The Kill

CHAPTER 29

Zack and Quinn left the house and surveyed the barn from a distance. There appeared to be no activity. Silence.

“Maybe they’re chatting it up,” Quinn offered.

Neither he nor Zack believed it.

“You take the east entrance, I’ll take west,” Zack said, checking the ammunition in his gun, then chambered a round.

They didn’t get more than twenty feet when Zack saw them.

Chris Driscoll had Olivia at gunpoint. He forced her toward the deputy’s car parked in the driveway. Driscoll looked neither scared nor hurried. He walked confidently, Olivia’s struggling form an easy burden.

Driscoll and Olivia spotted Zack at the same time. Olivia’s eyes widened. Driscoll’s expression didn’t change, but he pressed the barrel of the gun firmly to her head and stared dead on at Zack: a warning. He walked around to the passenger’s door and shoved Olivia over to the driver’s seat, then climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Moments later the engine turned and Olivia drove slowly down the drive.

Zack ran toward Quinn’s car. “You’d better have the keys on you,” he called to the Fed. He suppressed his fear for Olivia’s life. If he thought about her as the woman he loved, he wouldn’t be as effective at the job of saving her life.

It was excruciatingly difficult to bury his feelings.

“I’ll drive.” Quinn unlocked the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Zack opened the passenger door. They had no time.

Quinn tossed him a.30-06 sniper rifle. “It’s loaded,” he said. Quinn grabbed two handguns and slammed down the trunk.

The stolen police car, with Olivia at the wheel, suddenly sped up as it rounded the turn in the driveway, its tires momentarily spinning in the pea gravel before hitting the packed dirt road.

Quinn started the ignition before he shut the door. A second later he peeled out of the driveway and pursued Driscoll.

“He’s not going to let her live once he’s clear,” Zack said, his entire chest tight.

“He’s not going to kill her yet,” Quinn said. “She’s a hostage. No one is going to be shooting at him with a hostage.”

Olivia. A hostage. The realization first made Zack ill, then furious. His fists tightened on the rifle. Though Quinn had told him it was loaded, he checked the ammunition and slid the bolt back to chamber a round.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Hell if I know. Look for an opportunity. Olivia’s smart, she’ll be thinking of a way to get out. Then we act.”

“Keep them in sight, Peterson. Don’t lose them.”

Quinn glanced at Zack. “Olivia’s a hostage. Let your training take over.”

Zack had been telling himself the same thing, but it didn’t help. “It’s hard. Damn, it’s hard.”

“I know.”

Olivia’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her entire body rigid as she assessed the situation.

Driscoll held the gun inches from her head, his finger calmly on the trigger. He seemed not at all fazed that they were being followed. His eyes were on the dirt road, though every few minutes he’d reach for the steering wheel and she’d flinch. He kept her in the center of the wide, one-lane road. If she slowed, he said calmly, “Keep moving.”

He would kill her as soon as he didn’t need her. He’d only grabbed her because she happened to be there-a shield, in case someone came from the house. Maybe he’d intended to take one of the Krause sisters once he realized the police were all over the mountain. Or maybe he simply planned on killing the deputy and escaping in his car. And she’d had the misfortune of walking right up to him.

In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think he might have made a clean getaway if she hadn’t walked into the barn this morning. Driscoll would have disappeared, resurfacing in another city to kill more innocent children.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her Zack and Quinn were still following. Olivia took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, focused on her situation. Not only did she need a way out, she had to delay Driscoll enough that Zack and Quinn could nail the bastard.

Missy’s killer sat next to her.

The thought made her foot ease up on the gas.

“Keep moving,” he said again, glancing in the side mirror at the car behind.

She jerked when he put his left hand on her knee, pushing her leg down on the accelerator. This was the hand that brutally murdered her sister. The car swerved and she came within a foot of going off the edge. He reached over and steadied the wheel. She could barely breathe, barely even think with Missy’s killer so close.

The winding road had a steep drop-off on the right and a rock-strewn gully on the left. If she aimed the car into the shallow gully, the impact wouldn’t kill them, but his gun would end her life. If she aimed the car off the cliff, they would both die. Even if they quickly hit one of the many redwood or fir trees, the steep slope and violent crash would leave them both dead. Driscoll wouldn’t kill again.

Fear pressed tight against every nerve ending. She was scared, no doubt about it, but anger boiled hot inside as she thought about this evil man’s horrid crimes. The children he’d killed, the families he’d destroyed.

But instead of seeing the pictures of dead children, she envisioned little Amanda Davidson.

And Olivia came back to herself.

It would end today. She didn’t want to lose her life, but there was no way she would allow Driscoll to escape. A master of changing identity, of blending in, he could disappear and they wouldn’t know where he was until another blonde girl was found stabbed to death.

For the victims-living and dead-Olivia would stop him. She worked to control her fear and her anger, because both threatened to overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to act if she lost control of her emotions.

She almost laughed. For years she’d worked to suppress her feelings, to live in neutral. But ever since the day she learned Brian Harrison Hall was innocent, all her decisions had been guided by emotion. Instinct. Fear. Rage.

She slowed to round a sharp turn, glancing again in the rearview mirror. Her heart skipped a beat when she lost sight of Quinn’s white sedan, then steadied when the car came back into view.

Not that they could help her.

“Speed up!” Driscoll commanded, a new edge to his voice.

“Do you want me to drive off the cliff?” she countered. Her voice quivered but at least it was audible.

“Shut up.”

No conversation. Fine with her. More time to think.

She glanced at the mass of equipment built under the dashboard of the police car, trying to find something to grab as a weapon. Nothing. Driscoll had seized the shotgun as soon as they got into the car. It lay across his legs, its barrel facing her. His right hand rested on his lap, gripping the handgun, which was still pointed at her. He had turned on the police radio and appeared to be listening to the static. Did he think they were so stupid as to broadcast their plans when he had access to the radio? Perhaps.

He probably thought he was smarter than everyone.

He was looking in the side mirror again, distracted, the gun not pointing right at her, but more at the steering wheel.

If she was going to do anything to save herself and give Quinn and Zack the chance to capture or kill him, now was the time to act.

She slammed on the brakes. Her forehead hit the steering wheel at the same time that Driscoll reached up with his hands to brace himself. She heard the gun hit the floor as she grabbed at the door handle.

She pulled and the door opened, but Driscoll grabbed her arm. “Fucking bitch!”

She screamed as her left foot touched the ground, and at the same time he pulled her against him. With all her strength she resisted, trying to break his grip. The car started to roll as her right foot left the brake in her effort to throw herself from the vehicle.

With a loud grunt, Driscoll pulled her back into the car and she heard a click. Cold metal pressed against her neck. Something ran down her throat. It wasn’t until she glanced down that she saw it was blood.

The edge of a knife had cut into her neck. It burned.

As the car rolled, Olivia instinctively braked. Slowly, so the knife didn’t dig deeper.

His voice was low, rough, pure rage as he whispered in her ear, “Shut the fucking door.”

Mouth dry, unable to swallow, she complied. She fought to control her shaking body, fearing any movement might kill her.

His breath touched her cheek, his voice an evil caress. “Try something like that again, I’ll cut your heart out.”

He withdrew the knife from her neck, twisted it in his hand, and plunged it toward her chest.

She screamed before she knew she’d opened her mouth, her arms instinctively coming up in a defensive move.

He stopped the knife, but not before it cut through her blouse. A sharp knick of the blade on her skin stung.

Uncontrollably shaking, she watched a rivulet of blood spread slowly down her blouse. Her heart beat visibly through her shirt. He’d actually cut her.

Driscoll stared at the blood, transfixed. For a moment, she was certain he’d stab her again, this time without restraint. The knife would tear open her heart and she’d last a full three minutes as her blood circulated through her body and out the hole in her heart, drenching her, her mind slowing but fully aware that she was dying.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, hoping that Zack would shoot the bastard.

Dammit, she didn’t want to die! Especially at the hands of a psychopath like Christopher Driscoll. She didn’t want to die now that she finally had hope restored in her life, that she’d found a man she loved.

She didn’t want to lose Zack.

“Drive.”

She couldn’t have heard right. She opened her eyes.

“Drive!” he shouted, moving the knife to his left hand and pressing the tip into her side enough to cause sharp pain. Would he nick her to death? Slowly drain her of blood until she was too weak to fight?

She let her foot up off the brake and the car rolled forward.

“Faster! And don’t be an idiot.”

Pressing the accelerator, she chanced a glance in the rearview mirror. Quinn and Zack were right behind them, Zack partially out of the car, his face all hard lines, his jaw clenched. His rifle was aimed at Driscoll’s head. But as Olivia gathered speed, Zack jumped back into the car.

“You won’t get away,” she said, her voice cracking. She swallowed, the cut in her neck throbbing painfully. “Kill me, it doesn’t matter. Cops are all over this mountain. They’ll shoot you dead.”

He said nothing. With the knife still near her side, he reached to the floor and felt around. His hand came back with the gun, but he put it under his leg. He liked holding the knife. His fingers turned it around and around. He wanted to use it.

On her.

Focus, Olivia. Don’t think about the knife. Don’t think about the gun. Get him talking.

Olivia didn’t remember much of her criminal psychology training, but one thing she did remember: get them talking.

She swallowed the terror remaining from her failed escape and said the first thing that came to mind.

“You killed my sister.”

His body stiffened, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak again, let alone announce that he’d killed Missy.

Olivia continued, emboldened by his silence. “In California. You framed Brian Harrison Hall for Missy’s murder. But you know he was released from prison.”

“I read about Harry’s release.” His voice was well modulated, intelligent. Gone was the hoarse, dark whisper. It sounded like they were having a regular conversation.

“Why Missy?”

He didn’t answer.

“I was there, you know.”

He looked at her closely. She forced herself to glance at him. If he got off on fear, she would bury it. Not give him the satisfaction that he had truly frightened her, that he still scared her, that she believed he would kill her without remorse or hesitation.

His pale blue eyes were cold, but his face was smooth, calm, normal. It didn’t surprise her that little girls had walked off with him; he didn’t look like a killer. He didn’t look like the monster Olivia knew he was.

“You?” he said. “You were that little brat?”

She nodded, shaking, and refocused on the road, trying to maintain a steady speed. They were twisting down, around the mountain, but Road 56 was only a mile or two ahead of them. Road 56 was paved. There he’d make her drive faster, and any hope of her escape would then be futile.

She didn’t think she’d live through another attempt.

“You hit me across the face,” she said, the sting of that long ago blow still vivid.

“You tried to stop me from taking what was mine.”

Olivia shivered at his matter-of-fact tone.

“Do you remember Missy?”

“My angel.” He said angel with such reverence it chilled her.

“You killed her.” Her voice was far harsher than she’d intended. She held her breath, awaiting a physical blow. Or worse, the knife cutting deep into her flesh.

He didn’t touch her. Instead, he said, “I didn’t kill her.”

What was he doing, going for an insanity plea? Or claiming innocence?

“Yes you did,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I saw you.”

“You said you saw Brian Hall.” His voice was mocking, almost laughing, and Olivia suppressed the kernel of doubt that tried to surface.

“We have your DNA.”

He was quiet. She continued slowly down the mountain. Spiraling down, down, getting closer to Road 56, which would bring them to the interstate.

Would he still need a hostage then? She hoped he’d keep her alive as long as he was being pursued but she couldn’t count on it. She needed a plan.

“She was suffering,” he said.

His voice was calm, almost surreal, and he was no longer looking at her. He stared out the window, lost in thought.

“What?!” She couldn’t have heard him right.

“Angels suffer, you know. So much pain. I freed her from her shell, gave her eternal life. Spirits live forever. There is no pain when you’re a pure soul. You should thank me for freeing your sister’s soul. You should be sad that I didn’t free yours, too.”

Dear God, his words terrified her but his voice was so ordinary. Reasoned.

“You killed Missy and all those other girls so they wouldn’t suffer.” She matched his tone: clinical and composed. She had to keep him talking. She didn’t dare hope she could talk him into surrendering, but she would damn well try.

“Yes. To relieve their suffering.”

“I think the court would consider that.” She hated the words, but hoped to convince him the system would be lenient.

“No one understands! No one sees other people’s pain.”

“Didn’t you know raping those girls hurt them?”

He didn’t respond, and Olivia mentally hit herself. She’d blown it. She should have pursued the other line of questioning. Dammit, she didn’t know what she was doing! She wasn’t a psychologist.

The police were all over the mountain. Quinn and Zack had certainly called in reinforcements. They’d be waiting at Road 56, as well as down the mountain. Would there be a roadblock? She didn’t know much about hostage negotiations, but logically, they would try and stop the car and talk to him. Reason with him. Promise him whatever he wanted, then find a way to take him down.

The fifteen minutes she’d been in the car seemed like forever; she certainly didn’t want to be a hostage for hours. She had to find a way to escape the car as soon as possible, before they reached Road 56, where jumping would be suicide.

She had only minutes to figure a way out. Where he wouldn’t kill her.

She had to get him talking again. Distract him. What did she really know about him other than he was a cruel, vicious child murderer? His mother had been murdered. His sister Angel. The man in his life, Bruce.

“Bruce is dead,” she said.

His fist tightened around the knife that was only inches from her side. Good move, St. Martin.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Too late to back out now. “He was bad news, wasn’t he? He hurt your sister. I saw her picture. She was beautiful.”

“He violated her.” Driscoll’s voice was quiet, almost childlike. “He raped her all the time and I couldn’t stop him.”

Olivia glanced at Driscoll. He had a faraway look on his face. Remembering Angel? What he did or didn’t do?

His hand gripping the knife fell into his lap. He stared out the windshield, not focused on her or the car behind them. Carefully, cautiously, she slid her left hand to the bottom of the steering wheel. He didn’t notice.

“When he hurt Angel, it must have made you angry. Frustrated.”

“I wanted to kill him.” He glanced at her and Olivia held her breath. “I would have killed him. I would have killed him if I had the chance.”

“I know. To protect Angel.”

He nodded, his eyes brightening. Did he think she understood him? That she agreed with him? If that’s what it took to get him to let his guard down, she’d follow that path.

“She was a beautiful girl,” Olivia repeated. Driscoll turned to her. “Bruce was a bad man to hurt her.” She sounded like she was speaking to a child, but Driscoll seemed responsive.

“Bruce was mean. He touched her and made her cry. I dried her tears. I kissed her bruises and made the pain go away.”

His gaze drifted out the front window once again.

Olivia braced herself. She would have only one shot at escape. She needed a sharp turn that veered right. No hesitation.

“Angel must have loved you a lot for taking care of her.”

“I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t.”

“You were just a kid yourself,” she said.

“I would have killed him. I would have,” he repeated, defiant.

Through the trees ahead she saw the turn she’d been waiting for.

Olivia dropped her left hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her lap. The knife was more than a foot from her.

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

Silence. The turn was seconds away. Now or never.

Without braking, she flung open the door and threw herself from the car, rolling. Her first impact with the rocky dirt road knocked the wind out of her and she couldn’t catch her breath. Gunshots echoed around her as she rolled down into the shallow gully.

A sickening crash of metal vibrated in her head.

Zack watched in horror as Olivia fell from the car and hit the ground violently, rolling away. Had Driscoll killed her and thrown her from the car? After her failed escape attempt ten minutes ago, Zack feared the worst.

“Travis!” Quinn shouted.

Zack raised the rifle and aimed at Driscoll’s tires. From the passenger seat, Driscoll was trying to both control the vehicle and move over into the driver’s seat. Quinn drove right on his tail, feet from the bumper. Zack fired, threw back the bolt, fired again. Driscoll’s car swerved left as he overcompensated and drove hard into the gully. The rear end of the police car lifted from the ground, then slammed down.

Zack dropped the rifle and drew his.45. He opened the passenger door and knelt behind the steel shielding, waiting for gunfire.

Had Driscoll been injured? He probably wasn’t dead, but Zack could hope.

He pushed aside the sickening thought that Olivia lay dead up the road.

She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead.

“Travis!” Quinn, in the same position as Zack but behind the driver’s-side door, nodded his head toward Driscoll’s vehicle.

Movement.

Driscoll opened fired through the shattered rear window. Zack and Quinn ducked, then returned fire, but Driscoll was already on the move. He ran down the road, away from them, toward the steep slope to the north. He could lose himself in the woods too easily.

Zack ran after him.

Driscoll ran fast, but Zack ran faster, the image of Olivia slamming into the road burned into his mind. Driscoll suddenly stopped, turned, and raised his gun in one slick move.

Zack was right behind him. He body-slammed Driscoll, knocking the gun from his hand. They rolled down the embankment.

Raw rage flooded Zack’s senses. When they stopped tumbling, Driscoll lay on his stomach. Zack flipped him and held him down with his left hand while he pummeled his face.

No killer had angered and scared him more than this bastard. What he had done to those girls, to their families.

He pictured Jenny Benedict’s small, lifeless body.

Jillian Reynolds’s decomposed body on the coroner’s table.

Olivia held hostage.

Driscoll struggled and Zack used both fists and pounded into the killer’s face, his chest, his stomach. Zack’s breath came out in harsh, ragged gasps. He grunted and swore, but didn’t know what he was saying. He heard someone shout, but didn’t hear the words through the river of bloody rage that flowed in his veins.

He’d never hated anyone more than Driscoll. He didn’t see a man; he saw a monster.

“Dammit, Travis!”

Quinn pushed Zack off Driscoll and he hit the ground with a thud, a rock scraping his back.

He blinked, remembering where he was.

The Cascades. The car chase. Chasing Driscoll.

Driscoll moaned, half conscious. Quinn handcuffed the killer.

“Shit, Zack, you could have killed him.”

Zack stared at his bloody fists. His blood mixed with the killer’s. He rubbed his hands on his jeans over and over, hating what he’d done. The anger that still embraced him had almost turned him into a killer himself.

Making him no better than Chris Driscoll.

He could barely catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Olivia.

He jumped up, stumbling as he scurried up the slope.

“Olivia!” he called, running back up the road.

Inner rage turned to bone-numbing fear. If anything had happened to her… no. No. If Driscoll had killed Olivia, Zack would never recover. He loved her. He needed her in his life.

He retraced his steps, passing the crashed police car, Quinn’s sedan. “Olivia!”

He ran around the sharp bend. She lay by the side of the road. Blood soaked her white blouse. Her throat… dear God, he’d slit her throat. Blood smeared her neck, her collar.

Stumbling, he half ran, half crawled to where she lay, not noticing the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Liv, oh God, Liv.”

Then he saw her chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Gently, he gathered her into his lap.

“Liv?”

He stroked her cheek and her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi.”

Her voice was faint, but a smile curved her lips.

Zack kissed those lips, his tears falling on her face. “Olivia, I thought you were dead. The blood.” He stared at her neck.

“It’s not deep. I’m okay.” She reached up and cupped his face in her hand.

He kissed her again, urgently. She was alive. Whole. He shuddered as his heart rate finally began to slow, holding her tightly in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go.

“Did you get him?” Olivia asked.

“Yes. He won’t hurt anyone else.”

“It’s over,” she murmured into his chest. “Missy can rest in peace.”

“And so can her sister.” Zack stroked her hair, closed his eyes. Olivia was alive. Safe.

The past could finally be buried.