* * *
“Any available units,” the car radio crackled. “Code Ninety-Nine at 5610 North Calispel. Officer MacLeod’s residence. All available units, respond.”
Gio slammed on his brakes and cranked the wheel, whipping his patrol car around. Then he buried the accelerator. The police cruiser leapt forward, the engine opening up with a throaty roar as he headed north.
* * *
Get the gun!
Katie reached the dresser first. She grasped the pistol by the grips and popped the snap with her thumb. With her bloody left hand, she clutched at the holster and pulled.
The holster slipped from her hand.
He reached her, his free hand lashing out at her. The blow caught her square in the nose, driving her back into the wall. Stunned, she flailed at the holster. Her wet fingers were beginning to go numb. She found one of the belt loops and pinched. With her right hand, she jerked the gun from the holster.
Another crushing punch thundered into her face, this one flush in the eye. Stars ricocheted through her vision. A forceful slap knocked the gun from her hand and sent it clattering away.
He took a fistful of her hair and yanked, pulling her forward to the ground. Her vision cleared just as he jammed her face into the wooden floor of her bedroom. She felt his knee between her shoulder blades. The weight of his body pressed down on her, pinning her to the ground.
“Not so tough without a gun, are you?” he taunted her. “Without that, you’re just another worthless bitch.”
Katie struggled to breath. She flailed with her arms, trying to find purchase on something, trying to dislodge him from his position of control.
He chuckled darkly. “You can try as much as you want. It won’t matter. I’m stronger than you. Much stronger.” His voice took on a faraway note. “Finally, I’m much stronger than you.”
Think, Katie! Don’t let him beat you! Think!
“Cops,” Katie wheezed,” are…coming…”
She felt his motion shift and heard his voice nearer to her ear. “Maybe so. Maybe they’ll even catch me this time. But not before I lay the whammo on you.” He pressed the cold blade against her cheek. “So it really doesn’t matter, does it?”
Katie stopped struggling. She let out a whimper of fear.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Now, don’t move.”
The weight slid off her shoulders, but the blade remained resting against her face. He tore aside her robe, baring her skin. He paused for a moment. Katie felt his knife hand tremble. A cold, sick feeling broke out through her entire body. She pushed it away. Instead, she focused her anger.
Then she heard the clattering noise of his belt unbuckling.
Now! It has to be now!
Katie waited.
The unmistakable sound of a zipper descending seemed to fill the room.
You can’t let this happen. Not again.
Next came the rustle of his jeans as he pushed them over his hips.
Now!
Katie waited.
When she felt the rigid warmth of his erection brush against her bare buttocks, she twisted away from the knife. Whirling and sitting up, she swung her left hand blindly, fingers extended. The knife edge of her hand caught him in the temple.
He grunted in surprise.
Katie didn’t stop. She reached out with both hands and gouged her fingertips into his eyes.
A primal scream erupted from his mouth. He lashed out madly with the knife, clipping her in the shoulder with the point of the blade.
Katie yelped and let go. She scrambled backward across the wooden floor until her back slammed into the wall.
“You fucking cunt!” he yelled. His empty hand rubbed at his eyes while he held the knife out in front of him, slashing defensively from side to side. “You blinded me!”
Katie heard her own breath racing in and out of her lungs. She watched him in horror as he rose to his feet.
Where were the police?
Crouching in the corner, with the bed to her left and the wall to her right, she felt like a trapped animal. She told herself that she should get up, scramble over the bed and run out of the house. Before she could react, she heard a siren in the distance. Momentary relief washed over her.
He removed his hand from his face. Blinking, he looked around the room. For a moment, she wondered if he’d be able to see her. Then he cocked his head slightly and his gaze locked onto her.
“I hear them coming,” he rasped. “And I can still see you.”
Katie tensed herself to leap to her feet.
“You’re fucking dead, bitch,” he growled, and stepped forward.
At that moment, Katie spotted the dark black metal of her gun resting on the floor, slightly underneath the bed. She lunged for it, clutching it in her bloody hands.
His heavy thudding footsteps seemed to shake the world as he drew nearer.
Range-master Sergeant Morgan’s booming voice over-shadowed even that sound as she remembered his frequent advice for taking down an enemy combatant.
Fire into the pelvic girdle.
She tightened her grip on the gun.
Break the body’s support.
Katie swung the gun toward his advancing figure.
If a man can’t walk, he can’t fight.
Without aiming, she pointed the pistol toward his waist and slapped the trigger.
The gun barked in her hands, the muzzle flashing.
He didn’t stop.
She fired again. And again. The gun bucked in her hands as she brought the sights back to bear on his pelvic girdle. She blasted a fourth time, then a fifth.
He paused, then stumbled brokenly backward. With a loud crash, he collapsed to the ground only a few feet from her. His arms and chest shuddered.
Katie indexed, placing her trigger finger along the side of the pistol. She stared at the quivering heap of evil on her bedroom floor through the sights of her gun. Rage suffused her. Her own hand trembled with fury.
He tried to rape me.
He tried to kill me.
In my own home.
He should die.
With some effort, she steadied her hand. The unmistakable yelp and wail of police sirens rose in volume as they grew closer. The acrid smell of cordite and the coppery odor of blood filled her nostrils. Katie drew a bead on the back of her attacker’s head, her trained eye focusing on the front sight. She moved her finger from the indexed position onto the trigger.
He should die.
A gurgling breath leaked out of his mouth.
Katie pressed the trigger slightly, swallowing in anticipation. She could do it. She knew she could. All it would take is for her to apply few pounds of pressure on the trigger and a 186-grain bullet would blast into the back of his head.
Blood coursed down her fingers and dripped from her extended hands onto the floor. The dollops that landed on the wooden floor seemed louder than her own breathing, louder than the approaching sirens.
All she had to do was squeeze. Kill him. Kill the memory of Phil. Just another pound or two of pressure and the gun would explode with the same fury and pain she’d carried with her all these past years. The blast would fill the room. The gun would leap backward in her hands. The bullet would sizzle through the air, impact his head and end his miserable life. No one would know any better.
She would feel good about it.
She would be free.
She could do it.
Another wheezing breath came out of him.
He should die.
Katie MacLeod lowered her gun.
1026 hours
Gio screeched to a halt in front of Katie’s house. He leapt out of the patrol car, leaving the engine running and the door standing open. He sprinted up her walkway, his long legs eating up the ground quickly. At the same time, he drew his sidearm on the run. At her door, he stopped and checked the knob.