The bullet came without warning, tearing through the air and splitting her skull in the speed of a heartbeat. Her eyes frozen in shock, her body went limp and she fell.
Mason caught hold of her sagging body, pulling her inside the house as fast as possible. Deep down, he knew it was too late for her, but his instincts drove him not give up on her life.
From the window, he eased his head up to take a peek, silencing Chris Healy who was wailing in horror. But Mason couldn’t see the shooter. Nor was there any more evidence Anarchy had blackmailed Lucy.
It’d gone from bad to worse with one simple shot of a gun.
Chapter Seventy-Six
The body bag was zipped up over Lucy Healy, concealing her face for the last time.
Soon after, the press arrived in a frenzy. Even Captain Cox had trouble inching through the crowd and making her way toward Mason. When she finally arrived on the scene, she pulled him to one side. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” Mason said, feeling anything but.
Cox removed her sunglasses and leaned with her back against the car. She and Mason assessed the scene: Chris Healy crying into somebody’s arms, policemen coming in and out of what was once his home. “There’s no way you could have predicted this.”
“No, but still…”
“But still what?”
“The girl said something before it happened.”
Captain Cox glanced over her shoulder, ensuring they were alone. “What?”
“The police sketch was a lie. She told me she had to do it, or Anarchy would come back and—what were her words? ‘Finish the job.’” Even Mason was having a hard time digesting this one. Never mind that Anarchy had been perfectly capable of taking him out first.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
There followed a morbid silence. Mason watched the reporters trying to squeeze their way through, thinking once more of Evie. He missed her, but deep down, he was just glad she was out of harm’s way.
“The Feds are going to love this,” Cox said, pushing away from the car. She placed her hands on the small of her back, stretching. “Which means we’re in a lot of trouble.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You were just doing your job—whatever that is these days. My only regret is there’s nothing we can officially do for you.”
Mason’s attention was piqued by Cox’s phrasing. “For me?”
“I hate to say it, but whoever this guy is, he’s obviously targeting you. How long do you expect him to keep his distance? Let’s say this is the real Anarchy…” Cox stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He has it in for you, big-time. Now Shaun Chambers is dropping truth bombs, it’s only a matter of time before the heat is back on you.”
Mason hadn’t thought of that. He’d assumed both he and his family were safe while Chambers was locked up. But to know they could still be targets… “There’s nothing you can do?”
“Well, maybe there’s something, but you won’t like it.”
His odds of being able to defend everyone were slim—especially after seeing what Anarchy was capable of. So, if there was anything he could do to protect them, he wouldn’t hesitate. “Try me.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The plan—if you could call it that—was impossible.
Between the Healy residence and Diane’s house, Mason had run the idea through his mind over and over again. The outcome was always the same, but he knew there was no guarantee it would happen that way.
Since arriving home and discussing the updates with Diane (who was of course sympathetic), Mason had cooked, cleaned, and done anything else to take his mind off it. Following this, he and Amy were granted a little time to catch up before bed.
“And how’s the boyfriend?” he asked, already regretting it.
“We broke up. For good, this time,” Amy said matter-of-factly.
Mason sat up straight, turning to her. “What? Are you okay? You should have said—”
Amy only waved a hand and sucked a sip of juice through her straw. “It’s fine. He was a jerk. I’m just glad to be rid of him.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Mason put a hand on her shoulder. “Why?”
“He just liked this other girl. It’s no biggie.”
As much as he disliked the idea of Amy with a boyfriend anyway, Mason found himself worrying about what he might have done to end it. Diane would later tell him not to worry, and that a young girl’s relationships come and go like sunrises. “Well, his loss.”
“I know,” Amy joked and rested her head on his lap.
Midnight soon came, and the girls had both fallen asleep. There had been no chance of Mason dozing off. Not while the plan was fixed so firmly in his mind. It ate through him like a cancer, stealing his every thought. Even after carrying Amy to bed and settling in with Diane, his eyes stayed wide open.
Anything could happen now, he thought as he watched Diane breathing in her sleep. Mason kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “I love you.” It was necessary, after all, for he had no idea if he would get another chance to say it.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Anarchy cowered in the garden, rethinking his nickname.
Anarchy. He considered so hard he could have sworn he’d actually whispered it. In the old days, that name was quite fitting. But in light of recent events—bearing in mind how much consideration had gone into testing the good Mr. Black—he would have taken any other name. Mastermind almost fell from his lips. The Executioner. Anything was more fitting now, but it was too late to change—he’d already plastered his name across some of his crime scenes.
Breaking his train of thought, a cat climbed off the nearby fence and came to greet him. It purred as he stroked behind its ear. Anarchy hated cats, but anything would help pass the time right now. After all, he’d been following Mason for hours, and now he was just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The cat meowed and stalked off into the darkness. Alone, Anarchy peered into the window he’d been hiding beneath and saw the PI’s daughter, Amy. She was growing into a woman now, and he felt oddly aroused as he watched her stir. Her frame was slender, and her skin was silky smooth.
She’s just a child, man. You’re better than that.
“Probably won’t live to see her next birthday anyway,” he mumbled as he took out the knife.
He moved to the next window, which he’d seen was Mason’s and his girlfriend’s bedroom when the lights were on. Having given them over an hour to fall asleep, there couldn’t have been a better time to get up close and personal.
Quiet as possible, Anarchy stepped up to the front door and tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife. “The end is finally here, Mr. Black,” he whispered, feeling all kinds of different excitement. “The end is here.”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
The rustling came from outside, and Mason’s eyes flew open.
“I have to go,” he said to Diane, who awoke and rubbed her eyes.
Mason grabbed the pistol Captain Cox had supplied him—a Beretta M92F—and stalked through the hallway in the dark. If the rustling was what he thought it was, he would have to be alert. His heart rate picking up, he pulled out a chair and sat outside Amy’s room with the gun laid in his lap.
It was only moments later that a knock came on the door. It was gentle, almost timid, and Mason didn’t know whether to dare answer. Is it who I think it is, or is it something worse? He was already regretting the plan.
The knock came again, this time in the form of a heavy, impatient pounding.
Mason clutched the gun, snaking his finger around the trigger. Cautious, he got up from the chair and approached the door, taking steady steps toward it. He was ready to fire and wouldn’t hesitate if it came to it.
He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, twisted it, and pulled the door open.
“Mason.” Bill stood outside, looking glum. H
e was shivering in the night breeze, his shoulders stiff and his body hunched. “There’s been a problem.”
Mason lowered the gun, concealing it behind the door. “What kind of problem?”
“It’s bad. You’re going to want to come to the police station.”
And leave my family unprotected, you mean? Perhaps it wasn’t that though. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. Glancing up and down the empty street, it looked exactly like the kind of night someone would choose to discreetly attack a family. Or was it Amy’s movies influencing his imagination? “How long will this take?”
“A good couple hours, I’d imagine.”
“The girls are asleep anyway. Just let me get my coat.”
Mason joined him outside, and they strode toward Bill’s car. He wasn’t comfortable leaving Diane and Amy in the house—not with all that had happened. But what choice did he have?
“You’ll be back before you know it,” Bill assured him.
Mason climbed into the passenger seat, hoping—praying—he was right.
Chapter Eighty
Only when he was at the door did Anarchy see the detective coming up the street.
You absolute shithead, he thought, running to kneel behind a nearby bush. Luckily, he hadn’t been seen, but it could so easily have gone south.
The detective ran up the steps and knocked on the door. It wasn’t long before Mason Black answered. It was convenient that Anarchy was within earshot of them. He now knew Mason was leaving the house, and he had a couple of hours to do whatever he wanted.
They’re all mine, he thought, running his finger softly along the blade.
After Mason and the detective left, Anarchy came out of the bushes and approached the house again. It wasn’t the brightest idea, but he’d been forced into this situation. He smashed the pane of glass in the door and reached through to unlock it from the inside. He had to act fast now, in case it had woken anyone up.
Now inside, Anarchy headed for Amy’s room. If he had the girl, anyone would bend to his will. She was like a power ticket, and he planned to exploit that. With her in his possession, he would be able to get close enough to Mason’s girlfriend. And then what? Make a bloody mess of the girl, and leave a nice little display for Mr. Black? The possibilities were endless but all equally exciting.
Sneering, he crept across the hallway and pushed open the girl’s bedroom door. It creaked a little but opened easily enough. He was now inside, knife in hand, and his thirst for blood was unquenchable.
“Don’t move.”
Anarchy felt his body seize as something cold and hard was pressed into the back of his neck. He knew exactly what it was—the lip of a gun. The only question was, who was behind it? It was a woman’s voice—at least that much was clear.
“You’re mine,” she said.
He felt a foot press into the back of his knee, and he fell to the ground.
Is this it? he thought. Is this how the great Anarchy goes out?
Not likely.
Chapter Eighty-One
They both sat waiting in the car. Bill was resting his chin on a closed fist, while Mason gnawed on his fingernails. It was funny—when she was younger, he’d often told Amy off for doing the same thing.
“How do you suppose she’s doing?” Mason asked.
“She’s the captain for a reason,” Bill said. “If anyone can tackle him, it’s her.”
“I left her in the bedroom with the gun, but I still don’t like it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.”
“But it’s necessary, right?”
Bill nodded. “Right.”
Mason watched the house, refusing to look away. “You could have used your usual knock, you know. I had no idea if it was you or not.”
“I thought about it. I didn’t want Anarchy to know that I do it.”
“Makes sense.” I guess. “I just hope everything’s okay in there.”
Although both Bill and the captain had justified it to him, Mason couldn’t quite bring himself to see this whole thing was an acceptable risk. When Cox had first suggested she sneak in through the back and stay on guard all night, he’d thought she was joking. But when she went on with her plan, explaining how Mason should leave the house for Anarchy to attack, he’d had to protest. Now, some hours later, Mason wished he’d protested a little harder.
“They’ll be fine,” Bill assured him. “To be totally honest, your main concern should be the Feds. They’ll come down on us like a ton of bricks when they find out about this.”
Mason shrugged. “What can they do? It’s a home invasion.”
“Sticking to that story?”
“Yep. Cox came by to visit when I went out for a walk, and Anarchy just happened to choose that moment to trespass. It’s a simple case of defense.”
“They won’t see it that way,” Bill said, cracking the window to let some cool air in. “You know what they’re like. It won’t take five minutes for them to—”
The car’s radio hissed, and Cox’s voice crackled through. “I have the suspect under arrest.”
Mason couldn’t believe it. He hesitated, before climbing out of the car and striding toward the house. I have the suspect under arrest. Those six perfect words meant everything to him.
“See, I told you.” Bill caught up beside him with the radio in hand.
“Yeah, yeah.”
They rounded the corner and hurried up the drive. A light was on in the hallway, but nobody was moving around inside. Everything seemed peaceful, until a bright flash lit up the window and the radio chimed again.
“I’m hit! Suspect’s on foot, heading out the back!”
Without so much as a thought, Mason sprinted for the front door, bursting through it in one swift moment. As fast as he could, he darted to the nearest bedroom—Diane’s—with his heart in his throat to assess the damage.
Chapter Eighty-Two
To his surprise, Diane was in bed and dozing lightly. But that didn’t mean Amy was safe, too. Mason ran between the rooms, calling out to her until he reached her bedroom.
“Amy!”
“In here, Dad,” came the muffled voice from the other end of the house.
Mason ran to her, aware of Bill behind him and the Beretta tucked under his coat. When he reached the open doorway, he saw Captain Cox lying on the floor, and Amy was nursing her.
“He went out the back,” Cox said, wincing.
“Right. You two okay?”
They both nodded, to which Mason went for the door and tried his best to catch up to Anarchy. In truth, he hadn’t expected him to come to the house. All the same, he hadn’t wanted to put his family in harm’s way. But when Cox had called through and said she had him detained, he’d almost—just for a second—felt a sense of relief.
Mason slowed down as he rounded the corner, drawing his pistol. Bill was right behind him, and he knew he was also armed. Up ahead, now just a shadowy figure in the distance, Anarchy was running down a steep San Francisco slope—just like the ones people had written songs about.
But there was something else—a brief flash of light and the sound of screams.
Gunfire.
They ran faster, gaining distance on the man as the cool midnight air hit their faces. When they were less than twenty feet behind him, Mason heard his laughter. It was shrill and disturbing the way he chuckled harder as he fired another shot.
A nearby pedestrian hit the ground, screaming and clutching his side. A pool of blood seeped from under him, pooling out across the road.
Mason couldn’t stop, and Bill was determined to have his back.
Ahead, Anarchy dived onto a late-night cable car, catching the side with his one free hand. His face was still unrecognizable in the dark, and the heat of the moment didn’t make things any clearer.
Then there was another gunshot, and a body slumped off the car.
“Daddy!” a little girl cried, leaning off the edge and crying at the fallen body.
I’m go
ing to get you, you son of a bitch! His legs tiring, Mason ran faster, faster, until the cable car was within arm’s reach. He made a dive for it, and as his knees scathed the road, he gripped the rail, staring into the face of Anarchy.
“Good to see you, Mr. Black.” His face was mostly a grin, his dark eyes full of a thousand secrets. His long, thick hair framed a gaunt face and gave him a haunting appearance. When he turned his back, he fired another shot into a terrified pedestrian. Another. And another. The body count was rising, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.
Mason wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. If he didn’t let go of his gun and use both hands to haul himself onto the cable car, he would fall and lose this one chance forever.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Anarchy had so easily taken the gun from the policewoman. Wasn’t she supposed to be the captain? Whoever she was, she was weak and pathetic. Laughable, even.
Since then, he’d not only managed to get away, but with Mason Black finally taking chase, he could gun down whoever the hell he wanted. It was worth it just to see the pissed-off expression on his face. Now, as Mason lay clinging on for dear life at his feet, he was in full control of the situation.
“How could you?” a girl yelled at him. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she mourned the man he’d shot.
“There are all sorts of evils in this world, little girl. I’m just one of many.” Anarchy couldn’t help but laugh, turning back to look down at Mason. “And what to do with you, Mr. Black? We both know you’re gonna have to drop that gun to climb up here. And if you do…” He held out the gun and grinned.
But of all the things Anarchy expected to happen, this was not one of them.
Mason fired his gun and fell from the cable car.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 46
