by Ted Dekker
But what if she couldn’t get the door open?
Panicked, Kevin slid along the wall, met a corner, and felt his way along the back wall. He put his ear on the plaster.
Breathing. Slow and deep. Not his. Slow shuffling.
A low voice reached through the wall. “Kevinnnn . . .”
He froze.
“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn.”
The difference between innocence and naiveté has never registered in Slater’s mind. The two are synonymous. In fact, there is no such animal as innocence. They are all as guilty as hell. But he can’t deny that some are more naive than others, and watching Kevin creep up the stairs like a mouse has reminded Slater of how utterly naive his nemesis really is.
He’d been sorely tempted to kick the man in the head then, while Kevin was still four steps from the top. Watching him tumble and break would have held its appeal. But place-kicking has always struck him as one of sport’s more boring moments.
Welcome to my house, Kevin.
The man has gone and gotten himself a gun. He holds it like he might hold a vial of the Ebola virus and probably hasn’t thought to cock it, but he’s at least gathered the resolve to arm himself. And he is undoubtedly packing without Samantha’s knowledge. She would never allow a civilian to stumble around with a loaded weapon. Kevin has found a sliver of manhood. How fun! The man may actually try to kill him, as if he’s become the stalker instead of the victim.
In ways not even Kevin can yet know, this isn’t such a new thing. Kevin has tried to kill him before. Their lives are inseparably intertwined, each bent on killing the other. To think that this man who’s crept up the stairs holding his big shiny pistol has the stomach to pull the trigger, much less kill, is absurd.
Now the fool has wedged himself in the next room down and is undoubtedly wetting himself. If he only knew what lay in store for him in the hours to come, he might be lying in a puddle of his own vomit.
Here, kitty, kitty.
“Forty-six minutesss . . . Kevinnnn . . .”
Kevin nearly pulled the trigger then. Not with calculated aim, but out of sheer terror.
“Sam?” His voice sounded like a wounded lamb’s bleating. He was briefly revolted by his weakness. If this was Slater, he was getting exactly what he wanted. A face to face. A chance to blow him away.
The doorway stood opposite him, its gaping hole darker than the black surrounding it. If he were to run now, he could bound down the stairs and reach the front door, right?
A new sound reached into the room—the sound of something sharp scraping along the wall outside. Down the hall toward his door.
Kevin gripped the pistol in both hands, pointed it at the doorway, and slid down to his seat. If Slater stepped through that space, he’d do it. He’d see the dark form and start pulling the trigger.
The scraping continued, closer, closer. Closer.
“Kevinnn,” a voice whispered.
God, help me! His mind started to go fuzzy.
Take him out, Kevin. Jennifer’s voice echoed through his mind. Blow the scumbag away!
He could hardly see the gun in front of him to aim it, but he could point. And whoever walked through that door wouldn’t be able to see him, right? Not in this darkness. Kevin would only see a shadow, but he had that advantage.
The scraping closed in on the door.
Sweat slipped into Kevin’s eyes. He held his breath.
Sam’s voice yelled distant. “Kevin, you stay put! You hear me?”
He couldn’t respond.
“Stay right there.”
She was going to get something to force the door. Pick the lock. A brick, a crowbar, a gun. A gun! She had a gun in her purse. Hurry!
The whisper came again. “Kevinnnn . . .”
The doorway suddenly filled with the dark shape of a man. Kevin’s finger tightened on the trigger. What . . . what if it wasn’t Slater? A bum, maybe.
The form stood still, as if staring at him. If it moved . . . If it even flinched, Kevin would pull the trigger.
Blood pounded through his head as if pumps had been shoved in his ears and were trying to suck him dry. Whoosh, whoosh. He couldn’t move other than to tremble slightly in the dark. He was eleven years old again, facing the boy in the cellar. Trapped. That’ll cost you your eyeballs, punk.
A metal object clanged against the front door. Sam!
The figure didn’t flinch.
Now, Kevin! Now! Before he runs. Pull the trigger!
Clang!
“Why would I do something so senseless as blow up an old abandoned warehouse?” Slater’s voice asked.
“It’s so nice to meet you again face to face, Kevin. I like the dark, don’t you? I thought about bringing candles for the occasion, but I like this better.”
Shoot! Shoot, shoot, SHOOT!
“We’ve only been at this three days and I’m already tired of it. Practice is over. We start the real game tonight,” Slater said.
The sound of steel against steel echoed from the front door.
“We’ll be seeing you.”
The figure moved.
The pressure Kevin had exerted on the trigger finally sprang the hammer at the same instant. The room ignited with a brilliant flash chased by a horrendous thunder. He saw Slater’s black coat as he cleared the doorway.
“Aaaahhhh!” He fired again. A third time. He scrambled to his feet, leapt for the opening, and spun into the hallway. A door at the end of the hall swung closed. The man was gone. Darkness surrounded Kevin.
He whirled around, grabbed the railing, and stumbled down the stairs.
“Kevin!”
The door burst open to daylight before Kevin reached it. Sam jumped clear and he spilled out onto the sidewalk.
Sam had her weapon drawn. She took one look at Kevin and spun into the doorway, gun extended.
“He’s gone,” Kevin panted. “Out back. A window or something.”
“Wait here.” Sam ran to the corner, shoved her head around, and then disappeared.
The ground felt uneven under Kevin’s feet. He gripped a telephone pole and steadied himself. Why had he waited? He could have ended the whole thing with one shot, right there in the room. On the other hand, he had no proof that the figure was Slater. Could’ve been an idiot playing . . .
No, it was Slater. Definitely. You spineless punk! You let him walk. He was right there and you whimpered like a dog! Kevin grunted and closed his eyes, furious.
Sam reappeared thirty seconds later.
“He’s gone.”
“He was just there! Are you sure?”
“There’s a fire escape with a ladder. He could be anywhere by now. I doubt he’s hanging around for an encore.” She glanced back, considering.
“There’s no bomb, Sam. He wanted to meet me. That’s why the riddle was so easy. I saw him.”
She stepped up to the door, looked inside, and flipped the switches. Nothing happened.
“How did the door lock?”
“I don’t know. I was just in there and it slammed behind me.”
She stepped just beyond the door and looked up. “It’s rigged. He used a pulley with a string . . .” She followed the string with her eyes.
“What is it?”
“The string ends by the counter. He was down here when he pulled the door closed.”
The revelation struck Kevin as absurd. “In the lobby?”
“Yes, I think so. String’s pretty well hidden, but he was here. I don’t want to contaminate the scene—we need to get some light in there.” She walked back out and opened her cell phone. “You sure it was him?”
“He spoke to me. He stood right there and asked me why he’d be so senseless as to blow up an abandoned building.” Kevin’s legs felt like putty. He abruptly sat on the sidewalk. The gun hung from his right hand.
Sam eyed it. “This is what you found wandering your old neighborhood this morning?”
Kevin set the gun down. “Sorry. I can’t jus
t let him push me around anymore.”
She nodded. “Put it back in the trunk or wherever you had it stashed, and please, don’t use it again.”
“I shot at him. You think maybe I hit him?”
“I didn’t see any blood. But they’ll find evidence of the shots.” She paused. “They may want you to surrender the gun. I don’t suppose it’s legal.”
He shook his head.
“Just get it out of sight before the others get here. I’ll talk to Jennifer.”
“Others?”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s time for her to take over here. I have a plane to catch.”
18
THERE WAS NO BOMB and Slater had met his objective forty minutes early. They had solved their first riddle within the allotted time, but it still had served the killer. He’d made contact with Kevin in person and escaped without a trace.
Sam had called Jennifer with the details while waiting for her cab to arrive. She was still unsettled about something—was even a little reluctant to call Jennifer, but she said that she had no choice. Of all the authorities, she trusted Jennifer the most. No cops until the ninety-minute mark had passed; that much she’d insisted on.
Jennifer was on her way with an FBI team to begin the investigation. Sam would be lucky to catch her flight; Kevin watched the cab’s taillights as it sped down the street and around the corner.
Yes indeed, they had solved the riddle. Or had they? He should be swimming in relief about now—he’d come nose to nose with a madman and survived. Chased him away with a few shots to boot. Sort of.
But his head still felt like it was caught in a vise. He agreed with Sam; something wasn’t right.
What was it about this appointment in Houston that was so important to her? And why wasn’t she forthcoming on the actual nature of the meeting? She knew the Riddle Killer was here. What was there in Houston?
And why wouldn’t she just tell him? Here in Long Beach the city was terrorized by the man the media had dubbed the Riddle Killer, but Sam was off on a tangent in another city. Made no sense.
A black car swung onto the street and roared toward him. Jennifer.
Two other agents climbed out with her, one with weapon drawn, both armed with flashlights. Jennifer spoke quickly to them, sending one around back and the other for the front door, which still stood open in a splintered frame. Sam had taken the car jack to it.
Jennifer approached him, dressed in a blue suit, hair flowing around her shoulders in the warm breeze. “Are you okay?” she asked.
She glanced at the warehouse, and for a brief moment Kevin imagined that her question was only a courtesy—her real interest lay in whatever awaited her prying eyes beyond the door. A new crime scene. Like all of them, she loved the crime scenes. As well she should—the crime scene led to the criminal, in this case Slater.
She turned her attention back to him.
“As okay as I can be, I suppose,” he said.
She walked up to him and looked into his eyes. “I thought we understood each other.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re on the same side here. I mean you tell me everything, or did our conversation yesterday not make an impression on you?”
He suddenly felt like a silly schoolboy standing in the principal’s office. “Of course we’re on the same side.”
“Then make me a promise you can live by. You don’t disappear unless we agree for you to disappear. In fact, you do nothing unless we agree you do it. I can’t do this without you, and I certainly don’t need you following someone else’s lead.”
An unreasonable sorrow swept over Kevin. He felt a knot in his throat, as if he might cry, right here in front of her. Again. Nothing would be so humiliating.
“I’m sorry. Sam said—”
“I don’t care what Sam tells you. You’re my responsibility, not hers. Heaven knows I need all the help I can get, but until you hear differently from someone besides Sam, you follow my lead. Regardless of whose idea it is, you talk to me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. “Now what did Sam suggest?”
“That I should do everything you say.”
Jennifer blinked. “She’s right.” She looked past him at the warehouse. “I want this creep as much as you do. You’re our best shot . . .” She stopped.
“I know. You need me to get him. Who gives a rip about Kevin as long as we get what we need out of him; is that it?”
She stared at him, whether angered or embarrassed, he couldn’t tell. Her face softened.
“No, that isn’t it. I’m sorry you’re living through this hell, Kevin. It’s beyond me why innocent people have to suffer, but try as I have, changing the fact is beyond me.” She held his eyes with her own. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I just . . . I’m not going to let him get to you. He killed my brother, remember? I lost Roy, but I’m not going to lose you.”
Kevin suddenly understood. It explained her anger. Maybe more.
“And yes, as a matter of fact, I do need you,” she said. “You’re our best hope of apprehending a very demented nut case who happens to be after you.”
Now Kevin felt more like a clumsy freshman than anyone who might be hauled into the school office for discipline. Stupid, Kevin. Stupid, stupid.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Just don’t run off again, okay?”
“Guaranteed.” He lifted his eyes and saw the same strange look he’d seen in Sam’s eyes at times. A cross between concern and empathy. Stupid, stupid, Kevin.
Jennifer dropped her eyes to his mouth and took a deep breath. “So. You saw him.”
He nodded.
She glanced back at the door. “He’s progressing.”
“Progressing?”
“He wants more. More contact, more danger. Resolution.”
“Then why doesn’t he just come out and ask me for whatever it is he wants?”
She held a flashlight in her hand. “Are you up to walking through it with me? We’ll wait until my men come out—I don’t want to compromise any evidence. I realize you’re frazzled, but the sooner I know how this went down, the greater our chances of using any information we come up with.”
He nodded. “The cops know yet?”
“Not yet. Milton can’t seem to keep his trap shut. He knows we found you and so does the media. As far as the public is concerned, this didn’t happen. Tensions are high enough as it is.”
She looked at her watch. “We still have eighteen minutes left in his ninety-minute window. Somehow that doesn’t add up. Honestly, we were thinking library rather than warehouse.”
“Library. What wants to be filled but will always be empty? As in empty knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“We’re getting evidence; that’s what counts. We have his voice on tape; we have his presence in this building; we have more background. He’s had several chances to hurt you and he hasn’t. Sam told me that you spoke with him. I need to know exactly what he said.”
“More background?” Kevin asked. “What background?”
An FBI agent walked toward them. “Excuse me, just wanted to let you know that the lights are back on. Fuse was pulled.”
“No explosives?”
“Not that we can find. There’s something here I think you should see.”
She looked up at Kevin. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you want me to show you what happened?”
“As soon as they’re finished securing the scene. We don’t want any more footprints or trace evidence than necessary. Hold tight.” She hurried for the door and disappeared into the warehouse.
Kevin shoved his hands into his pockets and ran his fingers over Slater’s cell phone. He was a klutz, no doubt about it. Maybe that was the sin Slater wanted him to confess. Kevin Parson is a fool and a klutz, a man incapable of entering soci
ety in any normal way because his Aunt Balinda beat his intellect against an imaginary wall for the first twenty-three years of his life. His mind is scarred beyond recognition.
He glanced back at the building, and the image of Jennifer walking for the door replayed itself. Sam was right; she liked him, didn’t she?
Liked him? How could he know whether she liked him? You see, Kevin. That’s the way first-class losers think. They have no shame. They find themselves pinned down by an assassin’s knife and their mind is drawn to the FBI agent they’ve known for all of three days. Two days if he subtracted the day he ran off with Sam, the stunning CBI agent.
The cell phone vibrated at his fingertips and he jumped.
It went off again. Slater was calling and that was a problem, wasn’t it? Why would Slater call now?
The phone rang a third time before he managed to unfold it. “H . . . hello?”
“H . . . hello? You sound like an imbecile, Kevin. I thought I said no cops.”
Kevin spun to the warehouse. The agents were inside. There was a bomb in there after all, wasn’t there? “Cops? We didn’t call cops. I thought FBI were okay.”
“Cops, Kevin. They’re all pigs. Pigs in the parlor. I’m watching the news and the news says the cops know where you are. Maybe I should count to three and blow their guts to kingdom come.”
“You said no cops!” Kevin shouted. There was a bomb in the warehouse and Jennifer was in there. He had to get her out. He ran for the door. “We didn’t use the cops.”
“Are you running, Kevin? Quick, quick get them out. But don’t get too close. The bomb might go boom and they’ll find your entrails on the walls with the others’.”
Kevin shoved his head in the door. “Out!” he screamed. “Get out! There’s a bomb!”
He ran for the street.
“You’re right, there is a bomb,” Slater said. “You have thirteen minutes left, Kevin. If I decide not to punish you. What wants to be filled but will always be empty? ”
He slid to a stop. “Slater! Come out and face me, you . . .”
But Slater was gone. Kevin snapped the phone shut and whirled to the warehouse just in time to see Jennifer emerge, followed by both agents.
