by Brian Harper
“How far”
“Back to the Kent place. So we can finish things.”
Nod. “I can make it.”
The statement seemed an expression of optimism more than fact, but Cain was prepared to accept it. He didn’t want Lilith at the wheel. He wanted her in the rear compartment, standing guard. Her cool, feral gaze never missed a thing.
“I’ll take the Porsche,” he said briskly. “Tyler drives the van. Lilith, you stay back here with the Girl Scout.” He smiled at Trish. “You were a Girl Scout, weren’t you”
She looked away. “No.”
Cain merely laughed, amused by the transparency and pointlessness of the lie. He tossed Wald’s keys to Lilith, then climbed out and shut the side panel with an echoing slam.
Quickly across the parking lot, his boots slapping asphalt in a clockwork rhythm. The Porsche was unlocked. He slipped behind the wheel.
Ally glanced at him, and he favored her with a cold smile.
“I just knew we’d be together again, freckle-face.”
She lowered her head, a shudder dancing lightly over her thin shoulders.
The keys were in the ignition. Cain guided the Porsche forward. Headlights flared in the rearview mirror as the van lumbered in pursuit.
Out the gate, onto the winding road. He opened the throttle, enjoying the engine’s power. Behind him, the van struggled to keep up.
On a short straightaway, he studied the girl’s profile in the glow of the dashboard. Wetness gleamed in the corner of her eye.
“Scared, Ally”
“No.”
“You ought to be. I got some real special plans for you.”
The Porsche rounded a curve, hugging the rutted road. The van’s headlights dimmed as Tyler fell farther behind.
Cain thought about what would come next. With duct tape he would bind Ally and Barbara to the two beds in the master suite. Then snuff them both, quick and nasty-the girl first, followed by her mother.
The rearview mirror was dark now, the van lost to sight. He was alone with Ally, the two of them as closely confined as travelers in a space capsule, and as far removed from the rest of the world.
He thought of Marta. She had been his passenger too.
“What about Trish” Ally asked above the engine’s hypnotic drone. “What’ll happen to her”
It was touching how she fretted about her hero even in the last minutes of her life.
“Trish gets to hang around for a little while. Another ten, twelve hours maybe.” Cain pictured the things he and Lilith would do in the trailer. “If she lasts that long.”
“She’ll find a way out,” Ally whispered.
“Not this time.”
“You always underestimate her.”
Despite himself, Cain nodded. The same thought had pestered him.
Then he saw Trish Robinson as she was now: disarmed, handcuffed, guarded, a prisoner with a gun to her head.
His last fears faded.
“The rookie’s good,” he said mildly. “I’ll give you that.” He smiled again, a private smile. “But she’s all done now.”
74
Crossing the living room was perilous. The broad bay window, curtains open, afforded a clear view to anybody who might be stationed outside.
Barbara kept her head down, staying close to Philip as he navigated a course through a surreal archipelago of overturned and mutilated furniture. A single lamp remained standing, a brass torchier, stoic as a lighthouse in a storm.
The destruction here was not the work of an explosion. It was deliberate vandalism, senseless and grotesque. Barbara knew she would feel something later about the loss of her precious heirlooms and antiques, but Ally was her sole concern now.
Had the bastards killed her Kidnapped her Or was she lying injured somewhere, unable to call for help
Philip reached the den, washed in the glow of a ceiling light. He looked cautiously inside, then entered, Barbara right behind.
The first thing she noticed was the wall safe, open and empty. Some remote part of her mind calculated the losses, covered by insurance but irreplaceable in personal terms.
Her gaze widened, taking in the rest of the room, Charles’s private retreat, his refuge. She died a little to think how he must feel to see his big-screen television smashed, his elaborate sound system cannibalized, his leather armchairs gutted like stockyard animals.
But when she glanced at him, she saw nothing in his face-no hurt, no anger, only a curious resolve, the look of a decision reached.
No time to wonder about that. The important thing was the phone on the desk, the phone that must have been sabotaged like the others.
But no.
The phone was in place, seemingly undamaged. The mayhem had been interrupted before that corner of the room had been touched.
Barbara reached the desk in two strides. She lifted the handset, put it to her ear, heard the hum of a dial tone, the most welcome sound she could ever hope to hear, other than Ally’s laughter.
“It works.” Her words hushed and solemn like a prayer.
For a moment she just stood there, marveling at the reality of a lifeline to the larger world.
“Nine-one-one,” Judy said gently.
Of course. Stupid of her to freeze up like that.
She tapped one digit, and from across the room a harsh voice ordered, “Stop.”
Her husband’s voice.
Baffled, she glanced up, and the glance hardened into a stare.
Charles stood just inside the doorway, his blazer unbuttoned, a black pistol in his trembling hand.
With a sickening switch of perspective, she saw what was really going on.
Saw why Charles had tried to talk her out of reporting the prowler in the backyard.
Saw why he had behaved so inexplicably ever since.
The violence of this night was not random. It was a plot, carefully planned, professionally executed, and its ultimate target could only be herself.
“Let go of the phone,” Charles said evenly.
Judy and Philip stood frozen, stares fixed on the gun that had appeared so unexpectedly in Charles’s hand, like a palmed card in a magic trick.
Barbara knew her husband well enough to see through his pose of cool assurance. The gun shook, just slightly but enough, and his left eyelid twitched.
Would he shoot her Did he have the nerve
Before tonight she wouldn’t have thought so. But if he’d hired assassins, staged this ugly show, then he was capable of anything.
She released the handset. It thumped on the desk.
“Now come over here.”
“Charles.” Philip sounded less angry than disappointed. “What’s this all about”
“Marital problems.” He chuckled. “A little domestic discord in the Kent household.”
Barbara reached him. Up close she saw the mustache of sweat fringing her husband’s smile.
“Stand with them,” he said.
She eased alongside the Danforths. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to them. Obscurely she felt responsible for all this.
“Quiet,” Charles snapped.
She ignored the order. “Where’s Ally”
“I said, be quiet.”
“Where is she What did they do to her”
“Shut up!”
“Is she … alive”
In the beat of silence that followed, she heard his answer.
“God damn you, Charles.”
“We had no choice,” he said as Judy began to pray softly and Philip’s hands tightened into fists. “She saw Cain’s face-the man I hired. She had to die.” The gun lifted. “And so do you.”
Judy moaned.
“You’re going to kill us yourself” Barbara breathed, unable to quite make it real. “All three of us”
“Have to. My friends appear to have left early.” He licked his lips. “So here’s the new story. Philip broke out of the closet, but we were caught trying to call for help. I’m the only one wh
o got away.”
“How lucky for you,” Philip said with cool contempt.
“Yes, well,”-a faltering smile-“I’ve always been quick on my feet.”
Barbara stared at him, full comprehension finally settling in. “You’re serious about this.”
“Yes … dear.”
She lifted her chin, and in that moment she knew she was her father’s girl, an Ashcroft, facing death with aristocratic poise.
“Then,” she whispered, “start with me.”
Charles aimed the shaking gun.
Headlights.
They splashed across the curtained windows as a powerful engine hummed up the drive. Barbara recognized it: the Danforths’ Porsche.
Charles blinked, registering the car’s arrival, and the gun lowered fractionally.
“On second thought,” he said, “I’ll let Cain handle it.” He giggled, a manic, mirthless sound. “That’s what I’m paying him for.”
75
The van rumbled down the dark road, punished by ruts and potholes.
Lilith, one knee on the bench seat, one foot on the floor, trained her Glock and her gaze on Trish. With each rough jostle she smiled.
“Something funny” Trish asked, arms swaying as the handcuff chain slid back and forth along the grab bar.
“It’s just that my finger’s pretty tight on the trigger. We get bounced hard enough, the gun might go off by accident.” She put a mocking emphasis on the last word.
“Cain wants me alive,” Trish said evenly.
Lilith showed a sweet smile. “But I don’t.”
Trish was silent. She didn’t want to engage Lilith in conversation. She wanted the girl to be distracted, to look the other way.
Until now her focused stare had been as unwavering as a cobra’s.
The Kent house wasn’t far. Cain must be there by now. The van was slower, and Tyler had been driving poorly, the knife wound taking its toll, but he would pull through the gate before long.
Still, there was a chance.
Between them, Cain and Lilith had made two mistakes.
Cain hadn’t buckled her in.
And Lilith hadn’t pocketed Wald’s keys.
The key ring dangled from her left hand, loosely held, glinting in the dome light’s glow.
“Cut yourself shaving, Robinson”
Lilith was looking at her left calf, the bandages dark with blood.
“Flesh wound,” Trish said mildly.
“Painful.”
“Not much.”
“Really”
Flash of motion, Lilith propelling her boot into the injured leg, shock wave of agony, Trish biting her lip to stifle a scream.
Lilith smiled. “How about now”
Trish didn’t answer. She needed her full concentration to suppress the waves of dizziness swarming over her.
When her vision cleared, she saw Lilith still watching her, the cool, attentive eyes refusing even to blink.
The keys flashed, tantalizing.
Look away, you sadistic little bitch.
“You don’t cry so easily,” Lilith lisped, “do you, Robinson”
“Guess not.”
Up front, Tyler slumped lower in his seat, the van cutting its speed.
“I hate crybabies.” Lilith’s stare was appraising now, a connoisseur’s scrutiny. “They never last. The other kind, the ones like you, can take much more punishment.” A thoughtful grin. “We can keep you going a long time.”
The van drifted to the right.
Tyler’s head-nodding.
Trish slowly wrapped both hands around the grab bar. “A minute ago you wanted to shoot me.”
“I’m starting to think Cain had the right idea.”
“Are you”
Get ready …
“You’re just too good to waste.” Lilith’s tongue prowled her lips. “I want to hear you scream, Robinson. I want-“
Crunch of gravel.
The van swerving off the road.
“Tyler” Lilith spun toward the front. “Hey, wake up, asshole!”
Hands locked on the grab bar, Trish hoisted herself off the seat.
Lilith shook Tyler alert.
Trish drew back her knees, lower legs extended, feet together.
The van lurched to the left as Tyler cranked the wheel.
Lilith turned.
Now.
Trish pistoned her right leg, slamming a brutal kick into the girl’s face.
Lilith’s nose crunched like a snail. She twisted, fell writhing on the floor, spitting up blood, the gun still in her hand but the keys flying free.
The van skidded back onto the road.
Trish snagged the key ring between her shoes. Flipped it upward, snatched it out of the air.
Tyler released the wheel, clutching at his sidearm holster.
The handcuff key was the smallest one on the ring. Trish inserted it in the left cuff and turned.
Tyler’s gun was out.
The handcuff popped open.
Tyler pivoted in his seat.
Trish ducked, and the handcuff chain snaked through the gap between the grab bar and the ceiling, the empty cuff coming with it.
Gunshot.
The rear window puckered, Tyler’s bullet missing as she dived to the floor, spread-eagle on Lilith, the Glock whipping toward her, and Trish seized the girl’s wrist and held the gun away, grappling with her in a tangle of limbs.
“Shoot her!” Lilith screamed the words. “Tyler, she’s on top of me, shoot her, shoot her!”
Tyler’s gun angled down, pointing blindly, and Trish threw her body to the left, the world cartwheeling, she and Lilith trading places.
Lilith’s eyes widened as she understood who was on top now. She opened her mouth in the beginning of a scream—
And Tyler fired into the rear compartment, two shots, three, bullets ripping through Lilith’s shoulder and abdomen and neck, Trish wincing as the deflected rounds burst out of Lilith’s body in new trajectories, drilling into the bench seat and the wall, and then Tyler was shouting, “Did I get her Lilith”
Blood foamed from the girl’s mouth. She sagged, dead weight, the Glock still clutched in her hand, muzzle pointed at the back of the driver’s seat.
“Did I get her”
“You got her,” Trish whispered, and she curled the forefinger of her left hand over Lilith’s trigger finger and squeezed.
The gun blew a scorched hole in the seat. Tyler wailed, a wounded animal, and his gun discharged, thunder rolling through the van, and Trish fired again, again, again, the driver’s seat bucking, the van skidding, her finger flexing convulsively, emptying the gun, until somewhere a horn blared, an idiot noise, monotonous and pointless.
She abandoned the Glock in Lilith’s frozen grip. Pushed the girl aside, struggled upright, thrust her head into the front compartment, and there was Tyler, dead, slumped over the wheel, his back blooming red roses, his forehead sounding the horn as the van weaved, driverless, at reckless speed.
The road veered to the left. Directly ahead, a dense stand of pines.
The van would meet those trees at sixty miles an hour less than three seconds from now.
76
Cain hustled Ally out of the Porsche. She struggled fiercely, her bound hands thrashing. He hardly noticed.
His thoughts were on the final stage of the night’s operation, so long delayed.
Mr. Kent would not like hearing his daughter raped and murdered just outside the closet doors. He’d told Cain to do her quickly, painlessly. But after all the trouble she had caused, she wasn’t going to leave the world without a scream or two.
Anyway-Cain smiled-it would do Charles good to eavesdrop on the girl’s death. The experience would put him in the appropriately grief-stricken frame of mind. He would cry real tears in the presence of the police.
Up the flagstone steps with Ally. Into the foyer.
Cain paused to retrieve his roll of duct tape.
“For you, swe
etcakes,” he said, twirling the spool.
He was feeling fine. The plan had worked, actually worked. In spite of every imaginable setback, he would complete his assignment and earn his pay.
Five million dollars … split three ways now, not five.
He stepped out of the foyer, then froze. Ally stiff at his side, both of them staring at the doorway of the den.
Charles Kent stood there, gun in hand, standing guard over his wife and the Danforths.
There was a moment when mother and daughter locked gazes, a moment electric with a shared thrill of anguish, and then Ally sagged in Cain’s arms, resistance sighing out of her.
Charles ignored the girl. His frightened stare was focused on Cain.
“They got free, found a phone.” The words spilled out in a panicky jumble, his voice an octave too high. “I had to stop them.”
Cain pushed Ally effortlessly into a slashed armchair.
“Very resourceful, Mr. Kent.” He spoke in a monotone, aware that everything had ended for him, his hopes and plans, his grand dreams-all of it ashes now. “Where did you get the gun”
“From your duffel bag. In the kitchen.”
Cain nodded slowly. “From my duffel bag …”
“I checked the clip. It’s loaded.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
He was very calm. He breathed in, out.
In. Out.
The little ritual he always performed before a kill.
77
Trish lunged for the steering wheel.
Out of reach.
The wall of pines rushed closer. The horn blared.
She stretched between the bucket seats. Her groping hand closed over the wheel and wrenched it hard to the left.
Scream of tires.
The van skidding.
Trees blurring past the windshield.
Rattle of branches, shatter of glass. Forked fingers thrust through a side window, then whipped away.
The van careened into the middle of the road, still speeding at sixty, slammed by every rut and pothole, the shocks creaking like old mattress springs.
She had to get Tyler’s boot off the accelerator.
Grunting with strain, she squeezed into the front compartment. Her wounded leg pulsed with angry flare-ups of pain. The bandage might have come loose; she thought she was bleeding again.
