Table for Three-Hold the Blood

by Romans, Bobbi

  "Lay a hand on so much a hair on their heads, and I swear by all that is holy you will be the one screaming for mercy," she vowed.

  "Your loyalties are to be commended, but they are blindly placed. One of your men is not who he claims to be."

  Well, that got her attention. She didn't doubt either of her guys, but for psycho killer to make a baiting statement like that? Hell, even his tone of voice suggested he knew one of them. There was some kind of truth in his statement. She could feel it in her gut.

  "Fine. I'll bite. What do you know that I don't?"

  "Be careful, pretty, and remember the old saying."

  "Which one, asshole?"

  "That curiosity killed the cat."

  "Fine, don't tell me. I think you're a lying, pansy-ass sack of shit anyway."

  "Me? Speak untruths? Oh, no, pretty, that would be your dear lover, Marklon."

  So the connection was with Marklon.

  "Go on."

  Silence.

  "Oh, gee, cat got your tongue?"

  "Yes, just deciding exactly how much to tell you."

  "You plan on killing me anyway, so why not everything?"

  "Good point, but, truthfully, I haven't decided on anything concerning you yet. I wouldn't want his suffering ending too quickly. Right now, not knowing if you are dead or alive, or tastier yet, being tortured, is driving him to near madness. What a decadent treat to observe his misery after all these years."

  This was very, very personal. A grudge of some kind. She tried to make mental notes of his voice, his appearance, any telltale markings she might have seen. His quips about previously knowing Marklon. If she got out of this mess, any or all of what she picked up might be of crucial value.

  "You talk as if you know Marklon."

  "Yes. Sort of. He and I go way back."

  "So, what's your beef with Marklon? Why kill all these people? What have any of us ever done to you?"

  "What have any of you ever done? What haven't any of you done is the better question."

  "I'm not following."

  "You wouldn't now, would you?" Black hatred was evident in his sneer.

  She picked up the sound of distant ringing, and, though she heard it on the transistor, she could have sworn it also echoed outside the vault's doors. Her blood, which had been boiling from anger a minute ago, suddenly froze. He was trying to trick her into thinking he wasn't near when he was standing just outside the damn doors.

  Did he know she'd managed to remove the shackle? Is that why he came back? Or was he merely toying with her?

  She'd seen enough; it was time for action. Maybe, if this asshole got a surprise of his own, she could leave his ass hanging in the dark. Or, if nothing else, locked in the tomb. Worked for her.

  She launched off the crypt, and, using the chain from the shackle as a weapon, took out the box with the blinking red light.

  She may not know what he had planned, but he didn't know what she had planned either!

  Chapter Seven

  Soup Du Jour

  She stood in a dark corner, heart pounding as adrenaline rushed through her. Holding the now-warped knife in a death grip in one hand, the chain and shackle quietly in the other, she fought to still the trembling overtaking her body. She didn't move, kept her breathing light and shallow as to not give her whereabouts away, and watched as the heavy mausoleum door began to creak open.

  "How unbecoming of you. Do you realize how costly your tantrum will be?"

  Gordon squinted as though he were near blind when he came in from the bright outdoors.

  When she saw the noonday sun stream through the doorway, her question about how much time had passed since her abduction was answered. She must have stayed unconscious throughout the night. She leaned further back into the darkened corner, carefully avoiding the incoming light.

  He hadn't found her yet, but, hello, there were only so many hiding spots in a place like this. He moved closer toward the crypt. She'd taken time to nudge the lid slightly ajar, so it would appear someone hid within. Or so she hoped.

  Sure enough, he seemed to take the bait. He drew closer to the crypt, turning his back to corner where she stood.

  One—

  Two—

  Three—

  Giving him no chance to adjust to the dark, she sprang, slinging the chain and driving the knife simultaneously. The chain wrapped around his neck as the knife sliced through his upper arm, but she lost her grip, and the knife skittered to the ground before sliding across the room. She wrapped her hands around the chains and held on for all she was worth, kicking and kneeing him as hard as possible.

  Subdue, maim, kill. All those thoughts and more raced through her mind.

  He bucked her off so hard she hit the concrete wall. She struck it with enough force that the air shot painfully from her lungs. She swore she felt a rib crack. He'd dropped to his knees; gasping for air, he brought his hands to his throat desperately grabbing at the chains. She didn't have enough fight left for another round, so she forced her feet under her and ran like hell.

  A hand grabbed her ankle, bringing her down hard on her knees. She felt his hands gripping her and his body rise across hers. She twisted as she swung, clawed, and kicked, blindly lashing out at whatever part of him she could. Steadying one foot under her in a stooped position, she reached out for anything to use as a weapon. Her hands ended up in the gooey, bitty remains of John Doe, effectively knocking him half on top of her. The sudden weight and stench hit her like a ton of bricks. With Gordon on her flank, yanking her toward him between his urgent gasps of air, she couldn't waste time dwelling on the disgust. His hands were like claws against her legs, brutally digging in. She grasped one of John Doe's broken rib bones, the only sharp thing within reach.

  She forced back the urge to vomit. Using her last bit of energy, she snapped the bone from his torso. Flipping the rib in her hand over until the jagged edge was down, she jammed it in the side of Gordon's head as hard and deep as she could. As he clutched at his face, she bolted out of the mausoleum.

  Terrified, she wove in between and leapt over old headstones and plot markers until she reached the forest wall. She knew better than to pause, even for a second as she continued ducking in and out of large evergreens and tiny saplings, ignoring the sting as branches and needles swiped at her skin. Freedom would be hers if she stayed ahead of the murderous bastard behind her. She remembered large plots of land in this area had been rezoned and prayed she would come across a house, road, or better yet another living person.

  She figured with her luck she'd be in an all-but-forgotten abandoned cemetery deep in the forest. At least now she had her bearings as to which way to run and where she'd end up. She had to hope someone happened to be using the old dirt service road she sprinted for. Though it was daylight, between her lack of clothes and fear, she felt as cold as ice.

  Fish and Wildlife monitored the area around the cemetery, which was a notorious site for poaching animals out of season, so she thought, with a little luck, she might run across someone.

  But then she heard a strange, loud, whirring buzz, and it was coming from too damned close behind her.

  A fucking chainsaw? Are you fucking serious?

  Oh, geez, but if that didn't have her wanting to piss herself. She needed a weapon, any weapon, and she needed to hunker down somewhere and hide. Her mind raced as fast as her heart while she tried to form one coherent, non-terrified thought.

  If memory served her right, there was an old cavern system nearby just ahead on her left. She hid behind an enormous, ancient silver maple, flattening herself against its enormous trunk. She listened intently for the saw, trying to figure exactly how far behind her and where, to the right or to the left, he really was. Wouldn't ya know, the whirring stopped. Relief flooded her when the terrifying chain saw stopped, but, sadly, that also meant s
he lost the sense of where Gordon was and if he still moved in her general direction. Damn! Not one freaking twig snapped. She feared her loud breathing would give her location away. She clamped a hand over her mouth as she tried to force herself to breathe through her nose.

  Cautiously, she peered from around the tree. She forced herself into a calm and froze, looking out for any sure signs of movement. After what seemed an anxious eternity, she heard the faint sound of a branch breaking, and an ever so slight movement of light caught her eyes. A second later, she caught the silvery glint of the chainsaw.

  Shit!

  He was a lot closer than she'd hoped, but, from his movements, she guessed he didn't have a clue which way she'd run or where she currently hid.

  Staying motionless, she watched as he continued heading away from her, slowly, but away nonetheless. She kept her guard up, following his every movement.

  Once he had moved outside her line of sight, she bolted for the cave, not stopping until the dark forced her to. She wound her way toward the only light visible in the darkness. The chilled moist air had her bones aching and feet near numb, but she stumbled forth toward the faint sounds of water dripping. Maybe there was a hole in the ceiling of the cave? Something large enough for her to escape through perhaps? If water seeped in, there had to be an opening somewhere.

  The light flickered a bit brighter until she found a crevice barely big enough for one person, turning sideways, to squeeze through. The chamber she encountered on the other side was quite enormous and lit by gas lanterns. The cot, shelves of food, and a small camping stove indicated someone had been staying here a long time. This wasn't just kids camping or partying for the weekend.

  Skittishly entering, Shana took everything in, including the ever-growing stench assailing her nostrils—god-awful and smelling like a putrid combination of bad eggs, rotten potatoes, spoiled milk, and moldy onions.

  Huge Rubbermaid containers, each bearing a recipe title on its front, lined a long wall. What the hell kinda recipe would require a box full of ingredients? She read a few of the titles—haggis, sweet breads, mountain oysters, sausage casings.

  Flies swarmed round the containers, and even more dead ones lay on the ground at their bases.

  Then it hit her. Hard. Face-plant hard. She knew what the boxes most likely contained. She had to be certain though. She had to be ready for the showdown that was no doubt coming. Heart heavy, feet sluggish, and stomach rolling, she ambled toward the containers.

  She tuned out her instinct to run and cracked open a lid. If she thought the smell bad earlier, nothing could have prepared her for the stench now. She puked before she could even bring herself to look within.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she glanced behind her for any signs or sounds of movement. None. Still alone. She prayed he was still headed away from her and not toward.

  Gingerly, she lifted the lid further and peered within.

  Encased in some sort of liquid she assumed was a preservative floated an array of body parts. The entire tub looked like a giant vat of soup du jour. A doctor she wasn't, but she didn't need to be to know what the floating, gelatinous organs were. She closed the lid and decided against checking the others.

  She was in Gordon's—The Chef's—lair, and, though should be hauling ass about now, she wanted to snoop around checking for clues as to who he was and what his motives were.

  Over by the cot stood more containers bearing labels such as "clothes" and "books." Maybe one of the bins held a clue about why he was doing this and how to stop him.

  She popped one open, felt around, confirming it was filled with clothes and nothing else before moving on to the one marked "books," hoping it would be more enlightening. Photo albums containing pictures as well as old newspapers clippings looked promising.

  Again, she listened intently for any sounds of someone approaching. Hearing none, she began studying the contents of the container for information.

  She found pictures of a baby with a beautiful, dark-haired woman she supposed were of Gordon and his mother. She pulled out more pictures of the woman and baby followed by clippings of Mayor Marks' inauguration, his engagement, and his wedding. The last photo was a clipping of the birth announcement for the mayor's first child with a large "X" hand-drawn across it.

  So, what was the connection between Marklon, the Mayor, and Gordon? There obviously was one, but what it might be still eluded her.

  The last pages of the album chilled her to the bone. They were all photos of Marklon. Baby photos marked "Marklon, six months," "Marklon, one year," all the way through graduation. Each photo was accompanied by notes of his accomplishments.

  The next album she picked up struck her with more terror than the last. It was filled with photos of all three of them, Erron, Marklon, and herself.

  Dinners out, vacations, even grainy long-distance photos taken of them in bed during nice summer evenings when they'd left the windows open. Digging still further into the albums, she found photos of herself nude, getting into the hot tub.

  This asshole had been stalking them for years, and they'd been utterly clueless. What the fuck was his beef with them?

  A scraping sound drew her attention back toward the crevice where she'd entered. Quickly tucking everything back into its rightful place, she crept to the opening and listened. It wasn't close yet, but she heard the distinct echo of footsteps. And they were headed her way. She slid back through the opening and into the oblivion of darkness and waited. It wasn't long before she made out the outline of Gordon slinking his way into the cavern.

  Frozen to the spot, she continued to wait, pleading with karma he'd lay down and nap or something, giving her the chance to haul ass.

  It had been quiet for some time when she decided to make her move and flee. She wasn't sure if he was sleeping, but no sounds came from the lair. She inched her way toward the mouth of the cave, keeping to the shadows the best she could. Relief flooded her when she caught sight of the light ahead. She should have known things in her life never went this smoothly. Sleep-deprived and edgy, she never heard the steps behind her!

  Chapter Eight

  Humble Pie

  Hands dug into her shoulder blades, bit in hard. A leg kicked hers out from beneath her. Shana hit the ground and instinctively rolled away, but not nearly fast enough. He landed on her in a flash, pinning her beneath him.

  Knuckles slammed across her jaw and sent her head reeling. He hit her so hard stars swam in her vision and her teeth rattled. Shana fought to stay alert and aware of her surroundings. She screamed as another fist smashed into her.

  "Fuck you!" she screamed, swinging her arms as wildly and viciously as her flagging energy allowed. With him sitting on her legs and the pain of the brutal blows pounding her head, all she managed were a few loose jabs.

  She stiffened her fingers. Her nails hooked like talons as she dug deep into his fleshy cheeks. Warmth hit her fingertips, indicating she'd found the injury given earlier. His scream was music to her ears as she continued digging deep. She wriggled her fingers about to cause as much pain as she possibly could until she forced him to move from atop her legs. His momentary disadvantage was her big chance. She threw her legs up hard and fast, tossing him over her head. Whipping around with all her might, she maneuvered from beneath him and grabbed the only thing she found available. A large rock on the base of the floor.

  Rage marred her conscious as she smashed downward. She continued striking again and again as madness took hold of her. Red invaded her vision, and black filled her heart as she tried to kill him, only stopping when he stopped moving.

  She fled, screaming like a banshee. She didn't even comprehend what she was screaming. She cried, screamed, and ran until her lungs burned from the effort. Help and safety seemed far away, but she wasn't stopping until found them.

  The sound of a four-wheel drive vehicle came into earsho
t, and she forced herself past the pain radiating through her and bee-lined in the direction of the vehicle and salvation.

  Locked tires, a blaring horn, and a cursing driver had her heart leaping with joy, as did sliding into the unlocked driver's side door of the Fish and Wildlife vehicle.

  "We have to go, now!" she told the driver, buckling up before the poor man had a chance to even acknowledge the half-naked, crazed woman who'd just jumped into his car uninvited.

  "Whoa, hold on." The driver became serious, though he didn't move for his gun.

  "You don't understand, the killer...he's not far away." Everything came out in one big whoosh of air. Yeah, she sounded borderline insane, but she needed to make him understand and pronto.

  "Please, go. We need to go now." She didn't wait for his response before bursting into tears from frustration, fear, and exhaustion.

  "Floor it!"

  After a quick visual appraisal from him—she assumed he must have taken note of the cuff mark on her bare ankle, the bloody abrasions, and the blood splatter, as well as the bruising from head to toe—he must have concurred with the need for speed. The vehicle made a quick U-turn, and the officer called in everything she'd reported after handing her one of those silver emergency blankets from a kit he'd grabbed in the backseat. Once she calmed down enough to relate what had happened in clear fashion, she spouted off to the best of her knowledge the location of the cave and the mausoleum.

  They hadn't even completed the stop at the precinct before her door jerked open. Large steely arms pulled her out, encasing her in strength and warmth as curses and swearing flew in the background. Tears of relief that she was truly safe and sound overtook her when her guys came into view. They were safe, she was safe, and her nightmare was over.

  Her guys had her, Erron and Marklon, and nothing else at the moment mattered.