Deadly Justice

40

BEN WHIRLED, TRYING TO loosen the grip of whoever or whatever had descended upon him. He felt fingers clutching at his neck—it was definitely a person. He threw his shoulders back, trying to dislodge his attacker, without success. He grabbed the hands, trying to pry them off his throat. He felt something jab him in the side. Something sharp.

“Ahhhhh!” He wanted to clutch his side, but knew if he loosened his grip on the hands around his throat he’d be history. He had to do something quick; he couldn’t breathe at all. His vision was getting spotty and it was difficult to think. He needed air, badly.

He careened backward into the swinging door, using the person on his back as a battering ram. They smacked the door solidly, but the impact threw Ben off-balance. There was nothing he could do to regain his equilibrium. He fell over and smashed down on the pinewood floor.

The shock of the fall loosened the grip of the hands around his throat. He managed to roll away, gasping desperately for air. He felt the oxygen coursing back into his lungs, clearing away the cloudiness that was already fogging his brain.

He tried to focus on the bundle he had so gracelessly deposited on the floor. Whoever it was was already gone. He squinted into the darkness, but couldn’t find a trace.

“Look,” he said, breathing heavily, “my name is Ben Kincaid and I—”

The shadow lunged at him before he could finish his sentence. The sharp instrument again jabbed into his side, just below the ribs. He fell sideways, collapsing onto a love seat. The pain was even worse this time.

He felt something wrap around his mouth, then his throat. He was fighting gravity as well as his assailant; the person choking out his breath had the power position.

He felt the air draining from his lungs. He had to stop this now, or he would absolutely never have a second chance. He pushed against the arms bearing down on him. They barely budged.

In desperation, Ben released his grip and jerked his arms away. His attacker was caught by surprise; the body hovering over him fell to one side. Ben wriggled away. The person in the darkness started to bolt, but Ben grabbed the narrow shoulders and shoved them back as hard as he could. The figure tumbled over a coffee table and fell onto the sofa, lace doilies and all.

“Look,” Ben shouted, “I’m not armed, I’m not dangerous. I’m not going to hurt you!”

The figure on the sofa leaned forward. Ben saw a hand snake out and grab something long and thin and sharp from the coffee table. It caught the moonlight and glistened. Like a knife.

Ben ran to the front door and flipped on the overhead lights. The sudden shift in visibility was blinding. He squinted to block out the sudden glare, then gradually reopened his eyes.

The person on the sofa was a teenage girl. Fifteen, sixteen tops. She was clutching a letter opener.

“You must be Trixie,” Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm. “My name is Ben. Kincaid.”

Her eyes were wide and scared. Her hands trembled, but continued to clutch the letter opener. Ben wanted to approach her, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Teenager or not, this girl had almost strangled him to death.

“I’m here to help you,” he said, still gasping. “I’m not the one who’s been killing your friends.”

The girl seemed frozen, unable to move.

Ben yanked his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “See for yourself. Check the bar card. I’m a lawyer. Someone in my office was killed and somehow it’s connected to the murders of the four teenage…girls. If you want, I can give you the number of a friend of mine at the police station. He’ll vouch for me.”

Keeping a close eye on Ben, she snatched the wallet off the floor and examined each ID, membership, and credit card. After she had seen everything there was to see, she tossed it back to him. “How did you find me?”

“I followed Buddy.”

She nodded. “What do you want?”

“I want to know whatever you know. I want to find out who’s doing all this killing. And I want to help you.”

“Help me?” She laughed hollowly. “No one ever helps me. No one but Buddy.”

“I can,” Ben said. He took a cautious step forward. “I can get you police protection. Or nonpolice protection, if you’d prefer. I can keep this maniac who’s trying to kill you from succeeding.”

Ben saw her shudder. Her eyes were desperate and pleading. He could almost see her deliberating over how much she could afford to trust.

“How can you help?” she said, barely audibly.

Ben stepped forward, reached out, and gently took the letter opener from her hands. “First things first,” he said. “What can you tell me about the Kindergarten Club?”