He thought Linton might put the gun away since his demand had been met, but the good doctor wasn’t ready to concede. It was possible he didn’t know how to make a graceful exit. Pete was trying to figure out how to resolve the standoff before it got out of hand. Pete was close enough that if he’d kicked upward, he might have been able to propel the gun from Linton Reed’s grip, but his Marfan’s made such a move impossible. Whatever he intended to do, he knew he better do it quickly before Linton had time to think. If the gun’s safety was still off and Pete made a move, there was a chance Linton’s trigger finger would tighten reflexively, causing the gun to fire, but Pete couldn’t worry about that.

He stepped to one side, put his hands together like a club, and brought it down abruptly on Linton’s outstretched hand. The blow failed to break his hold on the gun, but it did catch him by surprise. Pete swung a fist and Linton stepped aside more quickly than Pete thought possible. Pete swung again and missed, only this time, he stumbled into Linton and his momentum took both men down. Pete’s fall was buffered by his landing on the other man while the doctor’s fall was cushioned by his heavy coat. His right hand went down, the butt of his gun hit the pavement, and the impact jarred the gun loose. The weapon flew off and landed on the path three feet away. As Linton rolled over onto his side and stretched to retrieve the gun, Pete lunged across him and knocked it out of reach.

Pete pushed himself upward. Staggering to his feet, he pulled the Glock from his shoulder holster and aimed it squarely at Linton’s chest. “Leave it where it is.”

Linton caught sight of the Glock and paused. Pete doubted the good doctor could even identify the Glock as such, but he must have recognized the ease with which Pete handled it. Linton pulled himself together awkwardly and stood up, brushing at his pants.

Pete said, “Back up.”

Linton stepped back a pace. Pete moved to his left, bent down casually, and picked up the errant handgun, which he holstered for safekeeping. His own gun he kept pointed at the doctor. Now that Pete was in control, he felt better. He had both guns; Linton’s weapon in his holster, his own held loosely in his right hand. He didn’t want this to escalate because the odds weren’t that good for either one of them. He was older and more experienced, but he was poorly coordinated and unaccustomed to physical exertion. Linton was the shorter of the two—five nine to Pete’s six foot two—and heavier by fifteen pounds, his stocky build a sharp contrast to Pete’s long-boned frame.

Linton said, “Give me my gun.”