Twisted (38 page)

Fury welled in her chest. He’d already done it. Weeks and weeks of tireless effort, and none of it had mattered. He’d probably killed Erika, too. And maybe he’d kill her while he was at it.

He turned around and watched her as he wiped the blade dry on the leg of his jeans. She refused to look at his erection. She tried to keep her face blank, tried not to show fear. Sweat streamed down her spine. She bunched her hands into fists so he wouldn’t see them shaking.

He turned his back on her and pulled a duffel bag out from the lower shelf of the workbench. One by one, he tossed the knives in, and she heard the blades clinking. He took a cardboard box from a shelf and started tossing things into it: a carton of latex gloves, a box of condoms. He reached above the knife rack and began untacking something from the wall. Newspaper clippings? Allison read one of the headlines as her heart thudded wildly. It was just like Mark had said—he followed his crimes in the media.

He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and crouched down in front of her.

“Time to go.” He uncuffed her from the pipe, then smashed her wrists together and held them against his groin as he fastened the second bracelet. He smiled as he stood and yanked her roughly to her feet.

“Where are we—”

Smack!
Pain exploded behind her cheekbone as he backhanded her. She blinked up at him, shocked. Her gaze went to the Glock in his hand, and she repressed the urge to kick him in the balls.

He grabbed her elbow and pulled her up the stairs. They stepped into a blindingly bright kitchen that smelled of beer. Something crunched beneath her boots. Shards of brown glass littered the floor. A chair lay on its side. Her gaze darted around the room, searching for Erika.

Moss jerked open a back door and hauled her through it. She stumbled to keep up with his long strides as he pulled her across the grass to the white van. The cargo door was open already and he shoved her inside. Through the dirty window, she watched him disappear into the house. The instant he was gone, she lunged for the door.

“Don’t do it.”

She turned to see Erika in the driver’s seat. She had a swollen eye and a bloody lip. In her hand was a big black revolver.

Allison eased away from the door, re-calculating her odds. Moss was a giant, but this woman was nothing. Allison could take her on in a heartbeat, even handcuffed. All she needed was a distraction.

“Erika, give me the gun.”

She didn’t move.

“I’m a police officer. I can help you. My team is on their way—”

She raised the gun and cocked it. “Sit,” she ordered, with surprising force.

Allison crouched lower in the back of the van, but still kept on the balls of her feet. She needed to be ready to move.

The cargo door opened again. Moss shoved a cardboard box into the back—the one with the gloves and news clippings in it. Allison noticed her jacket crumpled inside it, and on top was a dented can of turpentine. Moss slid a rusty shovel in next to the box and slammed the door again before returning to the house.

Allison’s fingers itched for the shovel, but Erika was watching her, still pointing that gun. How did that skinny arm manage to hold it up? And why didn’t she shoot the man who’d beaten the shit out of her? Clearly, she’d been brainwashed. Allison shuddered to think how long she’d been under his spell—how many years, how many women.

“Erika, think about this. I can help you.”

She continued to look blank, and Allison felt a spurt of panic. He’d be back any second.

“Erika,
look
what he’s doing.” She nodded at the box. “He’s packing, cleaning up loose ends. He’s getting rid of evidence. Erika, he’s going to
kill me
and he’s going to kill you, too, if you don’t do something about it.” Allison glanced around frantically. She spotted a silver hatchback parked across the yard. He must have used it this morning.

She looked at Erika now. “He plans to ditch your van later, doesn’t he?”

Something flickered in her eyes.

“He’s moving on, don’t you see? He’s done it before. And you know what happened to his girlfriend in California? He killed her just before he left the state. Burned her up in a bonfire, along with a box full of evidence from all his crimes there.” Allison could tell her crazy speech was making an impact, but she knew they didn’t have much time. She eased forward. If she could just get within lunging distance . . .

“Erika, he’s done with you—just like the van. You’re no different from the rest of them. He’ll kill you, too.”

The hand holding the gun started to wobble. Allison eased closer.

The door swung open and Moss slid into the passenger seat. He deftly removed the revolver from Erika’s fingers and handed her a set of keys.

“Drive,” he ordered.

And she did.

Tires skidded as they hit the juncture for Route 12. Mark scanned the landscape as he argued with Ben over the phone.

“What about the call?” Mark demanded. “Can’t you ping her phone?”

“I’m working on that.”

Allison’s cell-phone company should have been able to pinpoint her location using GPS, but forcing them to do it involved red tape.

“Best I’ve got right now is the location of the cell tower,” Ben said. “But you’re in a rural area, so the
coverage zone encompasses about thirty square miles.”

“Put it into your program,” Mark ordered. “See what it spits out.” He scanned the countryside dotted with farmhouses. Allison could be in any of them, or none of them. He looked at Jonah. “What do you have on hand in the way of firepower?”

“Twelve-gauge, Remington 700, couple of flashbangs.”

Mark glanced over his shoulder toward the trunk. “You’ve got a rifle back there?”

“I’m on SWAT,” Jonah said.

“Police sniper?”

“And hostage rescue.”

It was some of the best news Mark had heard all day, but it didn’t do them any good if they couldn’t find Allison. The FBI’s HR team was out of San Antonio, and Mark had them on standby, but the SAC—special agent in charge—of that office had made it clear he wouldn’t deploy them until there was a confirmed hostage situation, which they didn’t have right now.

“Okay, I’m bringing up a new map,” Ben said over the phone. “Now I’ve got a high-probability stretch of highway about twenty miles south of the juncture.”

Mark glanced around. He saw very little development—mostly outbuildings and fences.

A flash of white caught his eye.

“There!”

The car skidded to a halt. Jonah threw it in reverse, and Mark had already confirmed Allison’s white pickup sticking out from a clump of trees. Jonah pulled up behind it. He and Mark jumped out, weapons drawn. Mark’s chest tightened as he approached the driver’s-side door and peered inside.

No Allison.

A set of keys dangled from the ignition, and he traded looks with Jonah.

“It’s her granddad’s truck.” Jonah shook his head. “She wouldn’t leave the keys in it unless she planned to be right back.”

Mark reached into the police unit and used the key fob to pop the trunk. He grabbed the shotgun and a case of shells. Without a word, Jonah took out the rifle and a pair of binoculars. Mark loaded the gun with one hand while using the other to hang up on Ben and speed-dial the SAC. Mark’s fingers shook. All his hopes that this was some misunderstanding were long gone, and the HR team was twenty minutes away, even by helicopter.

Mark heard boots on metal and glanced up to see Jonah climbing onto the roof of the pickup, the Remington slung across his back. He used the binoculars to scan the surrounding area.

“Shit, I see them,” Jonah said.

“You see Allison?”

“White van, speeding across a field, ‘bout two clicks southwest of here.”

The SAC answered.

“I’ve got an abandoned police vehicle, officer not responding,” Mark said. “We need that HR team, stat.”

“Move,” Moss ordered Erika. “We don’t have all day.”

Allison crouched in the back of the van, waiting for her moment. She’d narrowed it down to two options: lunge into the front and wrestle the gun from Moss’s hand, or leap back and try to get the door open before Moss could react. Problem with the first option was that
the gun might go off. Problem with the second option was that the door might be locked
and
the gun might go off.

“Where are we going, Ed?” Erika’s shoulders hunched as she asked the question, and Allison thought he might hit her.

But he didn’t respond. He glanced back at Allison and his gaze lingered on her hands, which were still cuffed in front of her.

Should have cuffed my feet, too, asshole. I can run like the wind.

“Eddie?” The question was meek, and it earned her a glare.

“Shut up and drive.”

He glanced at Allison again. Did he notice she’d scooted toward the door? She’d decided going hand to hand with him was too risky. If Erika jumped in, it would be two on one.

Moss turned around to look at the road. “Up here, after the bridge,” he commanded.

Allison scooted back again.

They lurched right suddenly, then left. Moss’s voice bellowed through the van as it pitched forward. Allison thrust her arms out to catch herself. Her head smacked the side of the van. She saw stars and hurtled forward against the driver’s seat as they slammed into a ditch. The driver’s-side door popped open. Moss grabbed for Erika as she screamed and jumped out.

“Fucking
bitch
!”

He scrambled over the seat and jumped out after her. Allison dove into the front. Her head was still spinning as she tried to get her bearings. Keys still in the ignition.
But the front end of the van was crumpled against an embankment. She grabbed for the door handle and flung herself out the passenger side.

Shrieks and curses on the other side of the van. Allison scrambled to her feet and ran. A gunshot ripped through the air.

Mark heard the shots as he raced over the gravel road. He punched the gas.

“Shots fired,” Jonah’s voice said over the handheld radio.

“You see them?”

“Negative.”

“Signal when you do.”

Mark stepped on the gas, pushing the old pickup to fifty, fifty-five, sixty. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

Please be okay.

Maybe she was. Maybe she was the one shooting. But Mark had never been an optimist.

Allison lifted her head from the ground. She listened. Across the road somewhere was the unmistakable sound of someone moving through the bushes. The sound was getting closer.

In the distance, a car.

Allison’s heart skittered. The footsteps stopped. She remained motionless in the grass as the engine noise grew louder. The van door squeaked shut and she heard the cough and sputter of someone trying to start the engine. It wouldn’t catch. The noise drew closer—it was a truck.
Her
truck. Allison would know that sound anywhere.

Another metallic squeak as the van door opened again. She waited a beat. Two. She lifted her head above the reeds and got a flash of Moss’s dark hair as he disappeared into the brush, fleeing on foot.

Slowly, Allison stood up from the bushes where she’d lunged for cover at the sound of those gunshots. She felt dizzy. Her head throbbed. It took a moment to string her thoughts together.

Erika.

She ran back to the van. It sat at the north end of the low-water bridge, its grille smashed against the muddy embankment. The front doors hung open. Allison rushed to the driver’s side. She pulled the keys from the ignition and fumbled with them until she found the handcuff key. She jabbed it at the lock and unfastened the bracelets, all the while darting her gaze around for any sign of Moss.

Instead, she saw Erika. She lay on her stomach beside the creek. Allison ran to her side and checked her pulse, even though the unblinking eyes and the hole in the center of her back told Allison she was dead.

The truck roared up behind her. Mark leaped from the cab, and for a moment she thought she was hallucinating.

“I thought you went to Quantico.”

“You’re bleeding!” His raced up to her and touched the side of her face.

“It’s nothing. I—”

“What happened?”

“I hit my head.” She batted his hand away and glanced around. “He went that way.” She pointed to the creek as she jogged back to the van and yanked open
the cargo door. She dumped the box out on the metal floor and rummaged through everything. Beneath her balled-up jacket were her binoculars, her phone, her empty holster.

Her Glock.

He’d probably planned to toss it in a river somewhere after he torched the rest.
Detective Allison Doyle, erased from existence.

She snatched up the gun. No magazine. She rushed for her pickup.

“Allison,
stop.
”

She glanced back at Mark, who was on his phone with 911. She ignored him and yanked open the glove compartment. Two spare magazines. She shoved one in the gun and the other into her back pocket.

Mark was on the radio with someone now as he stalked across the road. “That’s
west
of the low-water bridge.” He looked at Allison. “Which side of the creek?”

“I don’t know. North? The house is that way, but he’d risk running into our backup. Still, he needs a car.”

“She thinks north. Okay, ten-four.”

He dropped the radio in his pocket and took her by the shoulders.

“Allison, your head’s bleeding. You need to sit down.”

“He’s getting away!”

“We’re going after him.” He glanced at the gun in her hand. “You need to sit down and wait for the ambulance.”

“Like hell I will! He shot that woman in the
back
, Wolfe. Now he’s armed and desperate. I’m not sitting anywhere until we bring him in!”

Mark gazed down at her. He had that intense hunter’s look again, and she knew how it felt now.

“He’s got a thirty-eight, and probably a knife.” She shook off his hands and headed for the woods.