Die for Me (53 page)

“I won’t mark your face. I need it . . . pretty.” He wiped at his cheek with his sleeve and lowered her to her feet.

“What’s the matter?” she taunted deliberately. “Can’t you see past a few bruises when you immortalize me in your stupid game? Or can you not function without an exact model? It must be frustrating, only being able to copy. Never creating anything on your own.” She swallowed hard and lifted her chin again. “Simon.”

His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed and once again he jerked her off her feet. “What do you know?”

“Everything,” she sneered. “I know everything. And so do the police. So go ahead and kill me, but you really won’t get away with it. You’ll get caught and you’ll go to prison where you can paint clowns all day long and not need to hide them under your bed.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Where are they?”

Sophie smiled at him. “Who?”

He shook her, so hard her teeth rattled. “Daniel and Susannah. Where are they?”

“They’re here, looking for you. Just like Vito Ciccotelli is looking for you. He won’t rest until he finds you.” She narrowed her gaze. “Did you think no one would know, Simon? That no one could find you? Did you really think that no one would hear?”

“No one has found me,” he said. He lifted her higher and she winced which made him smile. “No one did hear me,” he said. “And no one will hear you.”

Fury gave her courage. “You’re wrong. All the people you killed screamed long after you buried them. You just weren’t listening. But Vito Ciccotelli was and he always will.”

He forced her to her knees. “Then I’ll kill him, too. But first I’ll kill you.”

Sunday, January 21, 7:45
A.M.

Selma Crane had lived in a tidy Victorian house before Simon had buried her next to Claire Reynolds in the Winchester field. Vito crept up to the attached garage, weapon in his hand, and looked in the window. Inside was a white van. He nodded to Nick and Liz who stood behind a cruiser at the end of the driveway.

Behind Nick and Liz stood the SWAT team, ready to storm the house on Vito’s signal. Vito joined them. “It’s a white van. I don’t see any sign of movement inside.”

The leader of the SWAT team stepped forward. “Do we go in?”

“I’d rather surprise him,” Vito said. “Hold for now.”

A car approached, Jen McFain behind the wheel. Daniel Vartanian was in the front seat, his sister in the back. They approached in silence, leaving their car doors open.

“Is he in there?” Daniel asked quietly.

“I think so,” Vito said. “There’s a back door that leads into the kitchen. All of the windows on the back side of the house are boarded up and covered in black tarp.”

“Then this is his place,” Susannah murmured. “Simon wanted to control his lighting so he blacked out the windows of his room and installed lights he could dim.”

“McFain filled us in,” Daniel said. “She told us he has your consultant. Let me go in.”

“No.” Vito shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you go in there half-cocked because you feel guilty that you didn’t turn him in ten years ago.”

Daniel’s jaw twitched. “What I was going to say,” he said carefully, “is that I’m SWAT trained and a trained negotiator. I know what to do.”

Vito hesitated. “You’re still his brother.”

Daniel didn’t look away. “Now you’re just being mean. I’m offering my help. Take it.”

Vito looked at Liz. “When will our negotiator get here?”

“Another hour,” Liz told him. “At best.”

Vito checked his watch, even though he knew exactly what time it was and exactly how much time had passed. Sophie was in there, he could feel it. He didn’t want to think about what Simon could be doing to her right now. “We can’t wait another hour, Liz.”

“Daniel is a negotiator. His CO told me so when I checked up on him the other night. Do you want me to take over and make the call?”

It was tempting. But Vito shook his head and looked Daniel Vartanian square in the eye. “You follow my orders in there. No questions, no hesitation.”

Daniel lifted his brows. “Think of me as a consultant.”

Vito was shocked he could still smile. “Suit up. You and I go in the front, Jen, you and Nick go in the back. SWAT stays at ready.”

“I send them in at the first shot,” Liz said and Vito nodded.

“Be prepared for anything. Let’s go.”

Sunday, January 21, 7:50
A.M.

Sophie was kneeling, Simon’s fingers tunneled under her braid. Fiercely he gripped her head, yanking her upright as she struggled. “Scream, damn you,” he gritted, twisting, making her scalp burn but Sophie bit her tongue.

She wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t give him what he wanted. She wrenched to one side, awkward with her wrists and ankles tied, still kneeling. Simon’s foot crashed down on her calf, holding her legs in place. He jerked her up again by her hair and fumbled behind him. She heard the singing of the sword as he pulled it from its sheath, then the sheath fell on the floor in front of her. His left hand was yanking at her hair, pulling up so that he had free access to the back of her neck while still pointing her face at his cameras. He raised his right arm and Sophie bit her tongue again.

Do not scream. Whatever you do. Do not scream.

“Scream, damn you.” He was furious, shaking.

“Go to hell, Vartanian,” she spat. His foot crashed down on her calf again, sending pain radiating up her spine. She bit down on her tongue even harder and tasted blood. She strained to try to spit it at him, but he dug his fingers in deeper. Her head throbbed from the pressure on her scalp as he held her head in the palm of his huge hand.

He yanked up and she was lifted almost off her knees. Then she heard a noise from upstairs. A creak. Simon’s body jerked. He’d heard it, too.

Vito.
Sophie spat the blood from her mouth, filled her lungs with air and screamed.

“Shut up,” Simon gritted.

Sophie wanted to sing. But she screamed again. Screamed Vito’s name.

“You stupid bitch. You’re going to die.” Simon raised his arm, bearing his weight on her legs with his good foot.

Good foot.
Abruptly Sophie rocked right, then left with all her might sending her shoulder into Simon’s artificial leg. He swayed for a split second, then toppled. The sword clattered from his hand as he tried to break his fall. She rolled to one side, barely avoiding becoming his crash pad. But his hand was still in her hair and she couldn’t get away. The door at the top of the stairs opened and footsteps thundered.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Vito.
“I’m down here,” Sophie screamed.

Simon came up on his good knee, then reared back, pulling her into him. Making her a human shield. “Go back,” he called. “Go back or I kill her.”

The footsteps continued until Sophie saw Vito’s feet, then his legs. Then his face, dark with controlled fury. “Are you hurt, Sophie?”

“No.”

“Don’t come another step,” Simon warned. “Or I swear I’ll break her fucking neck.”

Vito was still on the stairs, his gun trained on Simon. “Don’t touch her, Vartanian,” Vito said, his voice low and ominous. “I will shoot your head right off your shoulders.”

“And risk killing her? I don’t think so. I think you’re going to go back up those stairs and call off your dogs. Then we’re going to walk away, me and your pretty girl.”

Sophie was breathing hard, one of Simon’s hands twined in her hair, his other arm crossed over her throat. There was no way Simon could have planned this better, no way he could have found a deeper vulnerability, capable of stopping Vito in his tracks.

“Kill him, Vito,” she said. “Kill him now or he’ll just kill again. I couldn’t live with that.”

“Your girl has a death wish, Ciccotelli. Come closer and I’ll make her wish come true. Let me walk away and she lives.”

“No, Simon.” It was a soft drawl, calm and steady. “You won’t. I won’t let you.”

Sophie felt the sudden tense of Simon’s body at Daniel’s voice and she jerked to one side, but he came with her and they crashed to the floor. He flattened her against the concrete floor, his weight knocking the breath from her lungs. He jerked back to his knees, dragging her with him. She swung her bound hands but hit only air. He twisted her hair harder and tears stung her eyes.

She swung her hands, scrabbling for any hold, any way to put enough distance between them so that Vito could get a shot. She toppled again, but this time her hands touched metal. Simon’s shiny sword. Sophie kneeled over it, fisted her hands around the hilt, twisted her body so the blade skimmed her side.

And jabbed backward with all her might. The sword met flesh and kept going, plunging deep. With a startled gasp, Simon fell backward, dragging her with him. She let go of the hilt and rolled to her knees, bowed forward, twisted painfully, his hand still gripping her scalp. For a moment all she could hear was her own labored breathing, then footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Simon lay on his back, his own sword plunged into his gut, the blade leaning at an awkward angle away from his body. His white shirt was rapidly becoming red. His mouth was open and he gasped for air. Still his eyes burned with hate and rage and he lunged upward, his free hand going for her throat.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Vito said. “Because I really want to shoot you.”

Breathing hard, Sophie straightened as much as she could, her eyes still on Simon’s. “Go ahead and scream, Simon.”

“You bitch,” Simon spat. His eyes narrowed and once again he lunged, and too late Sophie saw him jerk his wrist outward, bringing the slim blade he’d hidden in his sleeve into his hand. She heard the shots at the same time she felt a searing pain in her side.

The hand in her hair sagged, dragging her so that she knelt at Simon’s side, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. She could see up, but not down. From the corner of her eye she saw Vito step back and holster his gun.

What sounded like an army thundered across the floor upstairs and down the stairs.

“Scene is secure,” Vito said loudly, but his voice shook. “Call an ambulance.”

Sophie could smell the acrid odor of gunpowder and the iron scent of blood. A wave of nausea hurled up from her stomach. “Get his hand out of my hair,” she gritted out. Then she sagged against Daniel as he worked Simon’s big hand out from under her braid. Carefully he laid her down on her back and she clenched her eyes against the sharp pain in her side.

“
Merde,
” she muttered. “Goddamn, this hurts.”

“Chick?” It was Nick’s voice from the stairs. “What happened?”

Vito scrambled to her side. “Call another ambulance, Nick. Sophie’s hit.” Using the blade, he cut the gown into strips and pushed them against her, stemming the flow.

“It’s not deep,” he said. “It’s not deep.”

She grimaced. “Still hurts like hell. Tell me he’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Vito said. “He’s dead.”

Sophie looked over to where Simon lay, less then three feet between them, sightlessly staring at the ceiling. He had two more wounds, one in his head and the other in his chest. She was grimly satisfied to see the sword still stuck in his gut.

“I guess Katherine will figure out which one of us killed him,” she said.

“You can’t feel guilty, Sophie,” Vito murmured. “You had no choice.”

Sophie scoffed. “Guilty? I hope it was my sword that killed the fucker. Although whoever got the headshot is probably taking home the grand prize.”

“That would have been me,” Vito said.

“Good,” Sophie said. She looked up at Daniel who had grabbed the skinny blade and was sawing through the rope that bound her hands. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Daniel asked. “That he’s dead or that I don’t get the grand prize?”

She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Whichever answer is the right one.”

Daniel laughed softly. “I think we did the world a service today. So, Sophie, other than the knife wound, are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Maybe my tongue.” She stuck it out and both men flinched.

Daniel gently took her chin, angling her face toward the light. “My God, girl, you nearly bit it clear through. You might need stitches there, too.”

“But I didn’t scream,” she said with satisfaction. “Not until I heard you upstairs.”

Daniel smiled grimly. “Good for you, Sophie.” He took one of her hands and started rubbing her wrist where the rope had chafed.

Vito took her other hand, and his were shaking now. “My God. Sophie.”

“I’m all right, Vito.”

“She’s all right,” Daniel repeated and Vito’s eyes snapped up to glare at Daniel.

“What the hell kind of negotiation was that?” he ground out in fury. “‘
No, you won’t walk away. I won’t let you.’
What the
fuck
kind of negotiation was that?”

“Vito,” Sophie murmured.

“You wouldn’t have let him leave,” Daniel said. “You know that. Simon hated to be told what to do, by anyone. I could only hope he’d get mad and Sophie could use it to her advantage.” He smiled down at her. “You did good, kid.”