by Diane Capri
No response.
“Charlene?”
Charlene gasped. “Where?”
Jess pushed out of the space. “Hold the flashlight in front of you and turn around. Slowly.”
In the distance, the light bounced through gaps and reflected off the greenery. When Jess guessed the flashlight was pointed in her direction, she said, “Stop. Walk in that direction.”
The flashlight bobbed up and down.
“What have you found?” Charlene asked.
“Freshly dug earth inside a wall of undergrowth. The ground seems to have been sprinkled with weeds that haven’t taken over yet.”
The light bounced. Charlene was running.
A second light flashed. Blinding and brief. A loud noise traveled through the air. Deep and percussive. Gunfire.
Charlene screamed. A second gunshot.
The flashlight’s broken beams twisted around, slicing across the tree canopy.
Jess moved toward the light. It fell still. Staring upward, illuminating a tree trunk.
She stopped. “Charlene?” she whispered into her phone. No reply. She hung up.
Charlene’s flashlight went out.
Jess crouched down. She held her mouth open and breathed hard, oxygenating her blood with minimum noise. Meisner’s security detail? As well as Gardner? How many of them were there?
She had no gun, and Gardner’s had been lost in their fight. She had only a vague idea of which direction led to the main roadway, and she couldn’t leave Charlene here alone. She kept still.
The footsteps she had heard earlier resumed. Louder and quicker this time. Each footstep clear. Twigs and leaves crunched loudly under heavy boots.
She cocked her head, trying to get a bearing on the noise. She couldn’t tell if he moved left or right. The noise grew louder as he pushed through the undergrowth.
A sharp burst of adrenaline shot through Jess’s body. Whoever it was, they were heading straight for her.
She knelt, keeping close to the ground. She turned ninety degrees and moved away from the shooter’s path. She lifted her feet high as Max had done, hoping to quiet her movement through the vegetation.
A light went on. A sharp and focused beam. It speared into the wall of undergrowth. Dancing left and right.
She crouched down again. Bright light reflected off the wet leaves, spraying out, blinding to her night-adjusted eyes, silhouetting everything behind the beam.
The shooter held a large gun, made even larger by a giant silencer. The gun pointed forward, into the wall of undergrowth and the sheltered area beyond. Black clothes, head to toe. Face hidden behind a ski mask. The light swung around the gun following its arc.
Jess abandoned all attempts at stealth. She kept down and ran. The weeds dragged on her legs. The light jerked toward her. She changed direction. The light slewed around, covering the space and angles as it searched for her.
She dove for a tree, absorbing the impact as her back thumped into the unyielding trunk. She ducked her head into the undergrowth as the light flitted across the branches above.
The shooter was on the move, plowing through the undergrowth behind her.
Jess eased her head up. The light caught her. She ducked and rolled. Three shots hammered into the tree where she’d been crouching a moment before. Chunks of wood spun through the air.
She kept rolling. Her shoulder hit a broken tree limb, fifteen inches in diameter and a straight four-feet long, tapering at one end. She hugged it and threw herself over.
Two shots hissed through the air above her. The flashlight was close.
She jumped up and ran. She dove for a thick tree, keeping it between her and the shooter.
The flashlight beam danced over the undergrowth. She panted through her open mouth, fighting the adrenaline that begged her to flee.
She picked up the fallen tree limb and held it like a baseball bat. The light shook and danced. She steadied her breathing.
Behind the big tree trunk, she was protected. She couldn’t see her stalker, but she heard jogging footfalls through the prolific vegetation.
The light bounced over the undergrowth to her right.
The shooter had abandoned all caution. Desperate and confident and under matched. Holding a flashlight, a clear target. Yet Jess hadn’t fired a shot. Which proved that she wasn’t armed.
Her only chance was to strike first.
The flashlight beam narrowed. The shooter was getting close.
She judged he would pass ten to fifteen feet from her, an ocean of distance for her improvised club against that gun.
She re-doubled her grip.
The light was close now. The crunch of leaves came closer.
She breathed hard.
She would leap out, swinging her club.
The shooter would bring the gun around.
She leaned back, ready to throw her weight forward.
She dipped down. Her hand flailed around in the undergrowth and found a large rock. She rose up with the makeshift weapon in her grip.
The shooter stopped. Jess had made a noise. The shooter knew where she was.
She stretched her arm around the tree and threw the rock.
It arced through the air. Silent.
It landed behind the shooter. Out of the dazzling light.
The big rock thumped into a tree trunk and crashed noisily into the undergrowth.
The shooter moved. Rustling the leaves. Sweeping the flashlight behind and firing off two rounds.
The sound told Jess exactly where he stood.
She threw herself forward. Her arms bent. Her club high over her shoulder.
The shooter turned halfway.
The gun and the flashlight pointed away from Jess.
The shooter steered the beam, searching for the source of the noise.
Jess made two long strides, and pulled the club forward and left.
The shooter turned, facing the club.
Jess swept the club in a slicing arc. A baseball player’s swing. Hard. Fast. Flat.
The shooter twisted the gun and the light, bringing him around.
The club hit the shooter’s head. Ten-pound mass. Perhaps thirty miles an hour. A whipping motion. A solid impact. Wood meets flesh. Momentum against bone.
The shooter’s head twisted. The body leaned. The gun and the light angled down.
Jess drove on. The club’s rough surface tearing across the shooter’s face before whipping behind her.
The shooter’s head came up. The light and the gun followed. Whether recoiling from the blow or using the momentum to advantage. The gun waved past her kneecaps.
Jess threw the club back. Reversing the blow. Sweeping left. Catching him under the nose. Tearing the lip. Smashing the teeth. Tossing the head back.
The shooter’s arms flailed. The gun spun into the air. Up. Overhead. On and on. Spiraling through the trees. Curling out of light and sight.
The shooter toppled backward, groaning. Hands raised to the face. Blood ran between the fingers.
The flashlight disappeared beneath the canopy of weeds.
Jess stepped in the direction of the gun.
The shooter groaned.
The ground was a mass of mottled shapes and darkness. Without the light, she would never find the gun, and with the light she would be a perfect target if he found the gun first.
Jess ran, fighting through the creepers and vines, batting branches away from her face with her forearms. She angled left, toward Charlene and, she hoped, the road beyond the forest.
She held the club in front of her face as branches whipped at her. She fell in a pothole, waving her arms to stay upright, and kept moving forward. Away from the shooter and the gun.
The light between the trees flickered. It bounced and shook. The shooter was on his feet.
She plied on, searching the ground, her pace halfway between desperate and careful.
The light grew brighter, phasing in and out between the trees. Moving fast, straight towa
rd Jess.
She reached a narrow trail. The flickering light revealed glimpses in either direction. If this was the correct path, Charlene would be to the right.
She swallowed. The light was also to her right. He was trying to head her off. Stop her from reaching the road. Which meant she was headed in the right direction.
She sprinted into the darkness, the club in front of her face to fend off the branches. Head up to keep a clear airway for oxygen into her lungs.
Her peripheral vision monitored the flickering light. She slowed and stopped. Charlene’s body was splayed on the ground.
The light emerged between Jess and Charlene.
The shooter stepped in and filled the narrow path. A knife glinted in his hand. He panted hard. The ski mask was ragged and torn. He reached up and peeled it off his head, and threw it aside.
Face wet and glistening. Blood covered cheeks and neck. The mouth was a ragged bloody shape.
Jess’s skin tingled. She stared, her jaw locked open.
The shooter’s head shook back and forth. Long hair tumbled down to her shoulders.
Jess redoubled her grip on her club. “Margot.”
Margot Meisner’s jaw jutted forward. “That’s Mrs. Meisner, to you.” She turned the knife over, making sure Jess saw it.
“So the big, important senator has his wife doing his dirty work.”
“He’s never had what it takes to make it and stay on top.” Margot snorted. “You think he’s a real man? He’s a sniveling mess without me. Can’t find his ass with both hands.”
Jess cocked her head. “You killed those girls.”
“Of course I did. You would have, too.” Margot nodded. “They were trash. They thought they’d found a meal ticket. All of them. Crystal Mackie was the worst. Trying to blackmail my husband with her bastard. She deserved everything she got. They all did.” She shook her head and wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just like you. You think you can bring him down, don’t you? Ruin his career? Not a chance.”
“How did you kill Crystal?” Jess hefted the club, inching her hands to a thicker section. The branch didn’t carry the fear of cold steel, but she would neither run nor beg.
“She came around, asking for money. We fought. I didn’t have the chance to finish her off. She fell right under my horse. Frightened him, the stupid bitch. He trampled her to death. Served her right.” Margot nodded, her voice rough with anger and exertion.
“And Blackstake cleaned up after you.”
Margot shrugged. “I paid him well for the work he did.”
Jess moved her feet to keep her muscles limber. “Nelson is on his way.”
“No, he isn’t.” Margot’s hand gripped the knife expertly. “If Nelson was on the way, you wouldn’t have been crawling around out here. You’d have waited for better lights and reinforcements.”
Jess raised the club to shoulder height and said nothing.
Margot leaped forward, the knife blade backward in her hand, slashing through the air.
Jess sidestepped, and the blade swept past her. She raised the club and swung it down on Margot’s arm. It made hard contact.
Margot grunted and whipped the knife back, retracing its arc through the air.
Jess swung the club around, keeping up its momentum, but Margot lunged forward, the knife reaching for Jess’s ribs. Jess sucked in her stomach, bending to keep air between her and the tip of the knife, the club frozen above her head.
Margot stepped forward, swinging the knife. Jess stepped back, holding both ends of the club to thwart the blade.
Margot grabbed Jess’s shirt with her free hand. Jess brought the club around and down on the side of Margot’s head, slamming hard and tearing across her ear.
Margot jerked away, screaming.
Jess brought the club up. Arcing through the air.
Margot bent backward, lashing out.
The end of the club caught Margot’s chin. A glancing blow. A tiny flick. She stumbled into the undergrowth.
Jess kicked. The toe of her boot caught Margot’s kneecap. She doubled over, screaming and growling.
The club was high. Jess tensed her muscles, resting her weight solidly on her feet, and heaved the club down.
Despite her pain, Margot lurched sideways, swinging the knife.
Jess was committed, her body locked in place. The club swung past Margot’s side, harmless in the air.
Margot’s knife slashed through Jess’s jacket. Tearing the lining. Ripping a foot-long scar across the front. A burning pain erupted in her abdomen. An electric spasm that built and built. She grunted hard.
The pain screamed for attention, but she held onto the club and swung for Margot. Low speed. A small run up.
Margot raised her arm, absorbing the momentum of the blow, and wrapped her hand around the shaft of the club. She tugged on the club, dragging Jess toward her with one hand as she stabbed the knife forward with the other.
Jess slid her hands back and then shoved on the club with all of her strength. Her momentum was in sync with Margot’s force, and the blow pushed the woman backward, into a tree, and sideways onto her knees.
Jess ran past Margot, toward Charlene’s body, and the open road. She had mere moments of advantage. The undergrowth clawed at her legs, and branches slashed her face.
Jess dove for Charlene’s arms. The chance of carrying her and escaping Margot’s blade were impossibly slim, but she wouldn’t leave Charlene.
Margot was climbing from the undergrowth.
Jess wrenched Charlene into a sitting position.
Charlene screamed.
Margot stumbled forward. Closing the gap.
Jess threw Charlene’s arm over her shoulder.
Charlene grunted and moaned.
Jess braced for the weight. “We have to run.” She stood. Dragging Charlene along.
Charlene screamed. Hard and long. Deafening in Jess’s ear.
Jess gritted her teeth as Charlene’s belt tore across her abdomen.
Margot crouched ten feet away.
Charlene twisted to free herself from Jess.
Jess’s stomach wound burned.
Charlene bent, levering herself from Jess and collapsing onto her knees.
Margot growled, her knife ready, twisted backward in her hand. The ideal position for ripping and tearing. The grip that provided maximum force and damage. If it connected, Jess would die.
Margot leaped forward, sweeping the blade through the air. Backhand. Tip first.
Charlene drew her gun from its holster and swung it around. One arc. Smooth. Fast.
Margot was only feet away. Directly in front of them. Barely any need to aim. Charlene’s left hand rested on top of her right wrist. Bracing for the inevitable shock waves.
The gun boomed. A nine millimeter round. An unstoppable force. The explosion cracked the air. Jess’s eardrums bottomed out. Silencing the real world.
Charlene didn’t flinch.
The flash illuminated Margot’s face. A single strobe that showed anger and venom and hate.
The bullet rammed Margot backward.
A gaping hole appeared in her sternum, bloody and ragged. Fragments and red mist burst into the air behind her.
Her legs gave way. Her knees buckled, her torso collapsed slowly.
Her arms stayed at her sides.
Her face hit the ground, and the knife tumbled away.
Charlene kept her gun trained, her finger on the trigger.
Margot didn’t move.
Jess breathed deep and emptied her lungs with a gasp.
Charlene lowered the gun.
Jess knelt beside her and lowered her backward onto the ground. “It’ll be all right.”
Charlene moaned in pain.
Jess switched on her phone’s light. Charlene was pale. Her eyes were closed.
She dialed 911 and gave her uncertain location. At the operator’s urging, she kept the line open and put her phone on speaker.
C
harlene’s pulse was weak.
“Hang in there. Help is on the way,” Jess urged.
Charlene opened her eyes a fraction and nodded.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Randolph, Washington
Two weeks later
The taxi threaded its way down the lane. The line of cars perched half on and half off the grassy shoulder slowed its progress.
Jess recognized some of the vehicles. Their owners had already left. She checked her watch. She was later than she had hoped, but she would be on time.
The taxi stopped at an arch, the words “Memorial Park” formed in wrought iron above.
Jess stepped out and tightened her coat around her. The damp Washington air was colder than she remembered. Fall had turned to winter. She opened her umbrella and wished she’d worn an extra layer.
The taxi left, waiting until it had reached the end of the road to pick up speed and head for its next fare.
Memorial Park wasn’t large. Country paths made a zig-zag patchwork of the graves, but the group assembled under a temporary canopy in the far right corner couldn’t be missed. She worked her way along the grass tracks.
Nelson broke away from the assembly and headed toward her. She shook his hand.
“Never been to a funeral when it isn’t raining,” he said.
She nodded. “Maybe that tells us something.”
“You’ll want to know.” Nelson cleared his throat. “The medical examiner said Crystal’s body was consistent with having been trampled by a horse. But she was already dead when it happened.”
“So Margot lied about Crystal’s death.”
“She might not have realized the horse didn’t kill Crystal. Either way, Margot was responsible.” Nelson paused. “They haven’t found the other girls.”
Jess took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’d hoped for more progress.”
“It’s a federal investigation now, Jess. They’ve got the resources. But with both Margot Meisner and Blackstake dead, they might never find the bodies. We need to accept that.”
“What about Alistaire Meisner?”
Nelson grunted. “The ex-senator? He still has his highly paid lawyers covering for him. Claims he knows nothing, of course.”
