Lou had no doubt that any moment he was going to die, and most likely die horribly. Another thing he had no doubt about was that he was not going to go down without a hell of a fight.

He took a single step back to size up his situation and the potbellied lawman who he was certain was about to kill him. The first thing he warned himself of was that under no circumstance was he going to underestimate the man. Despite his bulk, Stone carried himself with the balance, grace, and confidence of a fighter—probably a brawler. At the moment, though, he appeared totally at ease, almost blissful. Holding his pistol loosely in front of him, he looked like anything other than a man who was preparing to kill.

Lou wondered if Stone was aware that his target had figured out what was coming. More than likely, he decided.

Desperately, Lou searched for a move, any move, that would shorten the odds against him. His advantage was his quickness, his skill as a boxer, and the surprise if he managed to make his play before Stone made his.

Trying to run would result only in a bullet between the shoulder blades. Lou did not know when Stone intended to strike, only that it would happen and happen soon. The pit made for the perfect human disposal receptacle. If the man was trained in martial arts, he might try to gain leverage to flip Lou over the rail. The bugs would devour his clothes while they were mulching his flesh. His bones would be last.

More likely, Stone would neutralize him first with a single shot, possibly to a nonvital spot. From where the policeman was cradling his gun, Lou would have a second or so before he could raise it and fire. Cap would have shown him the move he should go to—possibly a jab-uppercut combination. He would have more confidence if he could connect with a weapon of some sort. Then he realized that he had one in his pants pocket—the pencil he had been using to graph the termites’ ventilation shafts.

Stone was gesturing below them and commenting on the setup.

Easy, Lou warned himself as he turned away an inch or so and slid his hand into his pocket. The pencil was there, complete with point.

Perfect.

Lou gestured into the pit. “Look,” he said. “Look there.”

Stone kept a wary distance and peered below. “I don’t see anything.”

The termites’ clicking seemed to have gotten louder, as if they sensed a meal was on the way.

With thoughts of Emily and their last, too brief, conversation, Lou slipped the pencil out of his pocket, then held it under his wrist and concealed it against the top of the catwalk railing. Leaning forward, hoping Stone would react to his vulnerability, he gestured down at the golden necklace.