by Elle Gray
“And your hunches are usually pretty well spot on.”
“I don’t want to call in the locals yet, just in case I am wrong. I don’t want it blowing back on Rosie or the Field Office,” I tell him.
“Fine. Get the lay of the land but seriously, please tell me you won’t go in until help arrives,” he tells me.
“Standby,” I say, getting out of the car. I don’t make promises like that when lives are on the line.
I hustle around to the trunk and pop it open. I pull out my Kevlar vest and strap it on, and secure my phone into one of the pockets on the chest. After that, I grab a couple more magazines from the lockbox and slip them into the pouch on my belt. Lastly, I grab the 20ga Mossberg shotgun and rack in the six rounds it holds.
“What’s going on, boss?” Rick asks. “I hear something that sounds distinctly like you pumping a shotgun. But that can’t be right, because you’re waiting for backup, right?”
“There’s no time. If Scarlett’s in there, he could be cutting on her already,” I say. “I need to get in there. She could be dead by the time backup arrives.”
The decision made, I close the trunk and use the key fob remote to lock the car, then turn and head into the woods.
“Rick, can you use my phone to track me?”
“Of course, I can.”
“Good. Do that,” I order. “And guide me toward the cabin. It’s blacker than pitch out here.”
“Let me go on record to say this is a monumentally bad idea.”
“Noted,” I reply. “Now guide me.”
Gripping the Mossberg tightly, I creep through the undergrowth, carefully but quickly picking my way, trying to avoid making noise as best I can. But even more, to avoid turning an ankle on an exposed root, a rock, or anything else that can snag me. As I move, I take note that there isn’t another house around in eyesight. Maybe for miles, for all I know. Svboda’s cabin might as well be on an island all its own. It’s the perfect place for him to do what he’s doing.
“Okay, turn about forty-five degrees to your right. That should put you right on line to the cabin,” he says. “You should see the edge of the tree line in about two hundred yards or so.”
“Copy that.”
A cool wind rustles the branches above my head and stirs the undergrowth beneath my feet. The branches rub together with a dry, scratchy sound, groaning like spirits rising from the grave.
“Okay, I see the edge of the tree line just ahead,” I report.
I creep to a screen of bushes just inside the tree line and peer through the thin, spidery branches. The cabin sits about fifty yards beyond, and another fifty yards beyond that is a vast lake. From my position, I can see the trees crowding close to the shore. Some of them are so massive, time has bowed their trunk, forcing their branches down into the water.
The moon slips out from behind the veil of clouds and glimmers briefly off the surface of the water, turning it into a pool of radiant silver. But then the clouds reclaim the moon, and the light disappears, plunging us back into darkness.
I keep watching the cabin and my heart skips a beat when I see a shadow pass in front of a lighted window. The adrenaline starts as a trickle then begins to flow, quickly becoming a raging torrent.
“Suspect’s vehicle, a black Audi A4 is parked in the drive,” I say. “We have confirmation that Tony Svboda is here. Call in the locals, Rick. Tell them to send everybody.”
“Good. Yes. Excellent idea,” he says. “And you’ll be waiting until they get there to go in, right?”
I open my mouth to reply, but a bloodcurdling scream shatters the air around me. Just the sound of it sends chills rushing through me, and I shudder.
“Jesus,” Rick mutters. “What in the hell was that?”
“That was the sound of time beginning to run out for Scarlett Porter,” I say. “Get on the phone with the locals and tell them to hurry.”
I disconnect the call and pull the Bluetooth headset out of my ear, tucking it into a pocket. As I do, I hear another agonized wail that makes me grit my teeth. A man’s voice echoes through the night. Even from out here, it’s clearly audible. Svboda is screaming and shouting vulgarities at Scarlett. He’s humiliating her. Degrading her. And I can only imagine that he’s picturing his mother as he’s doing it.
I get up from my position and cross the yard, freezing for a moment when the shadow passes across the drawn curtain in the window again. Moving low and fast, I make it to the side of the cabin. There’s a gap in the curtain, so I press my eye to it and see Scarlett. She’s stripped down to her bra and panties, her ankles and wrists bound to the chair by plastic cuffs. I see one eye is already swelling, and a thin rivulet of blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.
Angry welts line her arms and legs, and her shoulder is deeply cut, spilling blood down her chest. I keep looking, but I don’t see Svboda anywhere, nor is he still yelling and screaming. My stomach roils and an ominous feeling descends that chills me to the very bone. I turn my gaze back to Scarlett. She’s sobbing helplessly, her body shaking. The sight stokes the flames of my anger and sets the bar for my rage ever higher.
I feel his presence behind me a moment before I hear the crunch of the dirt and gravel driveway beneath his boot. Acting purely on instinct, I throw myself backward as hard as I can. A split second later, a thunderous roar splits the world around us, and I watch as a giant flame leaps from the barrel of his shotgun. Chips of wood go flying as his round tears into the siding of his cabin.
The moment I hit the ground, taking most of the blow on my backside, I bring my Mossberg to bear and squeeze off a shot that sends Svboda scrambling backward. The recoil of the shotgun is so powerful, it clacks my teeth together. I feel it reverberating through my entire body. The sound of my gun is still echoing as I jump to my feet and swing around, searching for him. But he’s nowhere to be seen.
“FBI, Svboda,” I call. “Give it up. It’s over. Drop your weapon, get down on your knees, and put your hands in the air!”
The sound of him racking a shell in his shotgun puts a quiver in my heart. He’s not going to go down easily. Knowing he’s somewhere in the darkness in front of me, I back toward the house. And when I reach the door, I push my way inside and slam it shut, throwing both of the locks. Scarlett looks up at me with her one good eye opened wide.
“FBI,” I tell her. “We’re going to get you out of here, Scarlett.”
“Please. Get me out of here,” she cries. “I don’t want to die. I want to go home.”
“You’re not going to die, Scarlett. We’re going to get you home,” I tell her with more confidence than I feel right now.
I move through the cabin and find the back door—the one he’d slipped out of to get around behind me. I shut and lock that one too. After all my bluster and bravado earlier, right now I’m totally content to hunker down and wait for the cavalry. Svboda seems right at home in the darkness of the woods, while I am most definitely not.
“You shouldn’t have come out here.”
The voice is deep and gruff, and somehow seems to be coming from everywhere at once. Somehow, the cabin is playing hell with acoustics, making it sound like Svboda is right there beside me when I know he’s lurking somewhere in the shadows.
“I’m not going to let you hurt her,” I shout back. “You’re not going to hurt anybody anymore. You’re done, Svboda!”
“We’ll see,” he replies ominously.
I slip the utility knife out of my boot and use it to slice through Scarlett’s bonds. She looks at me with tears streaming down her face and a quavering but hopeful smile on her face.
“Get to one of the back bedrooms. Hide yourself and be very quiet,” I whisper to her. “And don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”
She gives me a nod and then, silent as a ghost, she disappears down the hall into one of the bedrooms, leaving me alone in the great room. I keep my shotgun at the ready and strain my ears, listening for the slightest hint of movement. But t
hen the front door shatters inward. The sound of it crashing to the ground as loud as thunder fills the room. The shock of seeing Svboda emerging through the cloud of dust and shattered wood roots me to my spot for a moment.
He raises his shotgun, glaring at me directly in the eye. My insides threaten to turn to mush, and my legs are shaking so horribly, I don’t know how I’m managing to stay on my feet. He raises his shotgun, forcing me to dive to the side to avoid the blast that rips through the wall and the fireplace, spraying stone and chips of wood everywhere.
But he’s not done. A growl of frustration crossing his lips, he swings around, leveling the barrel of his shotgun at me. I leap to the side once more, this time dropping my shotgun. The idea of going back for it is permanently dislodged from my mind when another blast from Svboda’s gun fires again, this time tearing a hole through the floor as I’m reaching for it. I pull my hand back as quickly as if I’d been burned.
Svboda advances on me, keeping his shotgun trained on my face. He’s apparently not going to miss for the third time. Just as he reaches me, I lash out with my feet. I score a direct hit, partially collapsing his leg. The knee buckles. He lets out an agonized roar as he falls to the ground with a hard thud.
I press my advantage and dart forward, kicking the shotgun from his grasp. The weapon spins and clatters, eventually ending up in the far corner and discharging. A spray of shrapnel nicks my leg, sending waves of pain like I’ve never known radiating through every square inch of my body. The pain is hard and blunt, and I feel for all the world like somebody just drove a sledgehammer into my calf. I howl in agony but manage to keep my feet, though I stagger away from him.
I barely have time to right myself before Svboda is back on his feet. Before I can bring the shotgun back up, he drives one of his meaty fists into my face. A sound like wet meat being slapped together fills my ears and my head is propelled backward, quickly slamming into the wall behind me. I’m literally seeing stars bursting behind my eyes, and I feel my blood, warm and viscous, spilling down my face and filling my mouth with its coppery taste.
My eyes are watering and I’m still having trouble seeing past the stars in my eyes. But I manage to see Svboda coming toward me again. He drives his fist into my midsection and the air is driven out of my body with a whoosh. I suddenly feel lightheaded and on the verge of passing out. I see Svboda reaching down for my dropped shotgun, and I have just enough of my wits left about me that I lash out with my foot, sending the shotgun skittering away from me.
Svboda lashes out and catches me with a vicious backhand that rocks my head to the side and I feel my energy leave me all at once. I collapse to my hands and knees, gasping for breath.
“I’m going to kill you,” Svboda sneers.
I look up and see him snarling down at me. He’s a large man that fills my entire field of vision. He’s got wide, sloping shoulders, dark hair, and sapphire blue eyes. I hate to admit it but he’s a handsome man, who’s got a bit of that Ted Bundy look about him. I can see why he was able to charm these women he’s been killing.
“You don’t have to do this,” I gasp.
“I do. This is who I am,” he snarls. “This is who she made me to be.”
“Who?”
“Enough talk. I must kill you quickly,” he says. “Then I need to find the one you set free. I have plans for her. I cannot deviate from the plan. I have to kill mommy.”
“I’ve seen how your plans play out. Just leave her be, Svboda,” I say. “Kill me, if you absolutely have to kill. But leave her alone.”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” he screams so loud, it feels like the floor is quaking underneath me.
Svboda snatches up the shotgun and stalks back toward me with it. As he gets in range and starts to bring the barrel up, I shoulder roll toward him, close the gap between us, and drive the bottom of my foot into his knee with all the force I can muster. I feel something give beneath my foot and he howls in sheer agony. Pressing my advantage, I spin around and use my arm to sweep his feet out from under him.
He falls backward, a look of shock on his face. The shotgun hits the wooden floor with a loud bang and goes off, blowing a hole in the wall across from us. Svboda hits the ground hard, and he grunts as the wind is driven from his lungs. Without thinking and heedless of the danger, I throw myself on top of him, straddling his chest, and wildly start to drive my fist into his face.
As I punch him, I feel his nose give way, then his jaw, and watch his face turn to a bloody pulp. I feel an electric thrill run through me.
I hear myself laughing. It’s exhilarating.
The feeling pushes me onward, compelling me to keep punching him until my arm grows tired. All I can see is red and I’m unaware of time, completely lost in the moment. I feel like I’m outside of my body, watching this strange animal battering the unconscious man.
The next thing I know, two sets of hands are hauling me off him. I struggle and thrash in their grasp, trying to break free, desperate to finish my destruction. But they hold me fast and I’m unable to slip them. And all the while, I keep hearing a name. My name. They’re calling me over and over, and slowly, I start to come back to myself. I open my eyes and look to my left and to my right. And for a moment, I don’t recognize either person holding me.
But then all at once, I feel like I’ve been slammed back into my body with incredible force. I gasp and draw a lungful of air as if I’ve been holding my breath forever.
“Astra, Mo,” I wheeze. “Oh good, you made it.”
They both laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. I’m not thinking very clearly at the moment and don’t know what they find so funny. I’m about to ask them to clarify when Astra speaks.
“Yeah, we made it,” she says. “But it looks like we already missed one hell of a party.”
That sets them both off again, and as they giggle with each other, I’m able to break free of their grasp. Uniformed police are swarming into the cabin, the night beyond lit up by red and blue strobing lights. I stand and stare at the cabin’s large, empty great room for a minute as I try to recall where I am and how I got here. My head is spinning, and I feel sick to my stomach. But then I remember what brought me here in the first place.
“The girl,” I say as my memories come roaring back. “Where is she? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Astra tells me. “In fact—”
She never finishes her statement because the girl—Scarlett is her name—wrapped in a blanket, throws herself into me. She squeezes me tightly and sobs.
“Thank you,” she gasps. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
The EMTs have to pry her off me, and I watch numbly as they walk her out of the cabin and to one of the ambulances waiting outside. Astra takes me by one arm and Mo takes the other, and they start walking me toward the door as well.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You’re going to the hospital,” Astra says.
I shake my head and grimace at the shockwave of pain that races through me. “I’m fine. The shot just grazed me. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Yeah, you do, Supergirl,” Mo says.
“They’re right. You really do,” adds an EMT who takes over for them in guiding me toward an ambulance.
“Svboda,” I gasp, suddenly remembering him. “Where is he? What happened to him?”
“Well, the unfortunate thing is, he’s going to be all right,” Astra says.
“The fortunate thing is that you rearranged his face pretty well, and he’s going to be eating through a straw for months.”
“Definitely months. Remind me to never get on your bad side,” says the EMT with a chuckle.
They load me into one of the ambulances and lay me down on a gurney. Astra is sitting beside me, my hand in hers. She squeezes it gently and offers me a smile.
“We did it, huh? We won?” I ask.
She nods and I see her eyes shimmering with tears. “Yeah. We did it. We won.”
/>
I nod to myself. “Good. I’m glad.”
Thirty-Seven
Black Tie Burgers, Capitol Hill District; Seattle, WA
I slip into the booth, a small grimace touching my lips. It’s been a couple of weeks since the ordeal at the cabin, and I’m still healing up. Fortunately, the shrapnel really was just a graze; I’ll be limping for a couple more weeks but there’s no major damage. Most of the bruises have faded and the swelling in my face has finally gone down. I no longer feel like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, so I’m counting that as a win. But I will have to wear a soft cast on my right hand for a while yet. It seems as if I fractured a bone in my hand on Tony Svboda’s face.
And speaking of Svboda, he really will be eating through a straw for months. He’ll also be spending that time in the prison infirmary. Though part of me wants to feel bad for my savagery, I just don’t. Sucker had it coming. There was a brief review at the Field Office, but I was found to have acted in self-defense and in the defense of others, and the case was closed—though I did get an unofficial talking to about not letting myself get that out of control again. Rosie told me to blow it off though and said that I did good.
The girl, Scarlett Porter, stopped by my hospital room to check on me every day I was there. She made a game of smuggling in food and other treats for me and couldn’t stop thanking me for saving her life. She’s a sweet kid who is now apparently thinking about changing her major to criminal justice and applying to go to the academy at Quantico. I gave her my card and told her to call me if she had any questions. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from her, which is just fine with me. I’m happy to help in any way I can.
“You’re looking better.”
I look up from my reverie to see Aunt Annie slipping into the booth across from me. I give her a smile as she takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Better,” I reply. “I’ll be good as new in no time flat.”
Annie looks closely at me, and though they’re healing, you can still see the bruises. They make her wince.
