Into the Storm (45 page)

“If I turn on the light, he’ll know. Connie Smith, Jennifer Denfield, Yvette Wallace—”

“Beth!”

“—Paula Kettering, Wendy Marino, Julia Telman…Lord, I think he…He must’ve…drugged me.”

Beth pulled her hand free, and Tracy heard her scrambling away. She heard sounds of retching, as if Beth had jammed her finger down her throat.

“How did he drug you?” she asked. Dear God, she didn’t want to be left alone here in the darkness.

“In the soup,” Beth gasped. “Or the ginger ale. He usually drugs me…after the fight…so he can chain me back up…He must’ve…planned…Didn’t unchain you…Knew it would be…fast…”

“Where’s the knife?” Tracy asked, through the tears that she couldn’t stop from streaming down her face. Beth was checking out, and she was going to be alone here in the dark. “At least let me have the knife.”

And there it was. Cold and hard in her hand.

“Use it,” Beth breathed. “Finish me.”

“What?”

“When he finds out I didn’t kill you…He’ll take one of us upstairs,” Beth told her, weeping now, too. “I don’t want to die like that. Please…Please…Finish me.”

Sophia couldn’t stand it another second. Everyone was having trouble with the snow and ice. Everyone was moving as quickly as they could, but despite that, it was going to be hours before Dave and Decker got the help they needed.

“I’m leaving my post,” she told Tess, who manned the computer.

“Sophia, you can’t.” Tess spoke the words, but her expression countered them.

Sophia knew that Tess was nearly as worried about Dave and Decker as she was. “I’ll get Stella and Rob to help you. They know these roads much better than I do, anyway.”

“Lindsey took the only car,” Tess said.

“Rob’s got a truck with a plow.” His back was out, or he’d be out there using it himself. As it was, he could barely hobble from his bed to the restaurant and back.

“The plow that’s attached to the truck that he doesn’t even let Stella drive?” Tess asked. “You think he’s going to let you borrow—”

“I’m not going to ask,” Sophia said. “I don’t need a key to get it started.” She would hot-wire it. It was one of the skills she’d picked up, living on the streets of a third-world country.

Tess’s eyebrows went up. But she wasn’t convinced. “Have you ever used a plow before?”

“No, but when I applied to work for Troubleshooters Incorporated, I put on my résumé,
Up for Learning New Skills,
” Sophia said.

“I’m in charge here, and officially? I can’t let you do this.”

Sophia nodded. “Unofficially?”

Tess tossed over her motel room key. “I know you’re allergic to wool, but tough, you’ll just have to itch. Wear at least two of my sweaters. And at least two pairs of socks. Take plenty of supplies. Blankets. Wear one of the training jackets so I can track you. And take the first-aid kit from the kitchen. I am
so
going to get my butt kicked for this. Probably worst of all by Decker and Dave.”

Provided Sophia found them alive.

Lindsey turned on the gas stove. All four burners. The flames lit the kitchen, creating shadows that leaped and jumped on the walls.

It was better than nothing.

She was ready for him, for when he came back. And he would come back, of that she had no doubt.

Was he really wearing body armor? If she got the opportunity to shoot him again, she’d aim for his head.

A far-more-burning question, though, was whether or not he was armed. For all she knew, he had a closet filled with AK-47s somewhere in this rambling house.

All she had were her handguns with their limited range—even more limited since she was now going for headshots. She was a decent enough marksman, but a human head was a very small target. Especially considering the adrenaline that was coursing through her system.

Lindsey had just unlocked the door to the basement, throwing the bolts as silently as possible, when her cell phone shook. It was Jenk, thank God.

“I’m in, it’s him,” she whispered, moving so that her back was to the wall, behind the barricade she’d made from the kitchen table. “What’s your ETA? Please say
now
or
soon.
”

But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Shit. We’re still at least three miles away. When we’re moving, we’re doing about an eight-minute mile, but the weather’s getting worse. All the local backup has been shut down—everyone’s been ordered to get to shelter.”

“Shit,” she agreed. “Because the next thing I was going to ask you for was an ambulance or a Medevac helicopter. I haven’t found Tracy yet, but…” She had to take a deep breath, glancing at the gleaming ring of hair still hanging above the sink, remembering Eulie’s words.
You’ll scream as I slip the knife between your scalp and your skull…
“I have a nasty feeling we’re going to need medical help when we do.”

“I’ve got Lopez with me, and—damnit! There’s ice on the roads, beneath the snow. We are just not making it up this hill. We’ve been in and out of the SUV, pushing it for twenty minutes now.”

“Get to shelter,” she told him, her heart sinking.

“Not a chance. We’re—”

“Shhh,” she said. What was that sound? Floorboards as someone crept closer? Or just the old house creaking in the wind? “Look, I came inside, pretending my car went off the road. He let me in, we talked, it became clear he was Eulie, so…God, Mark, I shot him. But I think he’s wearing body armor, because it didn’t drop him. No blood. He’s somewhere in this house, the power’s out, and I can’t talk now—I’ve got to listen for him. Just…be safe.”

She cut the connection, but her phone shook almost immediately as he text messaged her.
Hng on. On my way 2 U.

Find shelter,
she messaged back.
Dont die.

On my way.

Cant help me if U R dead,
she messaged.

Get out,
he messaged back.
Wait fr us in ur car.

Yeah? Like hell.
Cant leave Tracy,
she told him.

OK. I cant fnd shltr. Get it?

God, there was definitely a sound coming from the hallway. She dropped her phone and held her weapon with both hands.

And water exploded, directly into her face.

Lindsey covered her eyes with her left elbow, trying to move, but trapped between the table and the refrigerator, there was no place to go. He was spraying the wall across from her with some kind of high-pressure hose, and the water bounced off, drenching her, choking her, stinging and cold.

She turned, trying to spot him but, of course, he was standing out of range, way back in the hall. She fired her handgun anyway, trying to blast him right through the plaster wall.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and all she could hear was her heart hammering and water, dripping off the table, off her face, into the puddle she now sat in on the floor.

She was soaked to the skin.

The son of a bitch had limited her options. He’d made it impossible for her to grab Tracy and run. She wouldn’t last ten minutes out in the freezing storm with wet clothes.

“I’ve got a team of Navy SEALs coming as backup,” she called out to him. “They’ll be here in minutes.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he called back from what sounded like the living room. “I’ll work faster. Of course, when they come, I’ll kill them, too.”

And, with a shriek, the smoke alarm went off.

Beth was Tracy’s only hope.

“No one’s finished,” she told Beth as somewhere in the house a smoke alarm started ringing. She couldn’t think about what that meant—if the house truly was on fire and she was chained down here. “We’re still fighting. We’ll use this knife, but we’ll use it on him. Now I need you to go up those stairs and turn on the light.”

But Beth had given in to the drugs the monster had fed her. She’d given up.

The drugs he’d used must’ve been some sort of roofie-type deal, because Beth was still talking, still seemingly conscious, though very woozy. She was even able to move—she was just very compliant and relaxed.

“Please,” Beth begged. “Finish me.”

“I’ll finish you,” Tracy lied, “if that’s really what you want. But wouldn’t you rather be set free?”

Beth was back to muttering and chanting that list of names. Jennifer whatever and Cathy something.

“Go up those stairs,” Tracy ordered her, “and turn on the light. Can you do that?”

Beth didn’t answer. She just dragged herself away.

Jenk lost Lindsey.

It was as if her phone had gone completely dead.

“God damn it,” he said. “Lopez, use your phone—try calling Lindsey.”

He had his back to the rear of the SUV, as they all slipped and slid, trying to get enough traction to push the vehicle up the hill.

“I’m not getting through,” Lopez reported.

“It’s windy as shit,” Izzy said. “Maybe a tower went down.”

Or maybe Eulie had smashed Lindsey’s phone, then smashed in her head, and…

The fucking SUV slid a good twenty-five feet back down the road, despite their efforts to prevent it from doing so.

Gillman swore. Loudly.

“Leave it,” Jenk said. He opened the back to get his weapon, opened the front to get the map.

Lindsey needed him. Right now.

It was time to use the only form of transportation he could absolutely count on. It was time to run.

The piece of wood that had pierced Decker’s side wasn’t quite as long as Dave had feared.

He’d imagined a nine- or ten-inch spike, skewering all of Deck’s internal organs.

Instead, it was about two inches long and skinny, like a giant splinter. Well, really, more like nature’s own shiv. And yeah, Decker had bled, appropriately enough, like a stuck pig, but his unconscious state more likely came from a blow he’d received to his head.

He was still out, the bastard, which meant that Dave had to carry him. Through blowing snow that stung his face—like being hit with BBs made of ice. Through drifts that were sometimes as high as his hips.

He staggered and tweaked his broken wrist, almost dropping Deck as the pain made him shout. He cursed the storm, he cursed Deck, but most of all he cursed himself.

Back in the car, right before they’d crashed, he’d called Decker a coward. So what did that make him?

Who loves ya, baby?

No, really,
he should have said to Sophia, when he’d had her on the phone.
Why don’t you ever just stop and get your bearings? Take a deep breath and look around you—and see who really loves you.

His world had shrunk down to pain and cold. But he would get through this—he’d been through worse. He’d carry Deck to safety, be the hero of the hour—not that anyone would notice him.

He’d watch, silently, while Sophia fell into Decker’s arms.

“I should just drop you in a drift,” he told Deck, who, of course, didn’t respond.

The smoke alarms screamed—even before Eulie tossed what looked like draperies onto the lit gas stove.

At first Lindsey thought he was trying to cut the light, but then she realized he’d thrown newspaper onto it, too. It burst into flame.

He was trying to set the house on fire.

Gun held at ready—thank God she’d invested in a firearm that could withstand a good dousing—she moved to the hall doorway. He’d vanished again.

But her quick peek down the hall had revealed flickering light—flames—coming from the living room.

Yup. The house was on fire.

The good news was that if he tried to come down the hall again, he’d be silhouetted against the light from the flames.

The bad news was that the house was on fire. Lindsey’s phone had been trashed by that high-pressure drenching. She was soaking wet, too.

And, oh yeah, outside? They were having the blizzard of the century.

Leaving the shelter of the house was not an option, but if she didn’t put that fire out, soon, it would become a necessity.

Lindsey pulled the curtains and the paper from the stove, stomping out the flames.

She had to go into the living room—put out the fire he’d started there, too. Except that was what Eulie wanted her to do. He’d be waiting for her, ready to kill her, but not with a gun.

No, he’d told her how he wanted to kill her—with the blade of his knife.

Revulsion filled her, along with its companion, fear. And for the first time since she’d left her car and pressed her finger against that doorbell, Lindsey realized that she could very well die. Right here. At this man’s hands.

Horribly.

Fear was not a new emotion—she’d been afraid, plenty of times before in her life. No one spent seven years on the LAPD without experiencing total, bowel-clearing fear.

And she’d had the added bonus of living in fear that her mother would die, starting back when she was a child.

Still, this particular fear was intense. She was all but alone in a dark house, in the height of a howling storm, with a true monster of a serial killer.

Lindsey had learned as a cop that it wasn’t the fear but rather what she did with it that mattered. She had to set it aside. She had to think clearly, keep her wits about her. She had to find and then kill this beast, put out the fire he’d started, and locate Tracy. Then and only then would there be time to tremble and shake.