Free Red-Hot Ruby by Sandrine Spycher Page A

found his ironical tone back. He had already moved through the room when Williams and Cowley pointed their guns at the thieves.
    “Don’t move,” they shouted in unison.
    Carter turned around and shot at them. His intention was not to kill, only to keep them at a distance where he wouldn’t risk getting caught before reaching the window. And that way, although they’d sure follow, they’d be delayed.
    “Come on,” he told Farrell who was standing near her bed.
    “I’m not jumping out of that window, thank you very much,” she replied.
    “Suit yourself,” Carter said. “But then give me the ruby, so that at least one of the jewels is safe.”
    “No way you’re getting your hands on it,” Farrell said angrily. “And don’t call me a jewel.”
    Carter, who was already halfway through the window, came back into the room. He tried to get the suitcase from Farrell but she fought back. They heard the police tell them to put their hand in the air. Carter shot at them again. Then he aimed a little higher. The light bulb exploded loudly.
    “That’s how you kill the lights,” he said before shooting at the door, thus forcing it closed. “Now, either you come along, or you give me that.”
    “I don’t like either choice,” Farrell muttered.
    “What’s your great plan, then, little girl?” he said, provoking her. It had the desired effect of making her angry. She walked around her bed toward the window and risked a look down.
    “Come on, we don’t have all night,” Carter pressed her.
    “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because this is the sixteenth fucking floor, you crazy bastard,” she yelled.
    “So what? There’s an emergency ladder. I wasn’t planning on actually jumping .”
    “I’ve got vertigo,” Farrell confessed.
    “What?” Carter couldn’t believe it. “Why the fuck do you live on the sixteenth floor if you can’t even look down?”
    “Hands in the air,” Cowley shouted, but neither Carter nor Farrell complied. They didn’t even seem to have heard her.
    “There’s a difference between living here, and wanting to jump out,” Farrell was saying.
    “Hands in the air, I said,” Cowley repeated.
    “Do you mind?” Carter told her. “We’re having a conversation here.”
    “I don’t think you understood—” Cowley started before Williams interrupted her.
    “SHUT UP,” he yelled. “ALL OF YOU.”
    The room fell silent. It was partly lit by the lamp from the living room, partly by the street lights. The darkness and the broken door gave it a Gothic atmosphere. On the one side were Carter and Farrell—he was still holding his gun, and she was clinging to the ruby—and on the other were Cowley, Williams, and their colleagues—all of them with guns pointed at their antagonists.
    “Carter, gun on the floor. Now,” Williams said. Carter complied with a childish disappointed pout. “Good,” Williams continued, “put your hands where I can see them.” Carter sighed bitterly and lifted his hands in front of him. “Now you,” Williams told Farrell, “put that suitcase down and your hands up.”
    Carter looked at her and saw little tears of discouragement in her eyes. She slowly bent down and delicately lay the ruby on the carpet. A second later, they were both handcuffed and led out of the building.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Them
     
    “This is all your fault,” Carter stated.
    “Excuse me?” Farrell yelled angrily. “Who lead the cops to my place? Oh yeah, that was you .”
    “Shut up, you two,” Williams intervened. “You sound like an old couple.”
    Carter was about to talk back, but Williams pushed him into the car and he was forced to shut his mouth. Farrell was also motioned to sit at the back of a police car. They exchanged a quick look before the doors closed on them. Neither of them really knew what the other meant by that look. Carter imagined that Farrell was thinking about his kisses and caresses. Farrell imagined that Carter was thinking about