Hunter: A Thriller (37 page)

She nodded frantically, biting her lip.

He took his hand away. “Good.” He knelt again, leaned right into her, rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes. His breath was foul, like onions.

“Now, before we get cozy,” he said quietly, “there’s a phone call you are going to make. And there are going to be rules for that, too, Susanne. You say exactly what I tell you to say. And if you say anything else—if I even begin to suspect you’re trying to warn the person—”

She felt his heavy palm on her shoulder again. His fingers lightly stroked the place where he had just squeezed.

“—then the pain you’ll feel will be nothing like you have ever imagined. Okay?”

She felt dizzy, as if she were about to pass out again. How was he free? How was he here? How could this happen?

She could not think. There was no will left in her.

Kill me now, get it over with, be done with it. Let me see my Arthur again....

“Stay with me, now, Susanne. We’re going to call your dear friend, Annie. And here is what you’re going to say....”

BETHESDA
,
MARYLAND
Wednesday, December 24, 11:20 p.m.

They had been quiet for a while.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

She glanced up at him, clutching the small paper cup in both hands.

“It wasn’t true,” he said. “Any of what I said. I knew it when I said it. Look, you
couldn’t
have known who I was when we first met. And I went after
you.
So I know that what happened between us—and what we felt—none of that could be a lie. We weren’t faking our feelings. It was all real.”

“Then how could you say those things?”

It was hard for him to admit it. So he knew he had to.

“I wanted to hurt you.”

“But why?”

“Because
I
was hurt. Because I wanted so much to make this work. Because I loved you, but all the lies were killing it.”

“Loved?” she asked.

He saw her struggle to suppress any more tears, to regain control, to reassert her dignity. He suddenly understood the courage that it had required for her to get this far with him. Of the terrible price she had been willing to pay for her love. Of the price she had paid tonight. And even now.

He searched her eyes and searched his feelings.

“Love,” he answered.

Her chin trembled. But she did not cry again.

“I needed to know that,” she said. “Because if you hadn’t said that, then I couldn’t do
this
.”

She rose from the sofa, went to the kitchen counter, where she had left her purse. Brought it back with her to the sofa.

“I needed to hear that first, because I had to know that you trust me enough to still love me. That you trust me not to betray you. I needed your absolute trust—
before
I offer you proof that I wouldn’t betray you.”

“Proof? I don’t understand.”

“Dylan, there’s something important you don’t know. And if I truly wanted to betray you, I wouldn’t tell you this. The police—Cronin and his people—they have a sample of your blood. Of your DNA. They got it off that dog.” She looked at his arm, smiling weakly. “You know—that ‘poodle’ that bit you.”

A chill touched his spine.

“I didn’t know about the DNA,” he said. “I could tell you knew about the dog bite, though, from the way you reacted when you saw my arm. From that, I deduced that Cronin had told you about the dog.” He paused, thinking it through. “But now I realize that I completely missed something. It never occurred to me to ask myself: How the hell would he, or you, know that the dog had
bitten
me? Unless, of course, I’d left my blood behind?”

She nodded. “On the dog. That’s how they knew.”

“So they have my DNA.”

“No. They have some
vigilante’s
DNA.”

He saw what she meant. “Of course. They don’t know it’s mine. Because they don’t have a sample of mine to match it.”

“But I do.”

He watched as she poked into her purse. Came up with a small plastic bag. From where he sat, it looked empty. She looked at him and smiled.

“And now you can have it back,” she said, tossing it onto the coffee table.

He picked up bag. Held it up to the light.

Saw the fingernail clippings.

It took him a few seconds to get it.

She laughed. “Close your mouth. You look like an idiot.”

He stared at her, feeling numb. “You could have handed them my ass.”

She was still grinning. “True. And for a while there, I wanted to.” The grin faded. “Oh,
how
I wanted to. I was furious. You told me so many lies, from the beginning. You were lying to me even then, about the dog bite.”

He had to swallow hard. “Okay. So why didn’t you?”

She suddenly looked as if she were about to cry again. “You really
are
an idiot.”

He put the bag down on the table. Got up and moved to sit beside her on the sofa. Put his arm around her shoulders. She turned and pressed her face into his chest. He rested his cheek against her hair.

“Yes I am,” he said, holding her tightly.

After a while, she turned her face up to him. This time, the color of her eyes reminded him of steel.

“No more lies,” she said.

He nodded. “No more lies.”

*

They sat that way another moment. Just holding each other in silence. Restoring trust. Reconnecting.

A faint high-pitched tone broke the spell.

She straightened. “My cell.”

“Let it go.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “My father was in a bad way tonight.” She didn’t add:
And I’m here with you, not him.

He kissed her fingertips. “I understand.”

She pulled it out and flipped it open. “Hello?”

Then looked surprised. “Oh. Susie! Hi. I was expecting—” She stopped, listened. Then looked concerned. “Right now?” She looked at Hunter. “I don’t know, I’m—” She listened some more. “Yes...no, not too long, maybe half an hour...I will.... Sure, just hold on tight, girlfriend. Bye.”

She closed the phone. “That was Susie. She was in tears, really sobbing. She said something terrible has happened, and she needs me to come right away.” She stopped. “Dylan, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you, not now, not tonight. It’s just—”

“Don’t be silly. I think we’re fine, now. You should go to her. In fact, maybe I should come, too.”

She shook her head. “No, let me see what this is all about first. If I need some help, I’ll call you, okay?”

“All right.”

He followed her to the door, helped her on with the long fox fur coat she’d left on a chair. He rested his hand on her shoulder as she buttoned the coat over her pale yellow evening gown.

“You’re not exactly dressed for an emergency,” he teased.

She smiled. Then they kissed. Clung to each other tightly, neither wanting to let go.

“We’re going to get through this, Annie Woods,” he whispered.

He saw that she remembered. This time, her eyes shone.

“Yes, we will.”

TYSONS CORNER,
VIRGINIA
Wednesday, December 24, 11:53 p.m.

Because it was Christmas Eve, traffic was almost nonexistent. Though snow had been falling for hours, leaving several inches on the ground, the
plows
and salt trucks had kept the main roads clear. So she made good time getting over to the Capital Beltway, then great time on it, heading south.

She got off on the Georgetown Pike, headed west about a minute, then south a couple of miles into the tangle of residential neighborhoods north of
Tysons
Corner.

Susie’s house was in a
tony
cul-de-sac. Expensive homes, their faces, yards, and trees blazing with Christmas lights, surrounded the circle at the end of the street, their driveways spreading out from it like spokes from a wheel hub. A solitary car was parked in the circle—an old white Chrysler that looked out of place. Probably some college kid home for the holidays.

The exception to the seasonal cheer was Susie’s house. It was completely undecorated, and from outside it barely seemed inhabited. Pulling into her drive, she saw that the first-floor curtains were drawn. The foyer inside was lit, but the front door light wasn’t on.

Strange. She knows I’m coming.

She’s starting to act like a recluse. Must be a delayed reaction to Arthur’s suicide. I’ll have to help her through this....

She parked, then got out and headed for the front door, not even bothering to lock the car. No risk of auto theft in this neighborhood, especially on Christmas Eve. The drive and sidewalk were heated and free of snow and ice—a blessing for a lady in heels. At the door, she saw the reason for the darkness outside: There was no bulb in the socket above the entrance.

Damn. She’s really letting things slide.

She was about to ring the bell when she noticed a scrawled note taped to the door. She leaned forward to read the block letters in the glow from the neighborhood lights.

IT’S OPEN

I’M IN THE BASEMENT

Must be serious for her not to greet me at the door.

Entering, she paused just inside. “Susie.... It’s me, Annie.”

No response. She heard only faint classical music. It sounded as if it were coming from the den.

Probably can’t hear me down there with the stereo going.

Closing the door behind her, she unbuttoned her fur coat. Then walked toward the door at the head of the stairs that led down to her den. It was ajar only a dark sliver. As she approached, the symphonic strains from downstairs sounded louder.

She put her hand on the knob and opened it onto the dark silhouette of a huge man at the top of the stairs. She had almost no time to react as he grabbed for her. She instinctively jerked up her arms to protect herself, taking a step back. The giant charged her, grabbing the lapels of her coat, stepping into the light and revealing his face.

Wulfe
.

The shock was almost paralyzing.

Almost. Her training kicked in and she spun as he bore in, drawing him toward her even faster, pulling him off-balance so that she could put him down and begin the strikes.

But with surprising agility he countered, hooking his long left leg around both of hers even as he fell, dragging her with him to the floor. She broke her fall with her arms to prevent her face from smashing into the marble surface.

They were prone, now, side by side, with his heavy left leg pinning both of hers inside the long gown. He grabbed the back of her coat so that she couldn’t get up or roll away. In response, she whipped her right elbow down, aiming for the bridge of his nose. But he jerked his head back just enough so that the blow grazed his cheek and struck his collarbone instead.

He grunted in pain. Enraged, he released his left hand from her coat and seized the back of her hair. He jerked it toward him, causing her to cry out, and he simultaneously wrapped his left leg around her thighs, rolling her into him and onto her side.

Her hair in his grip, her legs trapped, she flailed wildly with both hands, reaching blindly behind her for his face and eyes. But suddenly she felt his right arm shoot forward just over her shoulder, then circle back around her exposed neck.

With her throat in the crook of his elbow, he bore down with his huge forearm and bicep in a pincer against the sides of her neck.

She had scant seconds to think:
Sleeper hold…h
e’s an expert.
Then her energy faded and everything went fuzzy, then dark....

BETHESDA
,
MARYLAND
Wednesday, December 24, 11:53 p.m.

He changed into the jeans and the black sweater he’d brought up from the car, leaving the pieces of his tux scattered on the bare mattress. It was okay. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Now, he didn’t have to.

He pulled open the sliding door, stepped onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, his short boots sinking into the soft snow.

It didn’t feel that cold. There was not a breath of breeze. Big, delicate flakes drifted and tumbled down slowly, silently, from invisible heights, creating glowing cones of light beneath the street lamps below. Off in the surrounding neighborhood, Christmas lights illuminated the falling snow, wrapping each house in what looked like light fog. The snow clung to the bare branches of the trees, creating frosted web-work patterns against the white ground.

It was a rare, magical moment of serenity. Even here, in the city, there was no traffic noise. Not at this hour. Not on this night. Everyone was home with family, now. Children were asleep, dreaming of the presents they would find under the tree in the morning. Parents were tip-toeing around in the dark, bearing armloads of dolls and video games and clothes—willing conscripts performing their traditional roles and rites in a grand, benevolent game of inter-generational deception.

It was an interesting thought. A season of goodwill and generosity, bringing joy to so many. Yet resting on lies. On deceiving small children.

Do we really mind this, though, when we’re old enough to learn that we’ve been fooled? That our parents deceived us for years—but only to make us happy?

So, are all lies harmful, then? Isn’t there truly such a thing as noble deception?

Or don’t all lies—black ones or white ones—erode the bonds of trust that we all depend upon?

He didn’t know the answers, or how to begin to find them. He had been living lies for most of his adult life. He was a man enmeshed, probably inextricably, in a world of falsehood: a world of aliases and cover stories, of disinformation and dishonesty, of trickery and pretext.

He had enrolled in that world of untruth as an eager volunteer. It had been for a vital cause: to protect his country and its people. Because our enemies use clandestine and covert methods against us, we would be insane to handicap ourselves and risk our very survival by foreswearing such measures in self-defense.

There’s a difference between deception and treachery. Sometimes, we must use deception to protect the innocent from evil.

He brushed off some snow from the metal railing, grasped its cold surface, leaned out to survey the world around him.

It had become so easy, so natural. He was so damned good at it. So good at it that he had performed many critical but deniable missions on
America
’s behalf that would forever remain unknown and unsung. So good at it that he now used those same manipulative skills to deliver justice to monsters—monsters that a corrupt legal system only enabled and encouraged.

So good at it that his life of lies threatened the most important relationship that he’d ever known.

He moved back from the railing, then watched a large snowflake flutter down to the bare spot where he’d gripped the railing. He leaned over to inspect it. Saw its deviously intricate crystal patterns slowly melt against the reality of the warmer surface. Then vanish.

As if it had never been real.

He had made his peace with his mission. But he had not made peace with martyrdom.

Could he ever reconcile the professional and personal aspects of the life he’d chosen?

Could he somehow erect a firewall between his covert life and his personal life?

Could he shield her from his world of deceit?

*

He looked his watch. Midnight.

Christmas.

He remembered another person, probably as lonely as he on this night.

He went inside, stomping his shoes on the mat to knock off the snow, then went to the desk in the den. Pulled a phone out of the drawer, inserted a battery. Sat. Tapped in the number.

“Hello?”

He felt himself smile. “Hey there, Wonk. Merry Christmas.”

“Dylan! My God, I am so relieved you called!”

Something in his voice. “Relieved?”

“Yes! I have sent you repeated emails, all evening. Did you get them?”

“No,” he said, looking at the bare surface of his desk. “Wonk, what’s wrong?”

“It is all over the news! He tied up his sister and took her car...and they are all looking for him, now...but they believe he...is on the run!”

“Wonk, settle down. Take a breath. Okay, now tell me. Who are we talking about?”

“
Wulfe
! Adrian
Wulfe
! Dylan, they gave him a furlough, and—”

“What?”
He shot to his feet.

“A Christmas furlough. From his prison. Apparently on Monday. He was to stay with his sister. She told the police that he had wanted to borrow her car. She refused, and then he beat her, tied her up, and then left in the stolen car. That was last night. A friend found her like that this afternoon.”

Those bastards.

“Imagine! His own
sister!
Dylan, he is so dangerous. There is no telling how many people he will harm before they find him.”

“I know, I know.... Look, we need to think this through. Maybe we have some nugget of information that will lead me to him.”

“You?”

“I mean the police. Listen, you start going over his files again, and maybe we’ll talk in a few hours.”

“All right, I shall start right away.... Oh—and Dylan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for thinking of me and calling.” His voice quavering.

“Merry Christmas, Wonk,” he said gently.

“Merry Christmas, Dylan.”

*

He set down the phone on the desk. Checked his watch. Just after midnight, now.

Dammit
.

He thought of that shrink,
Frankfurt
. That prick. This had to be his doing. He couldn’t care less about the victims of sadists like
Wulfe
. They didn’t count. How could he possibly sit there with
Wulfe
beside him, and look someone like Susanne Copeland in the face, while—

The cold sensation started on his skin, then crawled inside his body.