This story started here.
My employer regarded him. "This will not help you get back together with your wife," she observed.
"It will if I kill you," he said, waving the knife around. "Both of you. Who's going to solve the mystery if you're dead?"
She shook her head. "Not possible. There are two of us, standing far apart from each other, and you have a knife, not a gun." We had searched the room before he'd arrived, to make sure there wasn't a gun. The search had been easy, since he was living out of a single suitcase. It seemed pretty clear that, at least in his mind, this was a very temporary living situation.
"Okay," he said, "you're right." He moved closer to her, holding the knife out in front of him, but he was looking at me. "Get away from that door." I complied, moving farther away from where my employer stood. "All I need to do is to get over the bridge and you can't touch me. Any objections?"
I spread my arms wide. "None at all," I said. I said. "But was it really necessary to kill her?"
"She was a stupid girl," he said, "and she wouldn't listen to reason."
"Her family–" my employer began.
"Fuck her family," he said. "She was going to ruin my family, screw up my kids, too." He gestured with the knife. "Get out of my way."
He backed toward the door, opened it with one hand, and stepped out backwards without taking his eyes off me.
Christy grabbed his wrist, twisted it until he dropped the knife, yanked him around, and knocked his feet out from under him. He fell on his stomach and she landed on top of him, straddling his waist.
"Face on the floor!" she snarled. "Jinx, motherfucker, and I will ventilate your skull if you twitch!"
He tried to look at her, and she brought the butt of her gun down on the back of his head, hard. After that he didn't move, though I could tell he was still conscious.
Christy looked up at me and smiled. If the situation hadn't been so serious, I think she would have winked. With her free hand, she tugged her skirt down so that her thighs were decently covered.