No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

a handgun, chasing a helpless victim before cornering him
inside a van, a half-second from executing him. So bargain-bin
Captain America here had no choice but to fire. He had to
shoot her. That’s just how it works, you know. And it was so
perfect. So stunningly perfect.
The timing, the sheer misfortune. Yes, sir, he’d always
been special. Supernatural forces were at work here. This was
how a bona fide magic man eludes capture.
The cop moved in close now, gun up, kicking away the
Beretta from Darby and twisting her hands up behind her back
to cuff them. He was rough, yanking her elbows up into
chicken wings, but judging by the pint of blood steaming off
the snow, she was already having brunch with the Reaper. The
handcuffs engaged with a metallic snick and in the glow of the
flames, Ashley could read the officer’s stitched name: CPL.
RON HILL.
The cop looked up. “Sir, let me see your hands—”
“Sure.” Ashley raised the nailer.
THWUMP-THWUMP.