Abby’s mouth flattened. “I don’t like it.”
“I know, but please do it anyway.”
“I’ll give you five minutes.” She glanced up at the sky and shivered. Night had descended in full. Heavy cloud cover and driving rain blocked any possible moonlight.
“Are you all right? It’s dark.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, clearly lying through her clenched teeth.
But there wasn’t anything Ethan could do about the darkness. To contact Abby, Derek was risking being returned to the foster home. He could be in big trouble. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
Ethan jogged across Mr. Sheridan’s rear yard. His boots slipped. Sleet, rain, and snow pelted the exposed skin of his face. Crouching below window height, he made a quick circuit of the house. Coming around to the back again, he tripped. There was something solid under his feet. He scraped away three inches of shitty wet snow. Bulkhead doors. Ethan gave the handle a light tug. No lock?
Rusted hinges yielded with a slow groan. Ethan pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined the beam down the stairs before descending. The cellar was empty except for the usual basement fixtures: washer, dryer, furnace, boxes of old junk.
Ethan crossed the slab. Wooden steps led up into the house. At the top of the stairs, he put his eye to the crack under the door. A short hall opened into a room. Shadows moved. More than one person.
A woman screamed.
Abby checked the time on her phone. Nerves jittered in her belly. Six minutes had passed since Ethan disappeared into the basement, and she’d had no response from Derek.
A muffled female scream carried across the freezing rain. Krista? Had to be. Mr. Sheridan lived alone.
Abby ran toward the back of the house. Ethan had gone into the basement more than five minutes ago. Was he all right? Was Derek inside too?
Even up close, she couldn’t see in the windows. She crept up to the back door. Wait. She peered through a tiny crack between the window frame and the blind. With the limited view, she could see the feet and lower legs of someone lying on the floor. Something red was smeared on the pale gray tile. The shoes were black, bulky, and looked orthopedic. Mr. Sheridan. Was he alive?
Abby strained for the sound of approaching sirens but heard nothing but freezing rain and sleet filtering through foliage and pinging off every surface. Heart thumping, she approached the bulkhead doors where Ethan had disappeared a few minutes before.
She put one foot on the first step and bent over to see into the space. The basement was dark. Way darker than the yard. Her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light outside. But down there…
Inside the sleeves of her winter coat, goose bumps crawled up Abby’s arms as she stared into the black hole. Dark and below ground. Like the well. Like a grave.
Leading with his gun, Ethan eased the basement door open. The house was small. A short hallway opened into a living room.
“Whoever you are, get your ass in here or I’ll slice the kid’s tongue out.”
Ethan’s stomach dropped. He stepped around the corner and took in the scene with a wave of nausea. Derek was taped to a chair, his body sideways to Ethan. Tears and blood dripped down the side of the boy’s face. Joe was on Derek’s other side, using the kid’s body as a shield. Joe had the kid’s mouth pried open with one hand, the glistening knife poised with the other. Ethan couldn’t shoot. Not without hitting Derek.
In his peripheral vision, Ethan could see Krista lying on the floor. She wasn’t moving.
“Put the knife down, Joe,” Ethan said.
“No fucking way.” Joe’s hands shook. His eyes were the unnatural black of a meth addict. “You put your gun down or the kid never talks again.” Joe demonstrated his willingness with a poke at Derek’s tongue. The boy’s whimper was distorted by the hard grip on his lower jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
But if Ethan put down his gun, what would stop Joe from doing anything he wanted to Derek? Absolutely nothing.
Ethan needed to stall. Surely backup would be here any minute. “I’ll lower the gun if you take the knife away from his face.”
“Fuck you.”
“I think what we have here is a stalemate.”
“Bullshit. You can’t shoot me without hitting the kid, and you know it.” Joe’s eyes gleamed. He was enjoying the power and control. “Drop the gun or I start cutting bits of the kid off.”
A thin line of blood trickled from the edge of Derek’s mouth. Ethan’s body tensed.
“Don’t come any closer.” Joe slid the knife out of Derek’s mouth. More blood welled. The blade must have sliced the boy’s tongue. Joe lifted the kid’s jaw, stretching his neck out and positioning the sharp edge of the weapon along the jugular vein.
Ethan didn’t move.
“Drop the gun and kick it over here.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Terror had cranked Derek’s eyes wide open.
But Ethan knew that dropping his gun meant they were helpless. “I can’t do that, Joe.” The situation had gone from bad to worst-case scenario. Where was his backup? And what were they going to do when they got here? Joe was an alarming mix of cunning and meth-addict crazy. “Look, why don’t you let the kid go? I’ll let you have me instead.”
“As long as I have this kid, I have you. But I’m sure you called for backup. Two hostages are better than one.” Joe grinned and nicked Derek’s neck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Don’t think about it. People could be dying. No time for a panic attack.
But Abby’s belly cramped and her pulse went into overdrive as she stepped down again. The steps were wooden and rickety. The third tread squeaked. Abby moved to the side to minimize any more sound. Descending to the bottom, Abby squinted into the darkness. Six steps led to the basement floor. Her boots scuffed on the dusty cement. The scant gray light from the open door ended two feet in front of her. Her next step would take her into total darkness.
Murmured voices drew Abby into the basement shadows. She shook ice crystals from her jacket and pushed her dripping hood off her head. Her outerwear was waterproof. The beads of moisture running between her shoulder blades and pooling at the base of her spine were pure sweat. Her eyes adjusted to the reduced light. A large angular shape loomed on the other side of the room. She shuffled across the slab. Stairs.
Abby crept up. At the top, the door was open. Staying low, she peered over the top step. At the end of a short, dim corridor, Ethan’s back was to her. He was pointing his gun forward. Eight or so feet in front of him, she could see Derek in a chair and Joe using the boy as a shield. Derek’s face and mouth were bleeding, his neck and light gray jacket wet and red. Anger and pity burned in Abby’s chest as Joe made a shallow cut in the boy’s neck.
A low moan came from Derek.
And suddenly Abby wasn’t afraid for herself anymore. Nothing that could happen to her could be worse than Joe hurting Derek.
“Put the gun down, cop,” Joe said.
No! A fresh burst of fear coursed through Abby.
Ethan and Joe were at a standoff, but Joe would win because Ethan’s heart must be twisting as hard as Abby’s at the sight of the bleeding, terrified child. Once Ethan put his gun down, he’d be in danger too.
“Come on, Joe. Take me instead of the kid,” Ethan offered.
Oh my God. Not Ethan. He’d taught her to trust, to be a part of a relationship rather than a separate and lost soul. She couldn’t let anything happen to him.
She loved him.
Joe shook his head. “Do I look stupid? There’s no way I’m taking a cop hostage.”
The answer brought calm to Abby’s trembling limbs. Joe didn’t want Ethan. Joe wanted Abby. She could feel it in the marrow of her bones. There was only one solution to the problem, something Joe wouldn’t be able to turn down—her.
She was a twofer: contract completion and get-out-of-jail-free card.
Abby tucked the gun securely in the back of her jeans and pulled her wet jacket down over it. Then she walked out of the basement, hands up, palms facing Joe in a submissive position. “You don’t really want him, do you, Joe?”
“Look who it is, the bitch who wouldn’t die.” Joe’s eyes brightened. “You have more lives than a fucking cat.”
“Abby, what are you doing?” Ethan yelled. “Get out of here.”
She ignored him and kept her eyes focused on Joe. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll trade me for them. It’s your only chance of getting out of here, and you know it. The police will be here in a couple of minutes.”
Hope gleamed in Joe’s eyes.
Abby pressed forward another step. “Come on. Let’s go. You and I can drive out of here right now. Everyone else stays.”
Joe froze with indecision. Sweat dripped from his temple down his cheek.
“Minutes, Joe. They’ll be here in minutes.” Abby willed her voice not to shake. Fear shook her bones. Not for herself. That had passed. No, now she was afraid he wouldn’t take her offer. That he had a death wish and he’d want stay here and engage in a go-out-in-a-blaze-of-glory type shoot-out with the police.
But along with the drug high, hope shone through his dilated eyes. Joe didn’t have a death wish. He wanted an out.
“What do you think is going to happen if you stay here?” She inched forward. “I’m the one you’ve wanted all along, right?”
Joe licked his lips. Could he taste his freedom? Abby hoped so. As much as she didn’t want to go with him, she needed to get him away from Derek and Ethan. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to either of them. She seemed doomed to attract killers anyway. Even if she escaped this one, another was sure to follow. She should never have formed any personal relationships. The danger to Ethan, Derek, and Krista was all her fault.
She moved around Ethan, staying too far away for him to reach her and make her stop.
“Abby, don’t do this,” Ethan said.
She stopped a few feet in front of Joe. “What do you say?”
The answer was in the ready-to-roll set of Joe’s body. “Turn around.”
Abby pivoted, giving him her back. She met Ethan’s gaze across the room. Her own terror was reflected back at her. He silently pleaded with her. But the decision was made.
Joe moved faster than she anticipated. In an instant, he was behind her. One hand grabbed her shoulder. The sharp edge of the knife pressed into the skin of her neck. She arched backward to keep the blade off her neck and the gun in her waistband from touching Joe.
“Don’t come after us. I’ll slit her throat.” Joe steered her away.
“You’re going to kill her anyway,” Ethan said.
“True,” Joe admitted. “But I’ll kill her right now as opposed to later.”
Abby stumbled over something. Without moving her chin, she cast her gaze downward. Mr. Sheridan lay on the kitchen floor. Blood covered his clothing from a gaping wound in his neck. The sight made it very clear what the knife at her neck could do with a small movement. Guilt swamped her, weakening her spine. Mr. Sheridan’s death was all her fault too.
“In there,” Joe prompted.
Abby opened the door in front of her. It led into the two-car garage. Joe’s blue pickup was parked next to Mr. Sheridan’s four-door Mercury. Joe handed keys to Abby over her shoulder. “You drive.”
He pressed a button on the wall. With a whirring noise, the garage door rattled up. Joe pushed her into the passenger side. Lowering the knife to point at her belly, he forced her to scoot across the bench seat of the truck.
OK. This was bad. He had a knife pointed at her side, but she was armed too. And wouldn’t that come as a surprise to Joe? Unfortunately, there was no way she could pull her gun in her current position. She reached for the seat belt.
“No seat belt for you.” Joe flicked the knife across her side. The point ripped through her insulated jacket. “No crashing the car on purpose.” He fastened his own belt.
Still, he couldn’t stab her while she was driving. He’d wait until he was safe before eliminating his hostage. Eventually, they’d stop. All Abby needed was a few feet of space. If she could just get out of arm’s reach, she could shoot him.
“Go!” He poked her in the ribs. Pain burned her side as the knifepoint sank into her skin. Blood trickled warm down her hip.
Abby backed out of the garage into the street. Shifting into drive, she hit the gas too hard. The tires spun. Joe gave her another tiny jab. Blood, wet and warm, soaked her jeans. “Take it easy.”
She eased up on the accelerator. The truck rolled forward, and she drove out of the development. The neighborhood was a gray, wet misery.
“Make a right.” Joe turned on the heater. Warm air blew from the vents, but Abby’s bones shivered.
She made a slow turn onto the country road that led away from town. The asphalt was covered in a thin sheet of freezing rain. Ice clumped on the wipers. She turned on the defrosters.
“Not too fast.” Joe swiveled his head around to look behind them. “We don’t want to attract any attention.”
Sirens wailed, but Abby was driving away from them.
“My luck has finally changed.” Joe opened the glove compartment. Abby’s gut went colder than the slush on the windshield. He pulled out a gun.
Ethan’s lungs seized as the door closed behind Abby and Joe.
No! She was gone. He had to go after her.
A whimper from Derek shook Ethan out of his daze. How badly was the kid hurt?
“You have to find her.” Derek’s shaky words were slurred, and speech was clearly painful.
Sirens wailed thin in the distance.
“I know.” Ethan’s gaze jerked to Krista, unconscious on the floor. Her chest was rising and falling. “Help is on the way.”
Derek nodded, jerking his head toward the door. “Please. Go.”
Ethan ran to the garage. He grabbed a set of keys on a wall peg and jumped in the big sedan. Taking Mr. Sheridan’s car was faster than running back to Abby’s house for the pickup. He stopped at the exit of the development. Which way?
Away from the sirens, he decided, and turned right. The mixed precipitation had turned to 100 percent freezing rain. The visibility was as shitty as the traction. The road surface was black and slick as an oil patch. Ethan could feel the ice slide under the tires, but he pushed the car anyway.
They couldn’t have gotten far.
A blue spot in the distance gave him hope. He accelerated.
Please, let her not be dead.
Ethan drew closer. An SUV. Not Abby.
Where was she?
Once Abby had put a few miles between Joe and the people she loved, fear for her own safety gathered fresh in her throat. She was alone with a killer, a man who’d already tried to kill her twice.
“Slow down.” Joe pointed to an intersection ahead. “Turn left up there.”
“Why do you want to kill me?” Abby glanced over.
“You don’t get to ask the questions.” Joe slid the knife into a sheath at his belt and rested the gun casually across his thigh. The muzzle wasn’t pointed at her. What were her options? “This time I’m making sure you are a hundred percent dead. A bullet won’t look like an accident, but it’s fast and efficient. I followed you until you pulled over, then waited for you to pass out. I drove your car to the creek. You were out cold when I pushed your car into the water. I had to hike two miles back to my vehicle in that fucking sleet storm. There’s no way you should have been able to escape. I put enough juice in your bottle to put you under for hours.”
“I saved half for after my run.”
“Well, fuck me. I didn’t think of that.” Joe scratched his chin. “You escaped my chemic
al bombs too. No matter. No screwing around this time.”
“What if I pay you to not kill me?” she asked.
“There are some people you don’t turn on. What you’re going to do right now is shut the fuck up. I got you. No more lucking out for you. I’m going to do this once and for all.” Joe sounded relaxed and confident. Since they’d turned off the main road a few miles back, he’d stopped looking through the back window every ten seconds.
There went that idea. Back to finding a way to escape. She could crash the car. But Joe was wearing his seat belt. She wasn’t. Driving into a tree would likely be worse for her than him. Slamming on the brakes wouldn’t work on the icy road.
“Make a left,” he said.
Abby turned. The truck fishtailed, but she straightened it out. A mile later, the road curved to the right. Just ahead, the Packman Creek bubbled on the other side of a narrow strip of grass. She’d woken up in the creek just a couple of miles downstream from here. Abby eased through the next turn with more care. She did not want to end up in the creek again.
Or did she?
She shivered at the memory of being submerged in the frigid water. She might not get so lucky a second time. Drowning was a definite possibility. But could anything be worse than whatever Joe had in mind? If she went to their final, private destination, she was facing a bullet to the head.
Joe sat up and started scanning the area with a critical eye. Was he looking for a place to kill her and dump her body? His fingers twitched on the gun. He checked the load. “Pull over here.”
His gun was in his hand. Hers was at her back. Could she get it out while climbing out of the car before Joe shot her? Doubtful.
Her gaze slipped to the churning creek. A slim possibility of escape was better than none at all.
She jerked the wheel. The car skidded on an angle toward the bank of the creek. A bump sent her flopping over the steering wheel.
She Can Hide (She Can Series) Page 25
