Mortal Pursuit

34

Wet shoes.

The thought entered Cain’s mind as he stood at the kitchen window, switching on the last of the lights.

Robinson had been dumped in the lake. She would be soaked, dripping.

And the kitchen floor was wet.

Charles Kent hadn’t spilled his glass, as Cain had assumed. Robinson had been in here.

The trail reached the cabinet under the sink. Kneeling, he opened the doors and beamed his flash inside.

Damp spots on the wood. Shoe prints.

She must have hidden there while Charles rinsed his mouth. Hidden right under Cain’s nose.

Who was this woman

A rookie. A Girl Scout. A scared kid, that’s all, as fragile and untested as a newly hatched chick.

But she had an irritating habit of staying alive. A habit Cain intended to break.

He almost left the kitchen, then stopped, held by a new thought. What exactly had she been doing in here

Every minute she’d spent in the house had been a life-and-death gamble. She wouldn’t have wasted time just looking around. Must have been in pursuit of some objective.

A knife, maybe. But hell, she had a gun.

Cain scanned the kitchen, taking in the hooded range, the refrigerator, the central island.

Dinner dishes in the sink, filmy with soap suds. Countertop TV. Family snapshots under glass. Laminated noteboard. Telephone …

The phone was cordless. The handset was gone.

Hell.

She could call from anywhere in the house or yard. Could be calling right now.

Cain lunged for the phone and ripped it from the wall.

One ring. Two …

Trish prayed for a 911 operator to answer. The third ring was cut off, replaced by a crackling buzz. Somehow she’d been disconnected. She punched the talk button twice, first to terminate the transmission, then to try again.

This time the handset sounded a brief error tone and automatically shut down.

“Damn.” She let the phone drop from her hand.

Ally swallowed hard. “What’s wrong”

“They’re on to us.” She was trying not to tremble, but the clinking of the handcuff chain gave her away. “Switched off the phone at the base.”

“Jeez. I … I guess maybe I shouldn’t ask what we do now.”

“Let me think.”

The problem, all too obviously, was that Cain was thinking too.

Where had she gotten the gun

That was the question in Cain’s mind as he pitched the ruined phone into the trash.

Blair, of course. He had been patrolling the lake shore. It was the only answer.

If the rookie had Blair’s gun, she almost certainly would have his radio too. Might be monitoring the preset frequency.

Slowly Cain unclipped his walkie-talkie and pressed the transmit button.

“Robinson”

Trish stiffened, hearing her name.

She looked at Ally. The girl’s eyes were suddenly too big for her face.

“Hey, Robinson.” Cain’s voice crackled like newspaper. “You there Or is it past your bedtime”

After a brief inner debate she lifted her transceiver, spoke into the microphone.

“I’m here … Cain.”

A pause. Then: “You know that much, do you”

“I try to stay informed.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

“Yeah, you’re a quick-witted little Mouseketeer, I’ll give you that. Donald and Mickey and ol’ Uncle Walt would be real proud.”

She tried a bluff. “You’d better scram. Backup’s coming.”

“I don’t think so. That radio’s short-range only, and I trashed the phone.”

“Not before I got through. I was on the line just a couple seconds, but they do an instant trace on a nine-one-one call. Units are on their way right now, code three.”

“Are they Hey, Lilith, you monitoring the police traffic”

A familiar lisping voice answered: “That’s a ten-four.”

“Any units dispatched to this address”

“Negative.”

Trish tried a last gambit. “They know you’ve got my radio. They wouldn’t say anything over the air.”

She waited tensely through a moment’s silence, praying he would buy it.

Then a cool reply: “Nice try, Robinson. But I can always tell when you’re lying.”

“It’s your ass,” she said with forced bravado.

“No, I think it’s gonna be yours. In a body bag.”

Body bag. Vivid image. She could almost hear the rasp of the zipper sealing the flaps.

“You shouldn’t have come back to the house,” Cain added. “Why’d you do it For the girl”

Trish avoided Ally’s gaze. “Just doing my job.”

“Yeah, right. Guess I really am dealing with a hero, after all.”

“I’m no hero.”

A chuckle. “Modest too. If you got a plan for world peace, you could be the next Miss America.”

“My only plan is to put you in jail.” She regretted saying it. Lame.

“I’ve been there,” Cain said evenly. “Didn’t like it. Don’t intend on going back. Now let me tell you about my plans, blue eyes. You too, freckle-face. I know you’re listening.”

Ally hugged herself, a shudder blowing through her like a cold draft.

“Robinson, I’m gonna kill you quick. You’ll never even know what hit you. Bang, and you’re gone. That’s because I respect you as an adversary”-malicious mockery soured the words-“and I never underestimate a lady with a gun. But as for Ally …”

Trish knew she shouldn’t listen, but the man’s voice held her fascinated, hypnotized. He was more than a petty criminal. He had the perverse persuasiveness born of an utter absence of doubt.

“Yeah, you, little darling,” Cain breathed. “You I’m gonna do slow. I’m gonna give you some of what you didn’t go for the first time. Only, I’m not putting my cock in you, no, ma’am. It’ll be a knife instead, or an ice pick, something creative, and you’ll scream-“

“Turn it off,” Ally moaned.

Trish was wrenched out of her daze. Her fumbling hands found the power switch and depressed it.

Silence.

But the echo of Cain’s words hung in the air, dark and acrid like smoke.

“He won’t,” Trish whispered. “He won’t do … what he said.”

“Who’ll stop him”

“I will.”

“But we can’t get away …”

Incipient hysteria in her voice. Trish looked at Ally-the dress riding up around her hips, her slender legs sprawled artlessly on the lawn. She was a pretty girl, would be a beautiful woman-if she made it that far.

“It’s okay. Ally,” she breathed, thinking hard, reviewing her options.

“No, it’s not. It’s not …” Ally sank into a fetal pose, hugging her knees. Wetness glistened in her eyes. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Trish.”

“For what”

“For … being a baby.” She wore an absurd smile. Her shoulders jerked feebly. “For crying. It’s just … I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.”

“Me either. And we’re not going to.” Her mind was racing in tandem with her beating heart. “Just give me a second to figure something out.”

Another second. Not much to ask for, ordinarily.

But tonight a few more seconds-a minute at most-was all the time they had.