Primal Obsession (32 page)

THIRTY-NINE

Portland

Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.
But leaving it to the Lord would take too long. And be less than satisfying. Less than complete. Less than certain. Retribution, revenge, reprisal—all words for the same necessity. The only recourse. Anything else was too slow, too cautious, too unreliable.

Retribution was the only way to stop the empty aching, the terrible nightmares. The accusing faces. All that blood.

Revenge would yield peace. Blessed peace at last.

Reprisal had to be with these hands. With this weapon. Direct. Irrevocable. The matte-black metal caught no light, would give no hint death awaited.

But a watcher must take care not to be seen, must hide in the shadows, be unobtrusive. A watcher must be anonymous, a chameleon. Unseen. Must watch the other watchers, the doors and windows, the street. A watcher must be alert. No time for sleep.

Soon, very soon, the time for retribution would come.

These hands would be ready.

FORTY

Wednesday, Greenville

Sam finished trimming his moustache and passed a hand over his chin. Smooth as a new ash bat. He grinned into the mirror, waggled his moustache the way that made Annie smile.

Damn. He couldn’t wait to see her. To tell her.

Tricia had loved only the Major League hype, but Annie loved
him
. Her last words to him had forced him to think. Being laid up had helped. Top that with the job offer, and at last he could see his way out of the pit he’d dug himself and into a future with Annie.

A future free of the obsession and fear that had brought them together.

It had been a week without new word of Holden Smith. No body. No arrest. The fear hadn’t ended yet. Hell, he’d been so full of self pity, his brain had turned to cookie crumbs. AHe
was
a selfish bastard not to realize Smith must have managed to find his way out of the Gomagash Wilderness. Where was the freak? He could be anywhere by now.

In Portland.

In two strides, Sam reached the phone in the cabin’s small living room. He punched Justin Wylde’s cell number. “Wylde, Sam Kincaid here. What’s the scoop on Smith? Tell me you have him in custody.”

“Wish I could, Sam. The news isn’t good.”

His heart thudded like a jackhammer. He sank onto the sofa. “What the hell happened?”

The divers had found no body in Big Loon Pond, but searchers located a place in the mud where a man had dragged himself out of the water, then walked away. On Saturday, against orders, a search team separated to sweep a wider area. One of the men didn’t report in. On Sunday, he was found dead, his throat cut with his own knife and his backpack and clothing taken. To avoid panic, they were trying to keep it out of the newspapers.

“Jesus H. Christ, that was three days ago. What about Annie?” Sam rose to prowl the length of the room. “He could go after her again. What are you doing to protect her?”

“Take it easy, Sam. We’re on top of it. Where the hell do you think I am right now?”

“You’d better be sitting in a room with her.” Sam drew a calming breath, remembered who he was talking to. “Hell, she’s your sister. Of course you’re on this like grass on an infield.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Sarcasm honed an edge on his voice. “I’m in a surveillance van across the street from her condo building. A man is on the back entrance. I’ve got an unmarked car sticking close to her wherever she goes. The FBI is waiting for my alert.”

Unease snaked through Sam. “Not good enough. Why isn’t she in fucking protective custody? Don’t you state guys have a safe house or something?”

“She refused. Insisted using her as bait was the only way to catch the fucker.”

Sam smoked the airwaves with a string of obscenities. The woman was a danger to herself. She needed a keeper. “Damned if I shouldn’t have expected it. She wanted to act as bait up north. I wouldn’t go along with it.”

Justin chuckled. “More power to you. If you can stand up to her nagging and prodding, you two will be very happy together.” When Sam didn’t react to that, he continued, “Don’t worry. It’s all under control. If Smith shows up, he’ll be surrounded in seconds.”

“So you say. But I don’t like the odds. You don’t know this freak the way I do. He’s as devious as a Yankee pitcher, but smarter.” A keen blade sliced through him. He needed to see she was alive and whole. He needed to hold her. And she just might need him. “I’ll be in Portland as fast as my Explorer can burn up the pavement.”

“You don’t want to do that, Sam.” Justin’s voice took on an authoritative-cop tone. “He can’t get to her. You might be in the way.”

“Tough shit, Detective.” Sam dropped the receiver in its cradle.

***

Portland

Quitting her job at the
Messenger
was oddly liberating. Annie mentally patted herself on the back as she steered her Nissan Versa onto Brighton Avenue. She’d have no problem leaving the condo behind either.

Traffic crept along, then ground to a halt at the next traffic light. Rush hour would be worse in Los Angeles, but that sort of mundane aggravation didn’t bother her as much as it used to before she faced life-and-death issues.

She searched in the rear-view mirror for the unmarked car escorting her home. Two back, the baby-blue sedan. Spotting the officer both comforted and unnerved her.

Not knowing when or if the Hunter would pounce was like waiting for the guillotine to fall. During the day at work she could keep busy, but at down times, she broke out in a cold sweat or her heart beat so fast she nearly fainted.

She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Exhaustion was overtaking her and increasing the stress. She yawned, a jaw-cracking gaper that shook her entire body. Between dreading Smith’s move and missing Sam, she hadn’t managed more than cat naps since that last night by the Eagle River.

Once the police arrested Smith, she was out of here. Taking that LA magazine job and her other project meant a new start. It sure beat waiting around Portland for Sam Kincaid to find his way through his personal labyrinth to her.

Sam
.

Her heart clattered again, as fast as if she’d climbed a mountain, one of his damn bushwhacks. Tears burned her eyes. If she hadn’t been stopped in traffic, she’d have had to pull over. She yanked out a tissue and blew her nose.

She would miss her family, her friends. She hadn’t even seen Rissa since her return. But leaving was the only way. Here the Versa kept trying to aim itself north, toward Greenville. If she stuck around, she’d give in and go to him. The absolute worst thing she could do. She couldn’t play puppeteer. He had to pull his own strings.

Walking out of his hospital room had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than her race against the Hunter. Her feet felt glued to the floor, and her heart throbbed so painfully she had to clutch her chest. She shook off a nurse’s solicitous hand and had kept chugging until she’d reached Justin.

The light changed, and traffic inched forward until she had only two cars between her and the light. Somewhere ahead horns blared. On her right, two young shorts-clad women herded a knot of preschoolers into Wicked Good Cones.

As she and her brother had exited the hospital, the media had pounced. The frenzy over the capture and subsequent loss of the Hunter clogged the parking lot with reporters and network and cable television crews. Her replies to the barrage of questions were automatic, even robotic. She imagined she’d sounded like a computerized voice. “Yes, the Hunter talked to me. It was a terrifying experience. Sam Kincaid saved my life.”

Saved her life. And changed it.

After Ian, she’d locked up her heart and focused only on her work. But Sam, with his teasing and his patient persistence and his melting kisses, had broken the lock and her control.

How could her heart remain hard when his was as soft as the centers of his favorite Oreo cookies? He taught her to orient herself with a compass well enough to trap a killer, yet Sam was operating his life without a compass. In spite of all his inner turmoil, he helped a troubled boy and coached their motley group into a team—with one horrible exception.

Along the way, he’d stolen her heart. The idea that she might never see him again shredded that organ with jagged teeth. She reached for another tissue.

The blast of a horn behind the Versa brought her back to Brighton Avenue. Sniffling, she tossed down the tissue and shoved the gear shift to Drive. Several long blocks later, she turned into her tree-lined street with its tasteful Colonials. Halfway down on the left stood three garden-style condominium buildings in a horseshoe configuration. In the courtyard formed by the three were a parking lot and landscaped garden. Hers was the first building, the one facing the street.

She liked the condo, but the rear balcony with its potted plants seemed to have shrunk since her return. Odd, but she needed more outdoor space than that now.

She turned in, making a concerted effort to ignore the windowless van across the street. The lettering on its side said Magrogan Construction, but it contained her brother, one or two other detectives, and an array of surveillance electronics. The officer tailing her parked behind the van.

She parked in the slot assigned to her condo. This was when Justin considered her the most vulnerable to an attack—leaving her car and entering the building’s back entrance.

First in the rear-view mirror, then with a casual sweep of the parking lot, she searched for the cop on duty. No sign of him. He was supposed to stay hidden, so that meant nothing. Still, catching sight of him would ease her mind.

On a deep breath, she exited the car and locked it. She smoothed her cotton sweater over her linen slacks. Swinging her purse to her shoulder, she turned slowly to survey again, pretending to admire the flowers edging the pavement.

A movement in the dusty window of the garden shed caught her eye. Ah. Now she felt better. To the side and with a clear view of the entire courtyard, the shed was a good choice. Better cover than yesterday when the cop had sat in his car.

She hurried to the building entrance, punched in the security code, and tripped up the stairs . Justin had urged her to install a security system, but she’d pointed out that the condo didn’t belong to her. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A hand clamped down on her mouth. She was yanked back against a hard body. Cold steel bit into her temple.

“Did you think I’d forget you, bitch?”

***

Sam parked behind the Ford Taurus. The fancy antenna screamed unmarked cop car. In front of it, the MCU van. Everything looked peaceful, under control. Then why were the hairs on his nape twitching like they had when the Hunter was stalking them across the Hump?

He slid out of his SUV as the van’s rear door opened.

“I figured you’d come.” Justin motioned him inside.

“I never did have much sense.” Bending over, Sam squatted on the stool Annie’s brother shoved at him. A rack on one wall of the van held rifles, helmets, and Kevlar vests. Electronic gear with blinking lights and assorted controls covered the other.

Three other detectives beside Justin sat inside. The two in front, a man he didn’t know and Detective Peters, played cards. The third, a younger man capped with headphones, frowned as he turned a dial.

“Where is she?” Sam demanded.

***

Annie’s heart thudded to her heels. As if locked in irons, her limbs wouldn’t work. Reality shrank to the vise on her mouth and the gun at her head. She felt paralyzed until an acrid stench stung her nostrils. She squirmed against her captor.

“Now, Annie, be a good girl, and we can do this the easy way.” The oily voice whispering in her ear made her skin crawl. “Promise you won’t scream, and I’ll let go. But don’t forget this excellent pistol.”

Slumping, she fisted her hands in her purse strap. The police bug in the phone base would pick up their voices. Justin would hear. She nodded.

He shoved her away, and she fell against the Sheraton console in the foyer. It wobbled against the wall. Her stomach churned. She could barely breathe. No, she had to be strong. She gulped in air to clear her head and righted the fragile table.

“How did you get in here?” Her heart was a painful lump, throbbing in her throat. Was her voice loud enough for the tiny microphone?

He faced her, the gun aimed at her heart. Gone were the camouflage paint and clothing that had covered him. Wearing that sun-screening guise as the Hunter had kept him pale as the computer geek he’d presented to the campers. He wore jeans and a Portland Sea Dogs tee-shirt, innocuous garb. She wouldn’t ask how he’d obtained them.

His smile was a slit of evil. “The guy in 202 probably wonders where his flowers are.”

She glanced at the lock. “But the lock...”

He held up a pointed tool like a nutpick. “A talent of mine you won’t get to add to my story. Too bad.”

“What do you want?”

“I want
you
, of course, Annie. But before we have our fun, we’re going for a long drive.”

Nausea burned her throat. If she got into a car with him, she would die. He would take her into the woods and hunt her like before. But this time she'd have no compass, no bear trap to lead him to, no Sam to help her.

She would never see Sam again. Or her family. She willed the nausea to subside and straightened her shoulders. She had to be sure Justin heard their voices. One hand on her stomach, she sidled along the wall toward the kitchen. And the telephone.

His gaze and the pistol’s muzzle followed her movement. The weapon was a police automatic. New dread cramped her stomach tighter. “I can see I have no choice this time. You’ve outsmarted the cops. Where’s the officer guarding the back entrance?”

At that, he swaggered, waving the gun. “Stupid cop should’ve had a cup to piss in instead of leaving his car. He won’t miss this nine millimeter. Someone will find him in the dumpster. Eventually.”