They were just outside the room now. But Murdoch's thoughts were becoming desperate. He was a man quickly running out of options. He didn't know what to do next. "By the time you bring them back here we'll be gone," he replied to Gabriel with as much confidence as he could muster.
And then Heather was speaking again. He'd barely registered the meaning of her words before she was slamming her foot down on his. With a shout of pain his hold on her arm reflexively loosened, and in the moment of confusion, he could feel the arm holding the knife move away from her neck. That hadn't been his doing. Before he could stop it, it was Robin, not him, tripping one foot back over the other and forcing him in to the room, landing flat on his back on the wooden floor, the foot still throbbing with pain kicking the door shut with a slam.
Recovering as quickly as he could, Murdoch pushed himself to his feet, stumbling over to the desk, foot burning with each step. His hands, Robin's hands, were shaking as he tried to maintain control. Pulling open one of the drawers, he pulled out the revolver sitting inside, leaning against the front edge of the desk.