by Kara Lennox
“Pretty clever, driving the sheriff’s car. No one would take accusations against him seriously.”
“It was almost the perfect crime. But, hey, I didn’t have as long to prepare.”
“What about the bomb? Was that your work?”
He shrugged modestly. “My parents owned a construction company. I worked summers there—learned a lot about explosives. The timing device and the trigger—that information is easily available on the internet.”
Comforting thought. “The beige Acura—was that you?”
“Of course. The car belonged to my aunt, who died recently. Added a stolen license plate, and I was in business.”
She struggled for another line of questioning. He seemed to enjoy talking about himself. The longer he talked, the better chance she had of surviving.
“If I had agreed to go out with you,” she finally asked, “would I have been one of your victims?”
“No, it didn’t work like that. I always selected women who had no connection to me. In fact, I told myself that if things between you and me worked out, I wouldn’t need to kill anyone. But they didn’t.” He shrugged. “So Mary Ann Pratt had to die.”
Bree’s stomach heaved. That name wasn’t even familiar, yet Bree was partially responsible for her death.
“Oh, yeah, there were others you haven’t found. Three in and around Waco, one for each year I was in med school there. One in Austin, where I did my premed. You’ll be my tenth, in fact. It’s a nice round number, don’t you think?”
“I always wanted to be a ten.”
“Once I go to work on you, you won’t be making jokes. You’ll be my most ambitious project yet. A true masterpiece.”
She saw the knife in his hand then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BREE CALCULATED THE minutes since Eric’s phone call. An hour, maybe? How close could they have gotten in that time? Had they found the car yet?
She was lucky Ted hadn’t gagged her. Her voice would carry through these still woods. But she wouldn’t scream yet. The second she did he would shut her up, so she would wait until she had the best chance of someone hearing her.
Ted brandished his knife, tossing it from hand to hand. It looked sharp. Despite the cold wind, Bree broke out in a sweat. “Now, then, where shall I start? Oh, wait, can’t have you waking the neighbors, now, can we?” He put down the knife and pulled a bandanna from his pocket. “Duct tape would be better, but sadly, I didn’t bring any with me.”
This was her last chance. Bree took a deep breath, opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth.
Ted hit her in the face, then quickly knotted the gag over her mouth. The bandanna tasted like stale sweat. “No more of that. Every time you try to call for help, you get a new cut. Now, if you cry out in pain—that’s a different story. How will I tell the difference? Hmm, not sure I can. Oh, well.
“Now, then, I think I’ll start with that beautiful neck. I’ll just nick the carotid artery—enough that you’ll bleed to death but not quickly. You’ll slowly weaken, and I’ll watch as you struggle to breathe. I’ll hear the death rattle and see the light go out of your eyes. It’s a beautiful moment to watch. Death is so much more interesting than life. It’s why I chose pathology. Figuring out what caused the spark of life to leave a body, turning a vibrant human being into a lump of meat—it never ceases to fascinate me.”
Bree watched in horror as the knife came closer to her neck, the shiny blade reflecting the firelight. He made his cut; she was surprised by how little it hurt. The blade was sharp, so one precise swipe did exactly what he said it would. She could feel warm blood trickling down her neck.
Not spurting, at least. At this rate it could take her hours to die.
He would probably finish her off, though, if he saw that capture was imminent. If he heard anyone coming through the woods or calling for her. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this.
Poor Eric. He’d finally found the courage to risk loving again, and this was what happened. And MacKenzie. She defied all kinds of odds to escape a devious killer, only to have that killer take away someone else from her life.
I love you both so much. And they would never know how much.
“Where next? The face? Seems a shame to mar that beautiful creamy skin, but, oh, well.” He took one menacing step forward, and Bree saw an opening. She used the only weapon she had—her head—and butted him. Their skulls cracked together as if they were bighorn sheep, and Bree saw stars again.
Ted roared with anger and raised the knife. Bree held her breath, waiting for the death blow.
But it never came. Ted went still, then wobbled slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “This damn headache,” he muttered. “What did you do to me? How can I enjoy this when my head is pounding.... Oh. Venal bleed in the cerebellum.” With that he collapsed.
Could it be? Had his head injury stopped him when nothing else could? He might be the only medical examiner in history to declare his own cause of death.
But it might be too late for her. She was slowly bleeding to death. There was nothing she could do except stand here and wait and hope someone at Project Justice could track through the woods at night.
* * *
“I’M GOING AFTER HER.” Eric had heard what sounded like a scream five minutes ago. It might have been an owl, but his gut told him it was Bree. They’d been waiting by Ted’s wrecked car for Ian and Violet the Labrador to arrive, but Eric had stood around helpless for as long as he could.
“Can you track someone through the woods at night?” Kinkaid asked. “Can you even tell if they left the road, or where?”
Eric hated to admit it, but he couldn’t. He didn’t care. He had a flashlight, a phone and a general direction. “Call me if you find her before I do.”
“You shouldn’t go alone—”
“Save it.” He took off down the road, contemplating where he would climb over the chain-link fence that sectioned off this part of the forest as private property. But after a couple of minutes, he saw that he wouldn’t have to do any climbing; there was a break where someone had used snips to trespass. The cuts looked old, but it was as good a starting point as any.
After squeezing through the gap, he called Kinkaid and let him know about the makeshift gate.
He found himself on a trail. Not much of one, maybe just a deer trail. When he was a kid, he and Travis used to go out into the woods and pretend they were Native Americans tracking deer. Not to hunt them, just to find them. He shined his flashlight onto the trail and a thrill went through him.
The leaves had been recently disturbed. He was on the right track.
He debated about whether to call out to Bree. But to do so would remove the element of surprise. He didn’t want to risk Gentry panicking and killing Bree any faster than he planned to.
The coroner did plan to kill her, no doubt about that. He’d wanted her dead all along—wanted both of them dead. This kidnapping was the desperate act of a killer who felt the noose tightening around his neck—one final, defiant act, striking out at the person who had brought about his defeat.
The trail was tough going. In a land as flat as South Texas, hills were rare, but there certainly was one here if the burn in his thighs was any indication.
After about fifteen minutes of hiking, Eric stopped to catch his breath and smelled something in the air. Smoke. Just a hint, but undeniable. Either the woods were on fire, or he was nearing a campsite. He was counting on the latter.
A few minutes later, and the trail branched into a Y. Figuring the smoke had to be carried by the breeze, Eric chose the path that ran against the wind and kept going.
Would Gentry have brought his victim this far into the woods? Whether he dragged an uncooperative conscious hostage or carried an unconscious one, this w
ould have been tough going. Was Eric on a fool’s errand? What if they hadn’t come this way at all? What if Gentry had called an accomplice, who had picked them up and driven them to some other location?
The possibilities were so endless and so terrifying that Eric pushed them out of his mind and moved on. He’d chosen this course of action, right or wrong. Kinkaid, Ian and Violet had another course. And if neither of them found Bree—
No. He wouldn’t even consider the possibility.
* * *
BREE TESTED THE ropes around her wrists, but the bindings were too tight for her to slide out of them, and she couldn’t reach the knots. She put her whole weight on the branch she was tied to, but it hardly gave at all and it certainly wasn’t going to break.
But one thing she could do was slide the ropes along the branch. It wasn’t easy. The rough bark abraded her wrists until she felt blood running down her arms. More bleeding meant she would die just that much faster. But she kept at it, shoving the ropes as far as she could toward the end of the branch until smaller branches feeding off the one she was tied to made further progress impossible.
Now, however, she could bend the branch.
She put all of her weight on it. The fire had burned down, so it didn’t give off much light, but she could hear the wood cracking.
Unfortunately, green wood doesn’t snap in two. The branch was severely bent at its midpoint, the end part touching the ground, but she was still trapped.
She tried twisting the end part, a maneuver that required her to swivel her whole body. The effort made her head swim, and she found herself breathing hard. By exerting herself, she made her heart beat faster, pumping blood out of her carotid artery that much more quickly.
But if she could free herself...she had to try.
It took five complete circles to twist the branch free of itself, but finally it came loose.
She slid her hands free, then slumped to the ground to rest. She removed the gag, wadded it up and pressed it to her neck. Maybe that would slow down the bleeding a little. Then she gathered her strength once again and screamed.
She screamed until her throat was raw and her energy spent.
What were her chances if she took off down that trail? How far had they come? Surely it was less than a mile. She couldn’t get her wrist bindings loose, but she was able to untie her ankles. She forced herself to her feet, then staggered and dropped to one knee.
Her shirt was soaked with blood. The bandanna was soaked, too. She had done all she could do. She lay down in the carpet of leaves to await her fate.
* * *
“SHE’S HERE, JOE,” Eric said into his phone. Amazing that they had cell service out here in the boonies. “I heard her screaming. It was no owl. And I’m getting closer.”
“We’re right behind you. Violet’s got the scent.”
“There’s a fork in the trail—”
“We just passed it. We went right.”
The smell of smoke was stronger now, and when Eric switched off his flashlight, he could see a dim glow in the distance. He tried not to think about what it meant that Bree’s screams had stopped a couple of minutes earlier.
A little farther, and he could see a clearing up ahead and the embers of a campfire. He should have approached more stealthily; it would be stupid to come all this way only to blunder into Gentry and have the guy pull a gun and shoot him dead. But he was so close now.
He still had Kinkaid’s gun in his pocket. He pulled it out, took off the safety, burst into the clearing—and almost fainted.
Two bodies. One covered in blood.
“Bree—” He was beside her in an instant. She wasn’t dead. But her pulse was fast and weak. There was so much blood he couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. He pulled his phone from his pocket again.
“I found her. She’s alive—barely. Gentry is here, too. I think he’s dead.” Judging from the open eyes and the vacant stare, he was pretty sure.
“Life Flight is already on the way.”
“Stay with me, Bree. Please don’t leave me.” He didn’t know what he would do if she died.
“According to the GPS, there’s a shorter, easier way out,” Kinkaid said. “The chopper will land in a farmer’s field less than a quarter mile due north.”
Eric could hear his friends now. Violet bayed mournfully. They burst into the clearing. The dog galumphed to Bree and sniffed her furiously, then gave a little yip.
“Good girl,” Ian cooed, offering his talented dog a treat.
The three men picked up Bree, forming a human stretcher, and set off.
* * *
ERIC YANKED THE for-sale sign out of the ground with MacKenzie’s help while Bree took their picture. They’d closed on the house this morning, and it was officially theirs.
His old house, the one he’d shared with Tammy, had finally sold, so buying this one had been easy. It was nothing like his old house, but the plain little frame cottage with its big front porch and a yard full of pecan trees suited him.
Suited them.
They were a family now. He and Bree had tied the knot last week in a simple ceremony in Travis’s backyard. The azaleas were just now coming into bloom, the most beautiful time of year in South Texas. They were going to plant a garden in the backyard, and Bree was going to learn how to can vegetables as her grandmother used to do.
His last day at Project Justice had been two weeks ago. The job was never intended to be permanent, and he was only too happy to give it up once the lawyer he’d been subbing for came back from maternity leave. Criminal law, life-and-death issues—it was more stress than he wanted to deal with.
Neither did he want to return to the high-pressure world of real-estate law. A little storefront office would suit his new small-town lifestyle just fine. He would help people with their divorces and landlord disputes and car accidents. He’d probably do his share of criminal defense, too, but not anything big.
Long workdays were a thing of the past. He would be home every evening to see his beautiful wife and daughter. They would drive down to the Galveston beach for weekends and go to potluck suppers at the church.
Bree would return to work soon, but she’d committed herself to day shifts only so she could be home with the family, too. Though she’d come perilously close to dying that night in the woods, once they’d gotten her to medical help, she’d held her own, then made a swift recovery. She would probably always have a small scar on her neck. It would be a reminder to them of how precious life is and to cherish every minute of it.
Kelly Ralston had been released from prison. He had thanked everyone involved in proving his innocence, but had declined any further help from Bree. In fact, he’d left the area, intending to start fresh somewhere where no one had ever heard of him.
Bree carried in a sack of groceries from the car. Most of their belongings had been delivered that morning, but they didn’t have much. Most everything Bree had owned had been demolished in the explosion, so they were starting from scratch.
Eric liked that idea. Everything they owned, they would pick out together. No baggage.
“So what should our first meal in our new house be?” Bree asked.
“Something easy. Like chili dogs.”
“Chili dogs!” MacKenzie agreed.
He hardly recognized her these days. Contrary to what he’d feared might happen, MacKenzie’s ordeal hadn’t scarred her or caused her to go deeper into herself. It had jolted her back to life. Taking her fate into her own hands and escaping from the kidnapper had empowered her in a way nothing else could have. She was more like the little girl he’d known before Tammy’s death—happy, outgoing and a real chatterbox.
“Chili dogs it is.”
“Before you do that,” Eric said, “there’s something in the backyard I need your
help with. MacKenzie, you, too.”
Jillian had made a special delivery a few minutes ago, sneaking around the side of the house so MacKenzie wouldn’t see. As soon as they opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio, a white streak sped toward them, yapping madly.
“It’s Snowflake!” MacKenzie screamed in delight, dropping to her knees. The puppy went right to her, licking her face in a tongue frenzy. MacKenzie laughed, and Bree got it all on video with her phone.
Jillian had rescued the puppy at the sheriff’s house when they found MacKenzie. She’d hauled it around in her car the rest of the day. Later she’d claimed she’d done it because the dog was “evidence.” But really she’d just been worried about it.
All attempts to find out who owned it had failed, so Eric had volunteered to adopt it. MacKenzie had been asking about the puppy, wondering what had become of it and if it had a home. Now she wouldn’t have to worry.
“You gonna feed him and brush him and bathe him?” Eric asked. “Teach him how to walk on a leash?”
MacKenzie wasn’t listening. She was too busy rolling in the grass with her new companion.
Bree slipped her hand in his. “You realize we’re going to be the ones doing all that, right?”
“I know. I don’t care. It’s worth it just for this moment.”
He caught a glimpse of Bree’s scar, now just a thin red line, and remembered to relish this moment—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the feel of his wife standing next to him. He thought about all the wonderful moments to come, and he sighed as his muscles relaxed.
Just when he thought life couldn’t get any better, it did.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SOLDIER’S PROMISE by Patricia Potter.
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