by Maris Soule
Physically weak and mentally defeated, she’d actually thanked him when he began allowing her a little freedom. Never sure when something she did might displease him and result in punishment, she learned to obey his every command, and the more compliant she became, the more freedoms he allowed.
She learned how to fake pleasure when he invaded her body, how to move and say the words he wanted to hear. He never knew the techniques she employed to distance herself from what was actually taking place. After her release, she used those same techniques in an effort to lead a “normal” life. She doubted the boys she slept with ever guessed she was faking, but she knew, and she finally gave up the sham.
“Katherine,” Sarah said, her eyes brightening. And then she saw the gun in Bell’s hand, and her look of hope disappeared. With a whimper, the girl closed her eyes and turned her head to the side.
The blonde said nothing, but Katherine could tell she was fighting back tears.
Katherine looked at Charles. “Do you realize what you’ve done to them?”
He shrugged. “I’ve only pollinated one.”
Her gaze returned to the girls. “Sarah?”
“One for the money, one for the honey.”
Katherine understood what he meant. “How did you know Misty would be here, in Skagway?”
“Don’t you want to know how I knew you’d be here?”
“You’re smart. I’m sure, once that damn hospital let you out, you tracked me down through my grandfather.”
He smiled. “Ah, Kit Kat, you always did appreciate my intelligence.”
“And your cruelty.” With her, he’d used that as a weapon. “Did you have to kill Phil? Or that boy she was with?” Katherine nodded toward Misty.
“I needed Phil’s radio. And his gun.” Charles moved his hand slightly, letting her see the gun was still pointed at her. “You should know by now I’ll kill anything that gets in my way. I’ll kill that guy you have outside, if the bear doesn’t get him first.”
So much for Vince coming to her rescue. Katherine didn’t doubt Charles would do exactly what he’d said. He was a sociopath. During those therapy sessions, Mary Elizabeth had tried to explain to Katherine why someone could be so heartless; that, for a sociopath, hurting people or taking their lives meant nothing.
“Did you kill John and Martha Grayson?” she asked, fearing the bodies of the sweet, old couple might be lying somewhere in the woods. It would explain why a bear had been seen hanging around the area.
“Ah, the Graysons. They were so friendly until I told them why I wanted their house; then they became quite hostile.” He smiled. “I’m letting them cool off.”
Which meant they were dead. She wasn’t sure what to do next, other than keep him talking. “So you saw Vince?”
“Vince?” Misty spoke for the first time. “He’s here?”
The girl smiled, and Charles glared at her. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, sweety. Your hero isn’t going to have any more success than you have.”
Katherine watched the look of hope on the girl’s face disappear, but she knew from Charles’s anger that Misty Morgan had tried to escape. Good for you, girl, Katherine thought and smiled at her.
Russell Ward had watched his granddaughter being pulled out of the room by the man who’d brought him to this house and tied him up. He’d been told to stay where he was, and normally he did what he was told. But, staying where he was didn’t seem right. The chair wasn’t comfortable, and he didn’t like having his legs tied to it. Katherine should have untied the cloth around his wrists, not just cut it away from where it was tied to the chair.
Darn it all, he was going to untie his legs. Besides, who did that guy think he was, telling them what to do? Katherine didn’t seem to like him that much.
He pulled the tape away from his mouth, giving a groan as some of the hairs on his chin left along with the tape. He then leaned over and started working on the strip of cloth tied around his right ankle. Try as he might, his arthritic fingers couldn’t loosen the knot. He tried the knot on the left ankle. Same problem. Pulling didn’t help—didn’t tear the material, only tightened the knot.
Damn old age.
Winded, and a little lightheaded, Russell Ward sat back up. The knife Katherine had used was on the carpet, a few feet from the chair. Too far to reach. Her gun was even farther away. Not that he was going to try to shoot himself free. He never was a very good shot. Would probably shoot himself in the foot if he tried that.
But a knife . . .
If he could get over to that knife, he could cut the cloth.
He grasped the edges of the chair’s seat, pushed himself slightly up with his feet and shifted his weight and the chair to the side. The chair thumped, but it also moved. Just a little, but a little was better than not at all.
He repeated the maneuver.
Again the chair thumped and moved.
Inch by inch, he was getting closer to the knife.
Step by step, the bear drew closer. Vince held his breath, forcing his body not to move. Stretching his head forward, the bear sniffed, a guttural sound coming from deep in its throat. And, then it reared up on its hind legs, its head higher than Vince’s. Staying still ceased to be an option.
Raising his own arms, he yelled. He jumped in the air. He whistled. He clapped his hands. He did anything and everything he could think of to make himself appear larger and more menacing than the creature in front of him.
He even laughed.
Who was he kidding? He was dead meat. No way were his feeble gestures going to scare this bear.
Nevertheless, he kept at it. If Charles Bell heard him, so be it. The way things were, there was no way Vince was going to be coming to Katherine’s rescue. With luck, Bell wouldn’t know Katherine was in or near the house, wouldn’t already have her, and would assume Vince was alone.
“Fuck you!” he yelled at the bear, and then stared in amazement as the bear dropped back down on all fours, turned, and ran.
Ran right into the side of the house.
Katherine heard the thump against the outside of the bedroom wall. She’d also been hearing quieter thumps coming from the living-room area. Charles aimed his gun toward the wall.
A louder thump came from the living room, accompanied by a cuss word.
Charles turned that direction.
Katherine used his confusion and the momentum of his half turn to her advantage. She shifted her weight onto her right leg and executed a low karate kick to his ankles with the side of her left foot. With his feet swept out from under him, Charles Bell went down on his side, the gun going off as his arm hit the floor. Katherine jumped back and kicked again, this time at his hand, dislodging the gun from his grip and sending it flying under Sarah’s bed.
Before she had a chance to regain her balance, Charles had her by the leg and pulled.
Katherine managed one hop forward, then fell across his body. With a twist, he was on his back. She didn’t see the fist coming at her face, not until his knuckles hit her cheek. Pain radiated from the point of impact to her eye and down to her jaw. For a moment she couldn’t see, couldn’t think. And, then she grabbed for his arm.
She was stronger than she’d been at fourteen, and maybe he was weaker. She deflected his next blow, sending his fist past her head, but her moment of triumph was short-lived. He wrapped his arms around her chest, squeezing her against his body until taking a breath became impossible.
“Bitch,” he growled near her ear. “What I am going to do to you now is going to make anything I did before seem like a pleasure fest. And, then I’m going to make you watch me do them, over and over again.”
He released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her, but before she could scramble to her feet, he pushed her to the side and was on top of her, turning her and pressing her face against the carpeting. She felt his hands grabbing for her wrists and knew she couldn’t let him get a hold and twist her arms behind her back; couldn’t let him get the handcuffs off her
belt and onto her wrists.
Sliding her hands as close to her body as she could manage, she arched up, raising her head and bucking him onto her hips. For balance, he tightened his thighs around her pelvis, but that was fine with her. She grabbed his right hand and twisted his fingers back. With a yelp, he loosened his knee grip and slapped at her head. She let her head go with the blow, and reared up on her knees at the same time, pushing Charles onto his knees.
“Katherine?” she heard and recognized her grandfather’s hesitant voice.
Charles growled, rose to his feet, spun around, and lunged for Katherine’s grandfather.
“No!” Katherine screamed, afraid of what would happen next.
“You left this—” her grandfather started, but didn’t finish.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Vince entered the house through the front door, not the back. He still couldn’t believe the bear had actually run from him. Not only run from him, but ran into the side of the house. He might still be there, at the edge of the woods, bent over laughing at the sight of that bear stepping back from the house, shaking its head, and then lumbering off, if he hadn’t heard a gunshot.
He didn’t worry about Bell seeing him as he ran to the house. A gunshot meant subterfuge was a waste of time. Either Katherine had shot at Bell or Bell had shot at her. He hoped it was the former.
Vince heard Katherine yell “No,” the sound of her voice coming from somewhere down a hallway to his right. He’d barely taken a step when he saw Bell stumble through a doorway and into the hallway. Bell was looking down at his stomach, his hands gripping something, his mouth agape. Only when Bell moved his hands away from his middle did Vince understand the man’s shock.
In his hand, Bell held a knife, its blade covered with blood. Almost immediately, blood began to ooze from Bell’s stomach, staining the front of his shirt and trousers. He dropped the knife and pressed a hand against the wound, color draining from his face. His next step was wobbly, a desperate look in his eyes when he spied Vince.
“Help,” Bell said. “I need help.”
“What have you done to Katherine?”
“I can’t stop the bleeding.” Bell stared at his stomach, blood oozing out between his fingers.
“Katherine?” Vince repeated.
“There.” Bell motioned with his head back to the doorway he’d just exited. “I need an ambulance.”
“You need a firing squad.” Vince moved past him to the doorway.
He saw Katherine kneeling over her grandfather’s prone body. “Is he . . . ?”
She looked up, an area on her cheek red and puffy. “Vince,” she said. “Charles got away. He ran right into my grandfather, knocked him against the doorframe, then kept going.” She looked back down at her grandfather. “Poppa, can you hear me?”
“Vince,” another voice called, and he saw Misty, an army-style wool blanket covering her body.
“Untie me,” she begged, then looked at the girl on the other bed. “Untie both of us.”
Vince glanced back down the hallway. Bell had made it to the end, but Vince didn’t think he’d be going far. Near his feet, he heard a confused, “What happened?” and noted Katherine’s grandfather was coming to. “I’m going to cut the girls loose,” he told her.
“No, get Charles,” she demanded, before turning her attention back to her grandfather.
“Charles,” Vince assured her, “isn’t going anywhere.”
“Okay, if you say so.” Katherine helped her grandfather sit up. “Poppa, take it easy. You bumped your head.”
Vince used the pocket knife he always carried to slice through the strips of sheeting binding Misty’s wrists and ankles. There were spots where her skin was worn raw, and he knew she hadn’t been a compliant prisoner.
The moment she was free, she sat up, holding the blanket in front and as far around her naked body as she could manage. Although he heard no sound, tears slid from her eyes to her cheeks. He wanted to hug her, but he wasn’t quite sure how she would react. Misty was the one who initiated contact. She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing until her nails cut into his palm. He ignored the pain, and ran his fingers through her tangled curls, drawing her head close to his side. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now.”
He felt her nod, but she still didn’t speak. He waited until, with a shudder that racked her body and a voice rough with emotion, she managed, “I knew you would come.”
“Thank her,” he said, moving to the side so Misty could get a clear view of Katherine. “It was Officer Ward who figured out where you were.”
“Sarah said the police would find us.” Misty leaned back, away from his side, and pointed at the girl on the other bed. “Cut her free, Vince. He did terrible things to her.”
Misty released her hold on his hand, and Vince moved to the next bed. The dark-haired girl was crying, softly saying, “I want my mama.”
“We’ll get you to her just as fast as we can,” he promised as he cut through the cloth binding her wrists and ankles.
“Where are your clothes?” he asked Misty once Sarah was free.
“I don’t know where he put them. When I came to, I was this way.” She shrugged and held the blanket closer.
“I’ll look for them.”
It was then that Vince realized Katherine and her grandfather were no longer in the room. Cautiously, he went down the hallway. He saw Russell Ward first, seated in a recliner similar to the one the old man had in his own home. He then saw Katherine standing by a table, a radio-phone pressed close to her face. She was asking someone to send an ambulance.
Charles Bell had made it into the kitchen and back into the living room. He now sat on the floor, his back against the wall dividing the living room from the kitchen, a dish towel pressed against his belly. His breathing ragged and his skin pale, Bell watched Katherine.
“We’ll be here,” Vince heard Katherine say and saw her put down the radio-phone. She looked at him and gave a feeble smile. “Gordon’s not real happy with me. I think I may be looking for a new career.”
“Your grandfather okay?”
She nodded. “Just a little shaken up . . . and confused.” Her attention turned to Bell. “He must have walked right into the knife Poppa was holding. In a way, he did this to himself.”
“Just too bad the knife didn’t hit a vital organ.”
“Yeah, it would have—”
Katherine stopped talking the same time Vince saw Bell look away from her and back toward the hallway. Both Katherine and Vince turned that direction. Sarah and Misty stood at the end of the hallway, facing the man who had held them captive for almost two days. Sarah held the wool blanket around her body like a shield, but Misty had let hers drop to the floor. In her hands, she held a gun, and it was pointed directly at Charles Bell.
“Misty, don’t—” both Vince and Katherine said at the same time.
Vince doubted Misty heard them over the gun blast.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Misty sobbed.
“It’s all right,” Katherine soothed, carefully taking the gun from the girl’s hand. “It’s over now.”
Katherine bent down and picked up the wool blanket Misty had dropped. She handed it to the girl and then stepped back. The gun she’d taken from Misty had to be the one that went under the bed when she was struggling with Charles. It was probably Phil’s gun, taken by Charles after he killed Phil. Her gun should be somewhere in the living room. She’d put it down with her knife, and Charles had kicked both the knife and the gun aside.
The kitchen chair was now lying on its side, not far from Charles. Her grandfather had obviously picked up the knife and used it to free his legs before coming back to the bedroom. But where was the gun?
“Poppa,” she asked, turning to where her grandfather sat in the recliner. “Do you know where my gun is?”
Her grandfather looked at the holster on her hip, where she normally carried her w
eapon, then started to shake his head. Just as quickly, he put his hands to his forehead and winced. She had a feeling more than just his head would be hurting in a few hours. He’d taken quite a hit against the doorjamb when Charles rammed into him and probably should be checked over by the paramedics when they arrived.
Her gaze switched to Charles Bell’s slumped body. No need for the paramedics to rush. Sarah and Misty would need to be examined by a doctor, but the DA wouldn’t need the results for a court case. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but silently she thanked Misty. The sixteen-year-old had eliminated the possibility of Charles once again finding a lawyer and jury that would believe his lies. The Beekeeper was dead.
Vince crossed in front of her view. He stooped down next to Charles and reached forward. “Don’t touch him,” Katherine ordered. “Nothing should be touched until Gordon arrives.”
“It’s here,” he said, pointing instead of touching. “Your gun. He must have picked it up while you were helping your grandfather into the chair.”
“My gun?” Holding Phil’s gun by her side, she walked over to where Vince was crouching. Sure enough, she could see the butt of her Glock just under the edge of the towel Charles had been using to stop the bleeding.
“I don’t know how you feel,” Vince said, keeping his voice low so the girls couldn’t hear, “but I’d say she shot him in self defense.”
Katherine looked down at the gun in her hand. Her fingerprints were on it now.
She smiled. “Or maybe I did.”
They heard the sirens, and Katherine opened the front door and waited. Her career as a police officer was about to end. From her first day at the police academy, she’d been taught the importance of chain of command and following orders. It was bad enough in a large force when an officer didn’t obey. In a force the size of Skagway’s, it was a major error. Whatever Gordon or the chief decided, she deserved.
