A Perfect Evil

Chapter 90

Maggie clawed her way up the steps, annoyed that her knees wouldn’t hold her. Her side burned, a fire blazing deeper and deeper, igniting her stomach and lungs. It felt as if the knife metal had broken off and was shooting through her insides. God, she should be getting good at this by now. Practice makes perfect Yet, when she struggled up into the moonlight, the sight of her own blood made her light-headed and nauseated. It covered her side and soaked into her clothes, the red turtleneck black with dirt and blood.

She pushed her hair out of her face, away from her sweaty forehead, and realized her hand was filled with blood. She eased out of her jacket, pulled and ripped at the lining until she had a piece big enough to plug up her side. She wrapped chunks of snow inside the fabric, then applied it to the wound. Suddenly, the stars in the sky multiplied. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. When she opened them, a black shadow approached, staggering between the headstones like a drunkard. She reached for her gun, her fingers lingering at the empty holster. Of course, she remembered. Her gun lay somewhere below in a dark corner.

“Maggie?” the drunkard called out, and she recognized Nick’s voice. Relief washed over her so completely she forgot about the pain for a second or two.

He was covered in mud and dirt, and when he knelt beside her, the smell of him made her gag. She leaned into him, anyway, and welcomed the feel of his arm around her.

“Jesus, Maggie. Are you okay?”

“I think it’s just a flesh wound. Did you see him? Did you get him?”

She saw the answer in his eyes, only it wasn’t just disappointment. There was something more.

“I think there must be a maze of tunnels down there,” he said, out of breath. “And I took the wrong one.”

“We need to stop him. He’s probably at the church. Maybe that’s where he has Timmy.”

“Had.”

“What?”

“I found the room where he kept them. Timmy’s coat was left behind.”

“Then we need to find him.” She tried to get to her feet, but fell back into his arms.

“I think we’re too late, Maggie.” She heard the words struggle over a lump in his throat. “I also saw…there was a bloody pillow.”

She leaned her head against his chest. Listened to the pounding, the uneven breathing. No, the uneven breathing belonged to her.

“Jesus, Maggie. You’re bleeding awfully bad. I need to get you to the hospital. I sure as hell am not going to lose two people I love in the same night.”

He propped her up while he crawled to his feet, still a bit wobbly. She held on to him and struggled to her knees. The pain came in fiery jabs, scorching and tearing, hot glass shards slicing farther and farther inside her. As she clung to his arm, she wondered if she had heard him correctly. Did he really just say that he loved her?

“Don’t, Maggie. Let me carry you to the Jeep.”

“I saw the way you were walking, Morrelli. I’ll take my chances on my own two feet.” She pulled herself up, gritting her teeth against the constant stab. “Just hang on to me.”

They were almost to the Jeep when she remembered the crate. “Nick, wait. We have to go back.”