by Lisa Jackson
He was growing closer again. She heard his tortured breathing.
“Why? Why are you doing this, Billy?” she yelled, trying to catch him off guard, make his mind shift from its deadly purpose.
He was so near he could almost touch her.
Oh, no, no, no!
“Because it’s what I do.”
He propelled himself forward again, and this time, as she tried to duck away, she slipped, her feet shivering across the ice.
In a second she felt a big hand circle her ankle.
Oh, no!
“I told you,” he said, sounding smug. “It’s your time.” But there was another noise as well—the deep, sharp sound of ice cracking and splitting.
“What the hell?” There, where his fingers clenched above her foot, nearly crushing her bones, was the first splintering web of deep cracks. He glared up at her, his face flushed with anger. “You stupid, stupid cunt.”
“You’re goin’ down, Billy,” she said, and kicked him hard, aiming for his head with her free foot.
Craaaaaaack!
The ice emitted a heart-stopping sound.
Beneath her, Regan felt the mass shift. Groan.
His fingers tightened over her ankle, twisting, and she cried out as tendons popped.
It was over, she knew, but if she was going to die, she was damned well taking this monster with her.
“The chopper’s up!” Grayson said.
Alvarez stood on the brakes and her Jeep shuddered to a stop near Nate Santana’s truck.
“Snowmobiles, too, heading to Cougar Basin. Deputies are on their way to cordon off the mine and this place.” He opened the passenger door as Alvarez slid from behind the wheel. “I hope Santana knows what he’s talking about.”
“Santana wouldn’t steer us wrong.”
Weapons drawn, they stepped out quietly, carefully, silently, circling the house. Alvarez noticed the footprints, motioning to them as Grayson nodded.
They knocked on the door. “Billy Hicks? Police! Open up!”
Nothing.
They looked at each other.
Knew backup was still five minutes away.
Five minutes they didn’t have.
They burst through the door, first Grayson, then Alvarez.
The place was empty.
A quick check of the rooms confirmed that if anyone was inside, they were hidden deep in the tunnels below.
“That son of a bitch,” Grayson said, then called Brewster. “We need every entrance to the mine cut off and the tunnels explored. This guy’s got himself the Roman catacombs up here.”
Outside, they saw the tracks.
“Let’s go!”
Together, they began to run.
The ice was splintering, breaking, water seeping upward.
It’s over, Regan thought, knowing she was going to die a horrid, freezing death where her lungs would fill with water and she would never see her children again. Who would care for them? Jeremy, oh, God, Joe, I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful and taken care of him. Her son was already in trouble, and now with both parents gone…
And Bianca…Lucky, take care of her.
Hicks screamed as the ice gave way. He dropped the knife, tried to hold on to something, anything, his hand grappling wildly as he tumbled through the crevice, deep into the icy water. His grip on her leg didn’t lessen and she, too, was dragged toward the ever-growing hole. She kicked and fought, her foot connecting with his head, but like a vise, his hand held fast.
Slowly but surely, he pulled her with him, down into the frigid, deadly depths.
“Regan!” She heard her name as she clung to the slippery surface. It was Nate’s voice, but came from a distance, over the rumble of thunder. From a great, great distance…
Her leg was in the frigid water and Billy’s weight inexorably pulled her downward, within the yawning hole where he was sinking, intent on taking her with him.
“Regan! Hold on!”
Santana? Oh, please…
With a last frantic tug, Billy yanked Regan into the lake’s dark, icy depths…
“No!” Santana ran, slipped, slid, across the ice. He saw the struggle, watched in horror as Billy Hicks, holding fast to Regan’s ankle, dragged her into the water. “Oh, God, no!” The ice was solid where he was, but as he ran toward the hole he saw the splinters, the deadly gashes spreading the snow apart, allowing water to surface.
He had to get to her. Had to save her.
Tossing down the useless guns, he stripped off his jacket and beelined toward the shifting, dark waters. Overhead a helicopter flew low.
The police! Thank God!
“Stand down, Santana!” he heard from overhead, the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize on a bull horn, screaming over the whomp, whomp, whomp of rotors. “Nate Santana, stand down!”
He reached the edge of the hole and dived in.
She was drowning, thrashing, fighting the madman in the water. He struck her and she flung a hand at him, only to miss, to tangle her hand in the rope that was uncoiling in the darkness. Overhead there was light, distorted and broken through the ice. They’d been sucked away from the hole, were doomed to die.
Billy came close again and she took the screwdriver from her pocket. As if in slow motion, she swung, the Phillips head driving hard into his eye.
Blood spurted and plumed in the water.
Regan kicked away, her lungs on fire, the water a smear of blood. She couldn’t hold on. Couldn’t reach the surface no matter how hard she kicked.
It’s over, she thought wildly. Billy’s prediction istrue. Adrenaline caused her to kick hard, but her lungs, oh, God, her lungs were about to explode!
She thought of Bianca, on the cusp of womanhood. Oh, baby, I didn’t mean to abandon you…I love you…
And Jeremy…
And Nate…
Her lungs were stretched to the limit, every air sac within feeling as if it would burst.
Pain, searing and hot, cut through her.
She let out a breath, air bubbles rising.
A bit of relief.
Don’t give up! Don’t! Fight. For your kids! For Santana! You have too much to live for.
But the pain…
More bubbles.
Billy, like an octopus in a sea of his own ink, was struggling wildly, but he was drifting away, from her, from the rope…
She let out another breath.
Felt light-headed.
This is it…
Her arm, the one twisted in the rope, was being pulled and her last grim thought was that Billy Hicks, the Star-Crossed Killer, had bound her with his deadly rope as surely as if he’d lashed her to a tree.
She let out her final breath and felt her lungs start to fill.
No!
Under the ice, Santana saw her give up.
Watched as the woman he loved let out her final, dying breath.
No, Regan, damn it, you’re not going to die on me!
Tugging on the rope that had wound around her arm, he pulled hard, simultaneously swimming toward the surface, to the hole that was only a few feet away. His lungs burned, but he wouldn’t give up, swimming hard, as hard as he had on the high school swim team. Reaching the surface, he broke through, gulping air, dragging her with him, cradling her head close to his chest as he hung on to the uncertain ice. The rescue team from the helicopter had lowered a man near them.
“Hold on,” he whispered into her wet hair. “Damn it, Pescoli, don’t you die on me. You got that?” His voice broke and he cursed himself for his weakness, but he kissed her head and said, “I love you, Detective. Damn it all to hell, I love you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Freedom!
Finally.
After half her life spent in that miserable institution, Padgett Long would never again have to pretend. She stood at the railing of a small bistro in Sausalito. No one else was outside, the outdoor furniture bundled in a corner, the other patrons clustered at tables surr
ounding a huge gas fireplace in the center of the restaurant.
The night wind was brutal. Cold. Smelled of the Pacific as it tore at her hair. But she lifted a glass of champagne to her lips and stared across the dark, choppy waters of the bay to the lights of the city, glowing bright, towering toward the heavens. God, the taste of freedom was sweet.
And finally she could start the rest of her life.
Somewhere within the hilly slopes of San Francisco was Cahill House and within its secretive walls: answers. About her baby.
He would be a teenager now, lengthening out to become a man, probably growing whiskers, maybe fighting acne. Did he look like his father? She smiled to herself and shivered. No one but she knew the identity of the man; no one could guess. Everyone would probably think, if they knew, that her child had been sired by Billy Hicks who called himself Liam Kress.
Fool!
He’d been interesting. Intriguing with a cruel, guiltlessness to him that had intrigued her as a rebellious youth and had come in handy later on, when she’d found it necessary to use it for her freedom. A few infrequent references to the fact that as long as Brady was alive, she was imprisoned in the act she’d created.
Truly, she’d never really thought Billy would kill Brady. Not that her bully of an older brother hadn’t deserved to die. A bullet had been too kind. In Padgett’s opinion, Brady should have suffered. He’d tried to kill her when he’d found out she was pregnant, that there was another heir to their father and grandfather’s fortune. But she’d survived, had her child and feigned her condition. Not that it hadn’t existed, she thought now, as she felt the wind tear at her hair.
When she’d first been dragged from the water, near death, she’d barely been able to see or hear or connect the dots. She hardly remembered her son’s birth and that still tore at her soul.
Well, Brady certainly got his.
Compliments of Billy Hicks and his belief that Padgett had loved him. Sorry. Billy was just a means to an end. And he, too, had suffered a well-deserved fate. To think he was a serial killer. A real whack job!
Jesus!
She had known he was twiggy; had seen his savage streak and even understood why it existed, but she’d never thought he would actually go out and hunt women in some bizarre scheme. It didn’t make a lot of sense. Now, Brady’s death, that had been necessary. Payback. But all those women…
She studied her champagne and frowned. A little sad. But mostly angry that she hadn’t understood how vile Billy had been. Not that she could have done anything to alter things. Had she uttered one word or ever attempted escape, she was certain her brother, Brady, would have killed her. As long as Brady had thought she was out of it, mentally unable to pull a clear thought together and certainly not capable of speech, Brady hadn’t worried about her.
Stupid, stupid man.
A real bastard.
All that blood is thicker than water talk was nonsense, perpetuated by ninnies who liked to stitch soothing quotes on pillows. Blood runs pretty damned thin when money is in the picture.
So now…Padgett was rich. And no longer hiding behind the walls of a sanitarium. She took in a long, chilling breath and held it in her lungs as she closed her eyes, then smiled as she exhaled. She could, finally, begin her life. And it started just across the cold, windswept bay.
To Cahill House.
Where she hoped to find answers.
She didn’t have to be rash or in a hurry.
After all, she thought, tossing back the rest of her champagne, it was well known that Padgett Long was a very patient woman.
“I thought I told you guys to stay out of trouble,” Pescoli said, eyeing her recalcitrant children as they stood at the side of her damned hospital bed. Jeremy in oversized everything including his ever-present stocking cap; Bianca in her ski jacket tossed over a turtleneck and jeans.
They’d never looked so good to Pescoli.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back, couldn’t let them see her break down or give them any indication that she was suffering from nightmares of drowning with Billy Hicks’s blue face looming in the water before her.
Fortunately, her injuries were relatively minor considering her ordeal. True, she’d almost died, but had been revived and, it seemed, examined by every doctor in the hospital. In the end she had more than her share of cuts and abrasions, bruised ribs, torn tendons in her shoulder that had been repaired, but all in all, she would live.
“We’re not in trouble,” Bianca ventured. She tossed her curls over her shoulder defiantly, but her skin was pale and the shadows under her eyes were real. She’d been worried. Scared.
“You were an angel when you stayed with Dad?” Pescoli asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, Mom…” Bianca rolled her expressive Luke-like eyes. “I tried.”
“Well, I know how hard that can be,” Pescoli admitted and scared up a smile on her daughter’s face. “What about you, Jer. I heard you took on Cort Brewster.”
“Maybe.” Jeremy’s gaze slid away.
“He is my boss,” Pescoli reminded him.
“He’s a prick!” Jeremy stuck to his guns.
“Jer!” Bianca cut in.
Pescoli tried and failed not to chuckle. “Let’s keep that between us.” She was a little light-headed, the results of pain medication.
“Do we have to go back to Luke’s?” Jeremy tried to look as if staying with his stepfather was tantamount to sleeping in a den of hungry lions.
“Until I get out of here, yeah.” Pescoli wasn’t budging on this one.
Bianca said, “I don’t know if I can take it.”
“He’s your father.” Pescoli couldn’t let them run free while she was laid up, no matter how much they complained.
“He’s not mine,” Jeremy pointed out.
“The doc says I’ll be released in a couple of days. Until then, buck up. You can make a sacrifice for me, right?” When neither kid responded, Pescoli repeated, “Right?” again.
“I’m old enough to stay alone,” Jeremy protested.
“Not by the law, my man. Not yet.” Being a mother sometimes took more patience than Pescoli had. “And I don’t think you’ve really proved a helluva lot of maturity in the past few days.”
Jeremy stared at her hard. With eyes that reminded her of his father, Joe. “I was worried about you.”
Pescoli’s throat closed. “I know. I appreciate it. And now I’m going to be fine, so, please, for the next two days, hold tough, deal with Lucky and Michelle, and when I get out of here, we’ll have Christmas in January.”
He snorted his agreement.
“And Bianca,” she said, “you’re in charge of the snowman pancakes and flocking the tree pink.”
“Ouch!” Jeremy said.
“Meeeow,” Bianca responded and through the half-open door, Pescoli heard the sound of a doctor being paged. “Mo-om! That’s so mean!”
“Must be the meds,” Pescoli muttered but they all laughed. “Now, if you really want to get on my good side, go to Wild Will’s, order a hamburger to go and smuggle it in here! Hey, what’s that?” For the first time Pescoli noticed a small silver band around Bianca’s left ring finger.
Her daughter flushed. “It’s a Christmas gift from Chris. A promise ring.”
Pescoli didn’t like the sound of that. “Promise for what?”
Bianca twisted the ring. “Just, you know, ’cuz he likes me.”
“Jer?” Pescoli glanced at her son. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. Kinda like I promise to someday, like, get engaged to you.”
Pescoli leveled her gaze at her daughter. “Is that so?”
Bianca was shaking her head. “No, not really.” A lie.
“You’re thirteen. There will be no promises.”
“Mom, it was really sweet of him.” Bianca wasn’t going down without a fight.
“You heard me, Bianca.” God, she had to get out of here. “You need to return it.”
Sparks flared in her daughter’s eyes. “But—”
“Okay, okay, we’ll deal with this when I get home, but trust me, you’re waaaay too young for any kind of promises besides ‘I’ll go to the winter dance with you.’ Even that’s a stretch.” She pushed herself up in bed, felt her IV connection pull at her wrist and wished to hell she could get someone to release her. “Look I’m going to find a way out of here, so you get the house ready, okay. We’ll have Christmas.” She saw the spark in Jeremy’s eyes, “But until it’s official and I call you, I’m afraid you’re stuck with Lucky.”
Her kids grumbled but left and she pushed the call button for a nurse. She was going to be released come hell or high water.
Within two minutes the door opened again and she said, “I need to get out of here ASAP,” before she saw her partner striding into the room.
“You got that right!” Alvarez was shaking her head. Her hair was pulled tight into a bun at the base of her neck and she wore all black—sweater, slacks, boots, and jacket. Like she was going to a damned funeral. Only the hoops glinting from her ears broke up her somber attire. In one hand was a bouquet of white carnations and bright yellow daisies, in the other was a pack of Nicorette gum. “The Department’s just falling to pieces without you. Anarchy reigns.”
Pescoli grinned at the sarcasm. It wasn’t like up-tight Selena Alvarez to joke, but here she was, her lips twitching, relief on her sharp features.
“You know, Pescoli, you scared me to death.” She set the flowers on the ledge of a window overlooking the parking lot. Snow was falling over the asphalt that had been plowed earlier in the day.
“Didn’t mean to.” She winced as she pushed the lever on the bed to raise her head. “Have we located Hicks’s body?”
“Not yet.”
Then her nightmares wouldn’t cease.
Alvarez dropped the gum onto Pescoli’s table near her half-full glass of water. “Merry Christmas. I thought you might be wanting to smoke and I thought since you’re in the hospital and all, and New Year’s is right around the corner, maybe you should quit. Like for good. Besides I don’t think the doctors would approve if I brought in a pack of cigs.”
