in the world can have instructions embedded in their minds.’
    ‘Kill-codes,’ Paz says, staring at me over her gun.
    ‘Well, here’s the thing,’ I tell Jaffari as Paz walks slowly towards me. ‘I don’t think you understand people at all.’
    I stare straight into the psychologist’s eyes, and for a brief second he looks unsettled. Then Paz steps between us, her gun trained onmy head. As she moves closer with her arms stretched out, pointing her weapon at me, I can see Jaffari staring over her shoulder with the faintest trace of doubt registering across his olive features.
    With good reason.
    With her back turned on her tormentor, Paz’s dull eyes light up. They burn with cold fury, and although I don’t know what she is planning, I am certain that we’re on the same side. Just like always. As she reaches me, she lets go of the butt and lets the weight of the gun rotate it around her finger.
    In the distance, sirens sound and Jaffari’s composure fades. It takes him about a second to realise that I never called the mobile phone on the table. I phoned for backup. Now the GPS in my phone is guiding the cavalry home. His chair scrapes on the rough wooden floor and he pushes himself to his feet, dragging Felipe with him like a shield.
    ‘Have some pressure of your own,’ I tell him, and his face contorts with rage.
    I look back at Paz, who looks me in the eye and mouths, ‘Don’t miss.’
    I reach forward and take the primed gun from my partner, her body shielding the transaction from Jaffari’s view. When I have it in my hands, Paz spins to one side and I get a split-second view of Jaffari. I could aim straight for his eye, poking out an inch to the side of Felipe’s head. But no matter how hard I try, the psychological pressure of avoiding Felipe will almost certainly force me wide of the mark. However, height is on my side. Rahim Jaffari is nearly six feet tall, and Felipe is a small boy. I look downand see that everything from Jaffari’s knees down is completely exposed. I don’t think. I just shoot twice, and splinter both of his shins.
    Jaffari’s legs fail and he topples backwards, his arms flailing in an attempt to regain some control over gravity. His pistol comes away from Felipe’s temple and I charge towards him, smashing the gun out of his unsteady hand. I hear the metal thump onto the wooden floor and skid into the dark corner where the video camera is still recording.
    Despite his mangled legs, Jaffari is strong. He has one arm snaked around Felipe’s neck and, as I get in close, he punches me hard in the side of the head. For a split second the scene goes black, and then my brain reboots and I see Paz diving between the psychologist and me. She times it badly and flies head-first into another of Jaffari’s swinging punches. I hear the dull thud of the impact and see Paz drop to the ground, unconscious long before her body hits the floor. I aim Paz’s gun, but the wreckage of her, her son and the psychologist is strewn across the floor. I can’t get a straight shot at Jaffari without the chance that I’ll hit Paz or Felipe in the process. Jaffari makes the most of my hesitation, scrabbling forward and seizing my wrist with both hands. I let the gun go, and it flies off into the shadows. It’s a better option that holding on and accidentally shooting Felipe.
    With mother and child lying unconscious on the floor, it’s just Jaffari and me. I punch him hard in the head with my free