Becca knew that the longer she waited to make her move, the more likely it was that the police would take him out. She did a quick assessment of the risks involved in making this decision. From the whiskey on his breath and the slight tremble in his hands, she could tell he was inebriated. The limp she saw when he was running and the way he favored one leg suggested an old injury, which meant his reaction time would be slower. Becca also had the added advantage of being a woman. Most men underestimated a woman’s ability to fight. She ran through her mental checklist of disarming techniques.

Redirect the line of fire.

Control the weapon.

Counterattack and disarm.

She eyed Freud. He was an unknown quantity. Please cooperate. Please. Becca counted to ten, then fumbled in her pocket for one of Freud’s treats. She tossed one at him and he strained against the leash, startling Hopper. For a split second, his attention was diverted. Becca wasn’t the threat in that moment, Freud was. Becca took this opportunity to reach out and grab Hopper’s hand and the gun, pinning them in her fist to ensure the gun couldn’t be fired.

Hopper’s natural reaction was to pull away, which gave Becca the opportunity to step in closer, twisting the gun and his hand back in one swift motion. He let out a cry as Becca literally twisted the gun out of his hand. Once she had the gun, she took a step back, pointing it at him. “It’s over, Hopper,” Becca shouted. He staggered back, stunned at the sudden reversal of roles. There wasn’t time for him to react. Six LAPD officers descended on him and took him down.

“Stay down. Stay down on the ground. Do not move. You are under arrest. Do you hear me? You’re under arrest.”

Hopper was shouting, calling Becca all kinds of names. An officer reached out and took the gun from her. Becca began to tremble uncontrollably, a surge of adrenaline flooding her body. Becca stepped back, watching as officers cuffed Hopper and hauled him to his feet.

“He needs a psychiatric evaluation,” Becca said.

“No shit,” one of the officers barked. “We’re taking him to Hollywood Pres.”

Becca blinked, her eyes suddenly blurring. She squinted, struggling to keep her focus on Hopper.

“I need to know what Ash said to you. Did she tell you where she was going?” Becca asked.

“Go fuck yourself,” he spat at her.

Her eyes were burning now. “Please, I need to know where…” She stopped, a pain in her head so fierce it nearly sent her to her knees. Christian appeared by her side. “C’mon, Becca, this is ridiculous. I’m taking you home before you get yourself killed.”