Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  River gritted his teeth. This is it. The symbol will either alter the situation somehow, keeping me bullet hole free, or it won’t.

  “Go to hell, Kent.” He held his breath and drew the pointed D in the center of the pentagram.

  Kent brought his free hand up to the gun for added support and aimed at River. “Your way, then.”

  He steeled himself. Hope it’s quick. One between the eyes and done.

  A high, tight explosive report from a small caliber weapon fractured the air.

  Dauscher jerked. The shoulder of his jacket exploded, and polymer stuffing, fragments of tissue and blood spit through the air. His eyes widened with shock. Pain scored his face followed by a feral cry of agony that ripped from his lungs. His finger twitched, and the Glock jumped in his hand.

  Fire spewed from the muzzle, a boom assaulted River’s ears. Then something tore through his side. Brutal heat burst through him, testifying he’d been shot. Well, hell. So much for no bullet holes.

  The impact sent him sprawling over the sand. He ground his teeth, forced himself to breathe. He glanced over at Kent, who’d fallen to his knees and sat hunched over, blood leaching through the jacket’s nylon shell—but damn if the gun didn’t remain in his hand.

  River pushed back onto his knees. Peering down at his own bloody coat, he yanked the zipper down. What lay beneath would tell the tale. He eased the edge of his jacket to the side. Damn. Too much blood. Needing to know the extent of the situation, he pulled up the bottom of his shirt.

  Okay then. A nice-sized chunk of skin missing from my side, but no major organs. He lowered the shirt, a shaky sigh of relief hissing through his lips. Hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’ll live.

  He glanced toward the woods. Who’d fired the shot?

  Movement within the shadows beneath the oak tree caught his eye. He struggled to his feet, wincing with the searing pain. He shuffled in the direction of the trailhead. Eyes squinted, he tried to assemble the shapes into a cohesive form.

  Vicki stepped into the moonlight, the olive drab backpack he’d left in the grass slung over her shoulder. She wove her way through the tall grasses and reeds, her gaze riveted on the man she’d shot, the sleek pistol in her hand. Where the hell did she get that?

  He looked back at Kent. The bastard sat on his heels in the sand with his head bowed. His hand clutched the jacket near the exit wound. His other hand rested on his thigh, the Glock clutched within his fingers.

  River loped toward him. He needed to get his weapon back, end this thing once and for all. Send the evil demon back to Hell where he belongs.

  With each step he took, fiery pain erupted in his side, radiating through his torso. The grumble of thunder above seemed to empathize with his plight. But he forced himself to disregard his wound and focus on retrieving his Glock. After all, he’d managed to sidestep destiny for a second time. This was his chance to take control, put the world back to a more logical, familiar state.

  Unfortunately, now the genie had escaped the bottle, was there a way to send it back to Hell?

  Vicki waited a reasonable distance back in the grasses. Her knitted brow and tight grimace conveyed her concern over his injury. A slight nod indicated she would remain where she stood while he faced off against his possessed partner. Vigilant, she kept her pistol trained on the demon’s back.

  “Took you long enough.” Dauscher raised his head, agony clear on his face.

  River stopped. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, triggering a wave of nausea. Did I really believe I’d just walk up to the bastard, pluck my gun from his hand, and say thank you?

  “God, River.” The big guy bared his teeth, sucked in a breath. “Never been shot before. Hurts like hell.”

  Something about the words, the way Dauscher spoke them, caught him off guard. He scrutinized the detective’s face. Was it possible?

  “Dauscher?” He took a tentative step forward. Instinct curled his hands into fists as he prepared to take action if the need arose.

  Dauscher nodded, and a flash of the old bulldog morphed his features. “I can’t…hold him off for long. Shit, he’s strong.”

  River rushed forward, dropped to his knees in front of his partner. “Fight him, Dauscher. Kick his ass.”

  “Can’t.” He shook his head and met River’s gaze, acceptance of the inevitable clear in his eyes.

  River grimaced. Damn it. Dauscher’s a good man. Gotta save him. “Don’t you quit.”

  “I saw it, River. Everything. Sonovabitch made me watch while he attacked that dark-haired artist. Knocked her out with chloroform. Threw that reporter across the room. And, God, River, he enjoyed every second. The things I saw myself doing….” A growl laced with agony erupted from deep inside his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “It’s okay, man.” Anger shuddered through him with the realization of the torture his partner must have gone through. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t you.”

  “Here.” Dauscher pushed the gun down his thigh. “Take it.”

  He reached out, pried the gun from his partner’s chunky fingers.

  A sigh rippled through the big guy. “Now, do it, River.”

  “What?”

  “One. Between the eyes.”

  “No!” Horror crashed through him, tore the air from his lungs.

  “I’ve been sitting here ever since I got shot, trying to force the barrel of your gun into my mouth. But the sonovabitch is just too strong. Couldn’t lift it off my leg.” He chuffed, the rush of air a wispy puff from his lips. “But then, the bastard couldn’t move it either. And, man, he wanted to shoot you. Bad.”

  Oh, shit. The internal battle between Dauscher and Kent had saved his life.

  “You’ve got to shoot me.”

  “I can’t.” He didn’t bother to hide the desperation in his voice, which mirrored the anguish in his soul. “There’s another way.”

  “Damn it, River! End it. I don’t want to watch him take that butcher knife of his and cut up innocent girls.” His eyes begged him to pull the trigger. “To hear their screams. Get their blood on my hands. I’ll go insane.”

  Agony roiled inside him. If he shot Dauscher, he would stop Kent. But knowing the demonic murderer could jump into another body rendered the sacrifice temporary. He’d just take someone else over and pick up where he left off. And if I let Dauscher live, Kent will eventually overwhelm him and find a way to resume his heinous activities anyway.

  “River.” The word burst from Dauscher in an anguished howl. He doubled over, and his hands balled into fists while he battled the demon residing within him. “I can’t hold him. Can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Now.” He straightened, gave him a hard stare. The commanding bulldog had taken over, and with a growl, he leaned forward, got in River’s face. “Pull the damned trigger, River.”

  “I’m sorry, Dauscher.” With the gun in his hand and no acceptable answer available, he reared back and smashed his fist into his partner’s jaw, cold-cocking him.

  The large detective’s eyes rolled back, and he toppled to the ground, unconscious.

  “Oh my God,” Vicki gasped and rushed to River’s side. “You knocked him out.”

  “Yep.” He shoved his pistol in his shoulder holster then tucked his aching hand beneath the opposite armpit. The cold always made everything hurt more, and with his hand caught between his gun and Dauscher’s jaw, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d broken a finger. In addition, he’d twisted and thrown his weight behind the punch, so not only did his hand throb, but his injury screamed as well. Warm blood trickled down his side. Sitting back on his heels, he tried to catch his breath.

  Vicki dropped her purse on the ground then flicked the safety on her pistol and pushed the sleek gun into her front pants pocket. Her hands empty, she shrugged the backpack from her shoulder and opened it, the zipper snicking over the heavy plastic teeth. Reaching inside, she pulled out one of the four-pound boxes of rock salt Lenny had stashed into th
e pack. “So, you were right about Kent finding a new body.”

  “Looks like it.” He stared at his unconscious partner. How do I get Kent out without killing Dauscher?

  She set the backpack down and pried open one end of the container in her hand, creating a pour spout. Leaning over, she tipped the box. A cascade of snowy white pellets streamed to the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought it was obvious.” She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m making a ring of salt.”

  “Oh.” River clenched his teeth against the pain radiating around his torso.

  “Lenny said it would keep evil stuff like ghosts and demons inside it.” She finished the circle and straightened to study her handiwork. With a nod, she closed the box and placed it back within the pack. “Supposedly, they can’t step over a line of salt. However, he wasn’t too clear on the hows or whys of it all. Just that the salt line could either keep them out of a place or trapped inside.”

  “Yeah, he told me about that.” He gestured at the bag. “He put that backpack together for me.”

  “Did he?” She dug in a large exterior pocket on the bag. “Oh, bless you, Lenny.” She knelt next to River and opened a medium-sized white box. Assorted first-aid paraphernalia lay inside.

  “Seems our reporter friend planned for the worst.” He shrugged off his jacket and bit back a groan.

  “Good thing, too.” She yanked the top from a spray bottle and lifted the edge of his shirt. “This’ll be cold, but it should help with the pain.”

  When the liquid hit his skin, he jumped, but after the initial sting, the ache in his side subsided to a more manageable level. “We get through this, I’ll be buying Lenny a beer for sure.”

  She retrieved a large bandage and paused, staring at it.

  “What?”

  She lifted her gaze, her eyes filled with fear. “I had another vision…of you.”

  “Huh.” He glanced at his unconscious partner. Icy anger balled in River’s gut. Will the son of a bitch ever die? “Makes sense. Kent’s still here. What’d you see?”

  She held up the bandage. “A white square.”

  He nodded. One down. “And?”

  “A white paper, four red lines, black smoke, and….”

  He swallowed. “The killer’s symbol?”

  She averted her eyes, concentrated on folding the bandage in half and pressing it to the wound while he held his shirt out of the way. “Yes.”

  Well, damn. Destiny has one hell of a sense of humor.

  She tore two long strips of medical tape and secured the dressing in place. Closing the kit, she looked at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Best I can do.”

  He forced a smile, trying to convey his appreciation. “It’s much better.”

  Dauscher moaned and shifted his position. His movements remained sluggish, but it wouldn’t be long before the man regained consciousness.

  Still kneeling next to River, Vicki stared at the large detective who lay a few feet from them. Her fingers curled against her palms, and her brow knitted. “So. A ring of salt.”

  Could salt really keep a demon at bay? He snagged the backpack and dragged it to him. “Lenny’s the expert in this kind of stuff.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced at him. “Think it’ll work?”

  Dauscher’s eyelids fluttered—or was it Kent’s eyelids? Who had control?

  River shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Vicki scrambled to her feet and pulled the gun from her pants pocket. Holding the weapon in her hands brought a sense of security, but she backed away from River’s partner a few steps for good measure. Even if the circle of salt worked, there was no sense remaining within arm’s reach.

  River removed a folded paper from the backpack.

  She shifted in his direction. “What’s that?”

  “Another gift from Lenny.”

  “And the next symbol from my vision.”

  He looked at the white paper in his hand and frowned. “Yeah, well….” After tucking the item into his jacket pocket, he moved to join her, but his sharp intake of breath indicated the severe pain the simple act of standing induced. With a swipe of his hand, he erased the beads of sweat dotting his brow.

  In the distance, thunder growled, growing ever closer. The bright moonlight dimmed as a strand of clouds drifted across the bottom of the glowing orb. Vicki shook her head. This was not the time to lose what little light was available.

  “Weather could be a problem where the salt is concerned.” River looked toward Dauscher. “Rain hits and the circle will be gone.”

  She stared at the white granules ringing the large detective. Such a fragile defense. A gust of air, a splash of rain, and the evil being they’d trapped would be free. Memories of how Kent had lifted her from the floor by her hair and hurled her against the wall like some child’s rag doll swept through her mind. Fear and doubt ate at her confidence. Great. Our lives depend on a line of salt. “He takes a step toward us, and I’m pulling the trigger.”

  “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.” He removed the bulky black gun from his shoulder holster and released the magazine. “I’d rather we get Kent out, send him to Hell where he belongs, and save Dauscher. I’m just not sure it’s possible.” He shoved the magazine back into the weapon, the metal catch emitting a sharp click as it locked into place. “After what happened the last time? If it comes to it, don’t hesitate. Take him down.”

  “Right.” She looked at Dauscher, noting that even with his initial movements, he hadn’t touched the ring. Good.

  “So.” River lowered the gun to his side, the barrel pointing toward the ground. “Why do you think he didn’t just grab us up, throw us around the beach like he did at the house?”

  “You’re asking me?” She turned toward him, her eyebrow arched.

  “Hey, you’re the one having visions. Not me.”

  “And that makes me an expert?”

  “More than me.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t see things in my head about other people.”

  “So, you believe me.” She tilted her head. Is he being sincere or trying to distract me so I won’t be afraid? “When did you change your mind exactly?”

  “Darlin’,” he said, his Texan drawl pulling at the word. “With all that’s happened since the moment we met, how could I not believe you?”

  She nodded. He gave credence to her visions. Wow, talk about taking a step on the wild side. If we manage to survive this crazy ordeal, we might just have a shot at a something special—even if he hasn’t told me he loves me. Yet. She shifted her focus back to the killer. “Well, while I was patching you up, I was thinking about why he didn’t just kill us when he had the chance.”

  “Really?” Surprise flashed across his face.

  “Only thing I can come up with is that your dead ex-partner, Kent, hasn’t been in Dauscher’s body long enough. He hasn’t killed anyone yet. Could be the more sacrifices he makes, the stronger he gets.” A shiver rippled down her back. “It’s just speculation, though. Lenny’s the real expert when it comes to demons.”

  “That might be true. But your theory makes sense.” His gaze shifted to the woods beyond her. “When Kent was in Jamie, he’d killed three women by the time we came across him in the waitress’ house.”

  Vicki swallowed. “And those are just the ones we know about.”

  “True.” Worry and guilt flooded his face, and he looked at the ground. When he raised his head, his brow had drawn down and determination pervaded his features.

  Vicki’s breath caught at movement from within the ring. Pivoting, she found Dauscher in a sitting position…staring up at her. A hint of black, oily substance swirled in the corner of his left eye, but when he blinked, it disappeared.

  Her mouth went dry. She’d glimpsed the evil that possessed Detective Dauscher. The thing calling itself Kent Rowton, the Valentine Killer.
/>
  Kent rose to his feet, and she stumbled back a step. Her encounter with Jamie had been straight from a nightmare. And he’d been thin, wiry then. But this guy, the one with demon hellfire blazing in his eyes? He was freaking huge.

  Vicki raised the gun, pointing it at the demon. Fingers clamped around the pistol’s grip, she gave River a quick glance. What now?

  He trained his gun on his partner.

  A smirk on his face, Kent lumbered forward two steps and stopped. He looked down, his gaze briefly following the salt line. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

  Hope and amazement fluttered within Vicki’s chest. Was Lenny right? Did the salt circle trap the demon?

  Lifting his head, Kent focused on River this time. Amusement danced in his eyes. “So, that’s twice you’ve sucker punched me.”

  “Yep.” River shifted his weight.

  The killer lunged toward him, his foot stopping short of the circle.

  River jerked but held his ground, and Vicki’s heart jackhammered against her sternum.

  “You can’t keep me here forever.” The maniac’s mouth twisted into a self-righteous smirk, and he turned to stalk the circle like a caged panther. The feral glimmer in his eyes engendered Vicki’s skin to crawl.

  River leaned toward her. “He’s got a point.”

  “Of course I do.” He strode to the edge of the circle and threw his arms wide. “So, go ahead. Kill me. Put me and your pussy partner out of our collective misery. The way he goes on and on, pissing about everything. I have no idea how you deal with such a whiny bitch. So, do everyone a favor and just pull the trigger, River.”

  Vicki’s stomach boiled with fury. The bastard wants River to kill Dauscher. “I’d pull the trigger myself, you evil sonovabitch. But you’d just slither into someone else.”

  Kent turned his attention on her, and icy spikes hammered down her spine. Oh, crap. Talk about waking a sleeping dragon.

  “Ah. Blondie’s smarter than she looks.” His gaze raked her body from head to toe, and he licked his lips. “Mmm. I could slither into you, sweet cheeks. You and I could have a real good time.”