In Seconds (33 page)

The truck that’d come barreling up to the house had stopped in the middle of the natural landscape and cobblestone path that was Claire’s front yard. The
hub-hub-hub
of a motor at idle filled the air and the door
cre-e-e-a-ked
open as Ink got out.

Vivian was crawling on the wooden floorboards of the porch, trying to get to Claire, so she couldn’t see his face. Only his feet, clad in a pair of cheap tennis shoes, showed from underneath. But she didn’t need to see the rest to know who he was. He’d found her. At last. This was the moment he’d been waiting for—and the moment that’d haunted her nightmares—for the past four years.

The dust and dirt kicked up by his tires when he skidded to a halt combined with the truck’s exhaust to clog her nostrils. Coughing, she gasped for clean air as she grabbed hold of Claire.

Fortunately, Claire was finished screaming. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she kept saying as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“I’ve got you.” Vivian had her gun, too, and planned to use it, but she couldn’t get off a good shot. She wanted to drag her friend into the house before Ink was upon them. She wouldn’t put it past him to shoot Claire just because she was vulnerable. The only reason he’d missed
with the first couple of shots was that the bullets had to go through his windshield. Now he was out of the truck, and the windshield wouldn’t be there to deflect the next one.

“Hi, honey, I’m home!” he called.

Fearing she might not have a better chance, Vivian knocked over the chairs they’d been sitting on so she and Claire had the benefit of a barrier and fired before he could. The blast deafened her, but she knew instantly that she hadn’t hit him. She’d seen the spark of the bullet as it struck the hood of the truck.

“Is this any kind of welcome from the girl I’ve been dreaming about since we met?” He added a taunting laugh to that question, but he didn’t fire back and he didn’t advance. He was crouching behind the truck, using it for cover. She figured he wouldn’t have walked into the clear the first time if he’d expected her to be armed.

What was he hoping to do? Get her to waste all her bullets before he used his?

“Claire? Are you okay? What’s going on?” The voice came from farther down the lane. Leanne, Claire’s crippled sister, had heard the truck, the shots and screams, and was coming to investigate. Moonlight bounced off the metal of her wheelchair as she rolled toward them.

“Go back!” Vivian shouted. “Go inside and lock your doors! Now!”

Leanne must’ve recognized the urgency of the situation because she immediately reversed. But Ink wasn’t about to let her go. No doubt he knew she’d call the cops. He fired in her direction, missed, then jumped into his truck to chase her down.

Or run her over…

“Oh, God!” Claire jumped up as if there was some
thing she could do. But Vivian pushed her aside. She couldn’t have Claire getting in the way. Her gun was their only hope of stopping him.

“Call Myles!” she yelled, and ran after Ink herself, firing at the back window in hopes of hitting him.

The window cracked and splintered. Even in the dark, she could make out the holes she’d made. A web of lines connected them. But she ran out of bullets before she could bring him to a stop, and she didn’t have another clip. Virgil hadn’t even given her one. They’d always imagined a close encounter, the chance to fire once or twice at most, had never dreamed she’d use so much ammunition.

There was a huge crash, then the grating of metal on rock as Ink plowed into what was left of the concrete restrooms. Leanne had managed to reach one of the openings before he could run her down, but he had her blocked in.

When he realized she wasn’t going anywhere, he abandoned the truck, keeping her barricaded there, and started back.

That was when Vivian got her first real look at his face.

He hadn’t changed much. One leg appeared to be shorter than the other, or his spine had been fused, because he had an awkward gait. A grimace revealed what it cost him to move so fast. But his tattoos were as grotesque as ever, both in their abundance and the macabre nature of the designs he’d chosen.

And his eyes were still as devoid of human emotion as a snake’s…?.

He didn’t seem afraid that she’d use her gun. Obviously he knew how many bullets a typical handgun could hold and had already guessed she was out.

Hoping he couldn’t see her well enough to shoot her, she ducked behind any tree or shrub she could find. As she made her way back to the house, she was surprised he didn’t even attempt to fire at her. Was he saving his bullets? Or did he have other plans?

Claire was already inside. Hopefully she’d managed to get hold of Myles or someone else who’d be able to help. Now that Ink was the only one who had a gun, they wouldn’t survive for long.

“Leanne’s okay. She’s fine,” she assured her friend as she hurried into the house. She didn’t know how much of a chance they had, but she promised herself and God that she wasn’t going down without one heck of a fight. Her children were in New York. She planned on seeing them again. And there was no way she’d let Virgil’s sacrifice be in vain.

She shut the front door just as he began to run in earnest. He rammed it a second later. She yelped at the noise and so did Claire, who stood at the kitchen sink holding a butcher knife while talking on the phone.

After turning the lock, Vivian started pulling the furniture in front of it.

“Open up!” he yelled. “Open up right now or I swear I’ll go back and put a bullet in her head.”

Leanne…
Vivian froze. He wasn’t going to force his way in. He didn’t have to.

“He’s going to do it this time. He’s going to kill her!” Claire was still trying to verify basic information with the 9-1-1 operator. She’d given her name twice, her address three times because she was so nervous she couldn’t get it straight, and screamed that they needed
help
now
. But she’d heard what Ink said despite all that, knew he meant it. And so did Vivian.

Leanne was stuck out there in her wheelchair.

She couldn’t even run.

M
yles had sent every deputy in the area to Claire’s house. Two had already arrived. When he drove up, he could see their squad cars parked haphazardly, red and blue lights flashing. He could also see a white Dodge Ram that had crashed into the old Pineview Park restrooms. His headlights landed directly on it, showed him the window that’d been shot numerous times.

But that was it.

Where was everybody?

After driving like a madman to get here, for one foreboding second he didn’t even want to get out. He was too afraid of what he might find. He’d lost Amber Rose three years ago, had spent more than a thousand days trying to figure out how to make sense of his life again. And now that he’d moved on, found Vivian and wanted another chance at everything he’d once had, this…

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and got out. The house stood open, the light from within falling on two deep ruts in the yard, suggesting a vehicle had recently driven right up to the front door.

He heard crying…?.

Something cold and hard filled him as he approached that sound because he knew in his heart it wasn’t Vivian.

Deputy Campbell glanced up when he crossed the threshold. He was on his radio, calling for an ambulance. A scratched-up Claire leaned on the table. She was the one in tears. Leanne sat, dry-eyed, in her wheelchair, which was smashed on one side, looking a little dazed. Vivian was gone.

“Where is she?” Myles asked.

“He dragged her into the woods,” Campbell replied. “Peterson’s gone after them, but…” He shook his head and let it go at that.

He didn’t need to finish. Myles understood what he meant. He didn’t think they’d find her alive.

Vivian fell several times as Ink pushed her through the trees. It was too dark to see much more than vague outlines. When she walked out of the house to save Leanne and he didn’t shoot her instantly, she’d hoped she might have the chance to escape him. He wasn’t the same man who’d shown up in her living room four years ago. This Ink was handicapped and in obvious pain. But he was still freakishly strong. And he was even more ruthless and determined.

“What is it…you want from me?” Occasionally a glimmer of moonlight streamed through the trees to illuminate a portion of his face or body, but she felt his presence more than she saw it. He had an iron grip on her shirt and was half shoving, half dragging her along with him.

“I want to make you pay. I want to make you
all
pay.”

She stumbled while trying to look at him, and he kicked her. Fortunately, he was too close to land a solid blow. Her leg hurt despite that, but she refused to whimper or groan. Her pain and misery was what he wanted. She was pretty sure he’d put his gun in his waistband. It
was close at hand, should he need it, but he didn’t want to go that route. Making her death quick and easy wouldn’t be enjoyable enough for him.

He wanted to relish the process.

“You’re going back…to prison,” she said. “I hope…you know that.” She was trying to engage him, to stall him so the police could catch up, but he kept moving.

“They won’t take me alive.”

She listened for other sounds in the forest. Far off, she heard sirens. Myles was coming to her rescue, but how would he ever find her in time? There was too much land out here, and it was so dark.

“That’s your out?” She prayed to catch a glimpse of a flashlight beam shining through the trees, proving that there were other deputies looking for her—deputies who were closer. But the immediate area remained dark and damp and quiet, except for the sounds of their own labored breathing.

Ink didn’t answer.

“You’re going to—” her leg burned from where he’d kicked her, making it difficult to walk “—to let them shoot you? Or…shoot yourself? Because even if you kill me…you won’t get out of this.”

Nothing.

“And Horse is dead,” she said.

He stopped. “What’d you say?”

“He’s dead. Virgil killed him.” She didn’t admit that The Crew might’ve killed Virgil, too. She didn’t want to face that possibility, was still hoping it wasn’t true.

“You’re lying!” He clubbed her on the side of the head with his gun and nearly dropped her in her tracks. Her knees buckled as stars exploded onto her vision. But she shook off the pain.

“No. You can…” She blinked, trying to remain alert. “You can check. It happened…last night.”

“Then he’s dead, too.”

Her ears were ringing when he hit her again. Apparently his desire for violence and punishment was overtaking his fear of discovery. Or he felt they’d come far enough. If he was going to stop somewhere, she preferred he do it closer to the houses, anyway. Maybe it would give Myles a better chance of catching up, of finding her.

If only she could survive the onslaught…

“Virgil will be sorry,” he ground out.

The next blow split her lip. Blood flowed into her mouth, tinny in taste. He was really letting go now, planning to beat her to death right here. There was always the possibility that he’d shoot her, but she didn’t think he’d resort to that unless he was forced to. This was far more personal, far more satisfying to him.

Briefly, she remembered Pat and the rage that’d been expended on him. That was what Ink had in store for her, if she let it happen.

“You bitch! Look at what you and your brother have done!” he growled. “You’ve ruined my life.”

She would’ve responded that it’d been ruined long before she ever came along, that she hadn’t involved herself in his world at all and never would have. But she knew he wouldn’t understand that. He’d never been rational enough to accept responsibility for his own problems. She couldn’t speak, anyway. He pummeled her with his fists, again and again until one monstrous blow sent her sprawling on the ground.

For a moment, paralyzed by pain, she felt certain he’d broken her jaw. She whimpered for Myles, but he wasn’t coming. It didn’t matter what damage Ink had already
done to her, she had to stand up and fight on her own—or die. And this was the first time since he’d dragged her away from Claire’s that he’d actually let go of her.

Staggering to her feet, she tried to run. If she could get away, hide in the trees… She had to stop the blows somehow, couldn’t sustain many more. But her legs wouldn’t carry her quickly enough. He grabbed hold of her shirt.

When he started kicking her, she couldn’t help crying out. She tried to kick and hit him back, but she felt completely defenseless. He was like a vicious animal bent on tearing her apart. He felt nothing, heard nothing, cared for nothing except her demise.

Her only chance was to slip in close and get the gun.

“You won’t…win!” She wanted to show him that she could still talk, that she could still function. He hadn’t bested her yet. But her voice sounded so odd. It echoed through the forest. Or maybe it only echoed through her head. Had she said anything at all?

His hands found her throat, and he began to shake her. “I hate you!” he cried, muscles bulging beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. “I hate you and your brother. And I’m going to kill you both!”

He sounded like a child, she realized distantly. He
was
a child, emotionally. Almost everyone else matured as they grew older, but Ink had been stuck in the tantrum-throwing toddler stage for all of his thirty-something years. She wanted to laugh at this, to laugh at
him.
She would have if she could draw breath, but he was choking her, and he seemed to have more upper body strength than she would’ve believed possible.

She surprised him by going limp before he expected it, and that forced him to catch her if he wanted to keep them both from falling.

He instinctively tried to do just that and twisted something in his back. She heard a pop as if a twig had snapped, but from his screech she thought it might be a bone.

“You…bitch!” he wheezed. His breathing was as strained as hers, but he’d landed on top of her and was still gripping her clothes.

He clearly had a high tolerance for pain, could function with it because he was accustomed to it, but his injured back also gave her an opportunity. She could wrestle him for the gun, she told herself, and was determined to try.

“You’re
nothing!
” she screamed back, and head-butted him in the nose.

She must’ve hit him just right because the blow stunned him. There was a pause during which he couldn’t seem to do anything. Then he released her clothes in order to wrap his hands around her neck again. He was going to kill her now; she could tell. She felt his fingers dig into her skin as he tried to get a good hold when she sank her teeth into his forearm.

The salty taste of his sweat hit her tongue as the rank odor of his body filled her nose. But when he screamed like a little girl, she clamped down even harder, hard enough to break the skin. Then it was his blood and not hers she tasted.

Sickened, she wanted to recoil in disgust, to vomit, but she locked her jaws and held fast.

Gasping, he tried to grab her by the hair so he could yank her head back, but his fingers slipped through her short locks and, for a brief moment, he had no hold whatsoever. That was when she felt the gun. She didn’t try pulling it from his pants. She knew he’d only take it away
from her if she did. She barely had a second, just long enough to squeeze the trigger.

The blast seemed to ricochet off the trees and bounce back at them from the sky. He jerked, his scream a paroxysm of agony, and that was how she knew she’d hit whatever the gun had already been aimed at.

Judging from his position, she was pretty sure she’d just shot him in the balls.

The gunshot that gave Vivian and Ink’s position away turned Myles’s stomach. They weren’t far. Had Ink just killed her? Had he missed reaching her by that little?

Deputy Peterson, who’d gone into the woods ahead of him, beat him to the scene. When Myles came upon it, Peterson was standing over Ink, who lay prostrate on the ground. Peterson had his foot on Ink’s chest and his revolver pointed at his head.

“Kill me! Kill me, you bastard!” Ink screamed. “Pull the trigger.”

Peterson kept his flashlight pointed right into Ink’s eyes. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not like you. You’re going back to prison for the rest of your life.”

Myles took that in while using his own flashlight to scan the ground immediately surrounding them. He saw blood. Lots of it. Where was Vivian?

Then he found her. Although badly beaten, she’d managed to drag herself several feet away and sat shivering in stunned silence, watching the interplay between officer and felon as if she feared there might still be a chance that Ink could escape.

Afraid she was in shock, he lowered his flashlight and hurried over to her. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he knelt beside her. He prayed she wasn’t too badly hurt.

Her eyes shifted from Ink and locked with his. Then tears began to stream down her face.

“It’s over,” he said, and gathered her gently in his arms. “He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”

“What about—” she winced as she tried to speak “—Virgil?”

Myles couldn’t believe that was her first question. He’d never known a sister to care more about her brother. “He’s fine. He’s going to make it. And so are his wife and baby.”

She dabbed at the blood on her busted lip. “You know about Peyton?”

He wiped away her tears. “Rex called me with the good news when he couldn’t reach you. Peyton had the baby this morning—a girl, weighing nearly seven pounds.”

“Both are healthy?”

She was obviously in a lot of pain, didn’t seem fully capable of grasping what he’d said. “Perfect.”

The tears came faster. “And my kids?”

“They’re fine. Rex said they’re so excited about the baby that’s all they can talk about.”

“Does Virgil…know about the…the baby?”

“I’m sure he does.” He lifted her into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”