Forced to Kill (30 page)

He ran in a low crouch along the base of a carnival ride’s platform and stopped at its entry stairs. He stole another look to the south, but again, saw no one. He studied his new surroundings for a few seconds. More crimson footprints led the way down the concrete walkway. From the spacing, it seemed like Montez was doing his best to run. The temptation to run after him had to be checked. That’s exactly what Montez wanted.
Slow down
.
Think
.
Use the environment
.
What’s available? What’s the best way to advance deeper into the park
without getting ambushed?

***

Satisfied, Montez ducked between a couple of souvenir kiosks in the middle of the park’s main walkway. McBride would have to expose himself to advance up the same route he’d just traversed. To his right, a concrete wall protected some sort of vomit-producing thrill ride. On his left, bumper cars. This location gave him a clear, uninterrupted view of the park’s main walk. Tactically sound. McBride would be an easy target.

His grimace from the mounting leg pain turned into a smile when he saw McBride dart from one side of the walkway to the other and duck behind a trash container.

Got you
.

***

The trash bins.

They offered a solid tactical opportunity. Spaced every twenty to thirty feet and made of three-inch thick concrete, they created perfect leapfrog stations. He’d dash from trash bin to trash bin and work his way down the interior.

He looked over his shoulder the way he’d come. No one. But the approaching sirens grew louder, definitely closing from more than one direction. He couldn’t afford a prolonged chase in here. Time to up the stakes and force Montez’s hand.

Everything hinged on his belief that Montez felt more pressure than he did.

He sprinted forward to the opposite side of the walkway and ducked behind the next trash bin. The renewed pain under his feet caused by starting and stopping felt like running on a bed of nails, but it couldn’t be helped. Leaving himself exposed for more than a few seconds, especially in this well-lit area, invited a bullet. He saw Montez’s bloody footprints continue down the concrete, but lost sight of them fifteen yards further on. He peered over the top of the trash bin. All clear. The park remained deserted. Where were the security guards?

A split second before making his next move, his answer arrived. A security guard rounded the corner at the south entrance of the park and jogged directly toward him.

He couldn’t stay in his current position without a high risk of being seen, but ducking into the courtyard to his right meant losing sight of the main walkway and potentially losing Montez for good. Not an option.

He watched the security guard for a few seconds and decided to stay put. The guard had obviously heard Montez’s gunshot and was hustling over to investigate. With a little luck, the guard would turn right and take a shortcut past the southern end of the roller coaster. If not, maybe the guard would run past his hiding place without looking back. Was the guard armed? If so, the situation might escalate. He didn’t want to deal with an armed, and likely nervous, rent-a-cop.

***

Montez watched McBride poke his head out from behind the trash bin, then quickly pull back. Had he been seen? It seemed unlikely. This hiding place offered deep shadow. No way he’d been seen. He peered around the corner in the opposite direction and saw what had made McBride duck.

A security guard.

Running right toward him.

He raised his gun.

***

Nathan watched the security guard turn right at the mini-motorboat ride and head for the east perimeter. He didn’t know how long the guard would be gone, so he used this opportunity to advance to the next trash bin.

His new threat areas became the souvenir kiosks in the middle of the walkway and a blind corner on the left side. Scratch the blind corner, the security guard would’ve seen Montez.

He craned his neck above the trash bin and saw the bloody footprints continue past the kiosks, but he couldn’t see how far. The low angle didn’t allow him to see much beyond the kiosks, and he wasn’t about to stand up for a better look. He began to wonder if Montez had bolted all the way through the park. Montez could be getting into a prearranged escape vehicle in the southern parking lot. That could’ve been his plan all along—to take a pursuer down a difficult gauntlet riddled with multiple ambush points in order to buy enough time for an escape out the south end.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Following the bloody footprints, Nathan sprinted in a low crouch past the souvenir kiosks.

Something flashed through his mind as he ran.

A scene in a movie he’d recently watched.

One that featured a trail of footprints.

Which movie was it?

The Shining
.

***

Montez adjusted his position to follow the guard’s exit from the main walkway. As he did, he heard motion behind him. McBride must’ve raced past his position toward the south entrance. He readjusted his position to get a shot from behind. He poked his head around the corner, trained his weapon on McBride’s back, and smiled.

***

 The bloody footprints suddenly ended.

Right in the middle of the walkway? Impossible.

Montez couldn’t fly, but he could—

Backtrack!

Nathan hit the deck and rolled to his left, seeking the cover of a small landscaped alcove.

Steeling himself for a bullet, he inwardly cursed.

***

Montez couldn’t believe it. Without warning, McBride dropped and rolled into cover. What tipped him off? The bloody footprint ruse should’ve worked. He’d fully expected McBride to freeze in confusion and turn around. But it didn’t happen. The man obviously had a quick mind
and
swift reactions.

Now what? The blood pooling in his shoe reflected the desperation of his situation. He didn’t have time for a prolonged engagement.

And that security guard could return at any moment.

He needed a new plan. Fast.

***

The bullet never came.

He flattened himself against the wall inside a small alcove and took a deep breath.

Stephen King, I owe you one.

Now what? There wasn’t time to wait for Montez’s next move.

  And the security guard could reappear any second. SDPD too. One of their A-Star helicopters was probably on the way.

He scanned the concrete for drops of blood toward the south. Nothing. If Montez had hopped on one foot to disguise his blood trail, there’d still be drops of blood going that direction.

He needed options.

Think, Nathan.

Think.

And then it came to him.

***

A sickening chill hammered Montez as he realized what was happening.
No. Not now
!

His cell phone had chirped to life.

He’d forgotten to mute it. In the near silence of the park, it sounded like a blaring car alarm. He quickly switched gun hands and reached into his pants pocket. He needed to silence the damned thing before it rang a third time.

***

Without hesitating, Nathan pocketed his phone and sprinted toward the ringing sound, his approach silent.

Gun first, he approached the souvenir kiosks from the opposite side of the walkway. He knew he’d scored a direct hit when the ringing ended in the middle of the third chime. It hadn’t lasted long enough to be forwarded to voice mail.

Montez.

But there were three kiosks, which meant two places to hide between them.

Which one?

If he guessed wrong, it could be fatal. Going with instinct, he rushed the first gap and caught Montez peering around the opposite side.

Bingo
.

Three steps later, he drove the butt of his gun onto the base of Montez’s skull and had the satisfaction of seeing his former tormentor collapse to his knees.

The small handgun clattered away into the walkway.

And now, you’re mine.

Chapter  44

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old pal, Monty Goose.” Nathan felt the
other
stir, like a bull testing its steel enclosure. Keeping his face hidden in shadow, he retrieved Montez’s pistol from the walkway before kicking his captive onto his side. He patted him down for additional weapons. Nothing. But in Montez’s inner vest pocket, he found a thumb drive.

 “W—who are you?”

“You don’t recognize my voice? Then take a look.” He moved his face into the orange light slicing into the gap between the kiosks.

“
You!
”

“Yes, me.”

The expression on Montez’s face told all. Nathan had thought he’d take pleasure in the man’s shocked recognition. Instead, he felt sick to his stomach. Conflicting emotions assaulted him, unbidden.

Loathing of the vicious thing inside him.

Fear of being two people locked in the same body.

Shame at the knowledge.

But, worst of all, hatred. Acidic and crippling. He owned a hatred so strong, it had permanently etched itself onto his soul. And all because of this
sadistic shithead
. The temptation to unleash the
other
and grant it vengeance was strong.

“But— but you’re
—
”

“Dead?” He yanked Montez close and squinted. “Do I look dead?”

“But they found your body at the camp.”

He slapped Montez’s face. “Do I feel dead?” He drew his Predator knife and brought it up to eye level. “Shall we get started?”

“Wait!”

“For what?”

“My men are holding a man and his daughters. An important man. I’ve given them orders to kill all of them, and I’m the only one who can call it off.”

He moved the knife to the side of Montez’s face and pressed the tip into his cheek. A bead of blood formed.

“Please, stop. I’ll call it off.”

“Where’s your cell phone?”

“Pants.”

Feeling revulsion, he reached into Montez’s pocket.

“Listen up, Monty. Cooperate and you’ll earn a few brownie points. And trust me, you’re going to need them. Tell your men you killed me, but you were shot in the process. Order them to return to the marina immediately without killing anyone. Tell them to sit tight until they hear from you again, no matter how long it takes. You got that?”

Montez nodded.

How much time did he have? The sirens he’d heard earlier had gone silent. Were the police already here, entering Belmont Park right now?

“Put it on speaker and make the call. Do you normally speak Spanish?”

“No.”

“If you’re lying—”

“I’m not. I make my men practice English as much as possible.” Montez had grown calmer. Perhaps blood loss was taking a toll.

“Make the call.”

Montez complied, and Nathan listened to the brief conversation for anything sounding like code. As far as he could tell, Montez did exactly as told. Nathan took the phone back.

“You don’t have to torture me. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Hurting me won’t solve anything.”

“I strongly disagree. I have a bullwhip in my closet with your name on it. But first, we’re going to walk out of here.”

Nathan forced Montez onto his stomach, put a knee into his back, and yanked Montez’s Windbreaker up. Using his Predator, he cut a twelve-inch strip from Montez’s black sweatshirt, rolled it into a rope, and forced it into Montez’s mouth. He tied the gag tight, nice and uncomfortable. He cut a four-inch strip to use on Montez’s bullet wound as a pressure bandage. Montez grunted when he wrapped it in position. He used a third strip to secure Montez’s hands behind his back.

He slid his Predator into its sheath, pocketed the two handguns, and hauled Montez to his feet. Montez refused to walk when prodded.

“Either you walk out of here, or I bash your skull and drag you by your ponytail. I’m good either way.”

Montez nodded.

“Good boy.”

He looked in both directions but saw no sign of the security guard. The stinging in his feet returned in force, the latest adrenaline rush having worn off. If he could just hang tough a little longer.

He visualized the park’s map in his mind and recalled that the most direct exit path from his current position followed the bumper car ride to the west and turned south along the building housing the giant indoor pool. He gave Montez a firm shove in that direction.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter  45

Nathan and his captive were in roughly the same shape, barely able to walk. He needed a vehicle. Harv would probably be in an ambulance by now, unavailable. The idea of hot-wiring a car didn’t work either. Most automobiles couldn’t be hot-wired in the old-fashioned way, and many others employed obnoxious alarms and hidden tracking devices.

He cycled through his options again, then stopped.

Grangeland
. She’d have Nichole Dalton in Dr. Reavie’s care by now.

He dragged Montez into the shadows of the building on his left and forced him to sit against the wall. He pulled out his cell.

“Nathan? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine. What’s the status of Nichole Dalton?”

“She’s in surgery right now.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure. Probably a few hours. She needs hundreds of sutures.”

“I need you and your vehicle right away.”

“Where are you?”

“Belmont Park in Mission Beach. Know where it is?”

“Yes, it’s in the sedan’s nav. I’m on the I-five heading south. I just passed the Garnet exit.”