She leaned against the sink. “You’re working at the airport today?”
He nodded. “Mind if I borrow your car? Mine’s acting up.”
“Sure.” They would be looking for Will’s car around the hotel. Sara’s BMW was practically nondescript in that part of town.
“Thanks.” He shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
She said, “Let’s call in sick today.”
His chewing slowed. He met her gaze.
“I want us to go away together,” she said. “My cousin has a house on the Gulf we can use. Let’s just get out of here. Leave town.”
He swallowed. “That sounds nice.”
“We can take the dogs and run on the beach every morning.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “And then we can go back to bed. And then we can eat lunch. And then we can go back to bed.”
He gave her a forced grin. “That sounds really nice.”
“Then let’s do it. Right now.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll drop you off at your place, then go run some errands.”
Sara stopped pretending. “I’m not going to let you do it.”
Will sat back in his chair. The nervous energy was gone. She watched it slowly leave his body. Now there was only the grief and sorrow that had broken her heart the day before.
“Will—”
He cleared his throat. The sound turned into a cough. His throat worked as he fought back tears. “She was just a student.”
Sara bit her lip.
“She was walking to class one night, and he saw her, and he took her, and that was it. Her life was over.” He put down his fork. “You know what was done to her. You saw the girl yesterday. He did the same thing to both of them.”
Will’s cell rang. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket. “Did you arrest him?” The devastation on his face told Sara the answer. “Where?” He listened a few seconds longer, then hung up. “Faith’s waiting in the driveway.”
“What happened?” Even as she said the words, Sara knew they were pointless. Another body had been found. Another life destroyed. Will’s father had killed again.
Will stood. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. He wouldn’t look at her. She could practically hear his thoughts: He should’ve gone through with it. He should’ve taken his gun and gone to the hotel the minute he heard that his father was free.
He said, “Amanda wants you to come, too.”
Sara didn’t want to be a burden. Amanda had dragged her into this once before. “Do you want me there?”
“Amanda does.”
“I don’t care about Amanda. I only want to do what’s best for you. Easiest for you.”
Will stood in the doorway. He seemed about to say something profound, but then he reached down and retrieved her gym bag. “Try to hurry. I’ll be outside.”
twenty-five
July 15, 1975
James Ulster grabbed Amanda by the back of the neck. She felt like a kitten snatched by its scruff. Her arms went slack. Her toes lifted from the ground.
And then she remembered the revolver in her hand.
She snaked the gun around her side and pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. His body jerked as he was hit, but his grip only tightened. She pulled the trigger again. The muzzle flash singed Amanda’s side. The gun was ripped from her hand. Ulster grunted. The muzzle was hot enough to burn his flesh. The gun clattered to the ground.
Amanda dropped to her knees, feeling blindly for the weapon. Ulster jerked her up by her arm. She felt like the bone was cracking. Her feet left the ground again. Her back slammed against the house. The breath was knocked out of her. She kicked and clawed as Ulster’s hand wrapped around her neck. She dug her fingernails into his skin. His face contorted in rage. Amanda felt dizzy. There wasn’t enough breath to fill her lungs.
“Let her go!” Evelyn screamed. She had her Kel-Lite crossed under her revolver. “Now!”
Ulster didn’t believe her. He tightened his grip on Amanda.
Evelyn pulled the trigger. Ulster’s grip loosened around Amanda’s neck. Evelyn fired again. The bullet hit his leg. He dropped Amanda. His arm was bleeding. His side was bleeding. Still, he didn’t go down.
“Don’t move,” Evelyn ordered. But Ulster didn’t listen. He walked straight toward Evelyn. She pulled the trigger, but the shot went wild. He slapped the gun out of her hand. His fist swung. Evelyn stepped back, but not fast enough. His knuckles grazed her chin. Evelyn collapsed to the driveway.
“No!” Amanda screamed. She jumped on his back. Her fingernails scratched into his eyes. Instead of spinning around blindly, Ulster fell to his knees, rolled onto his back. His weight crushed Amanda. Breath huffed out of her chest. Still, she wrapped her arm around his neck, locked it tight with the other one. Choke hold. She’d seen it done before. It looked so easy, but no one was really fighting back. No one had over two hundred fifty pounds of muscle to leverage out of the hold. Ulster pulled Amanda’s arms apart as easily as a child untying a bow. She fell back hard, her head smashing into the concrete drive.
She kicked and punched. Her blows were useless. He easily pinned her to the ground, trapping her arms at her sides, the weight of his body grinding her tailbone into the concrete. Blood soaked the front of Ulster’s shirt, dripped from his mouth. “You must repent, sister.” He pressed harder. He was pushing the air out of her body. “Repent to me your sins.”
“No,” Amanda whispered. “Please.”
“Our Father.”
She struggled, gulping for air.
“Our Father,” he repeated, pressing harder.
Her ribs flexed back into her stomach. Something was tearing inside. She couldn’t fight anymore. She could only look up at his cold, soulless eyes.
“Our Father,” he said a third time, the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer.
Amanda huffed out, “Father.”
“Who art in Heaven.”
“Who art …” She couldn’t get enough air to speak.
“Who art in Heaven.”
“Who—” She pushed up against him, but his weight was like a mountain. “Please,” she panted. “Please.”
Ulster lifted up just enough so her chest could draw breath.
“Who art—”
“Who …,” she tried. “Who art …”
She felt her arms moving of their own volition. Ulster stopped her at first, pressing down his weight again, but then he understood. Carefully, he shifted back a fraction of an inch. Amanda slid out her arm, feeling her flesh scrape against the inseam of his pants. She pulled out the other arm, then clasped her hands together. Fingers laced one into the other. Palms tight. Thumbs outside.
Ulster stared at her intently. There was a smile on his lips. He rocked slowly, his pelvis grinding into hers. She felt as if her hipbone might crack in two. He leaned over more. He wanted to see her, wanted to enjoy the pain on her face.
She whispered, “Our Father …”
“That’s right.” His voice slow, as if he was teaching a child. “Who art in Heaven.”
“Who art in Heaven.” She stopped, gasping for breath.
“Hallowed be—”
The words rushed out. “Hallowed be thy name.”
“Thy kingdom come.” He leaned over farther, staring down at her face. “Thy kingdom come?”
“Thy—”
Amanda didn’t finish the prayer.
Instead, she drove her clenched hands as hard as she could straight up into his neck. Her knuckles smashed into cartilage and bone. His throat flexed. Something snapped. It sounded like a stick breaking.
Hyoid. Just like Pete had shown her.
Ulster dropped on top of her like a pile driver. Amanda tried to push him off. He groaned, but wouldn’t budge. He was too heavy to shift. She had to crawl out from under him. His weight was suffocating her. She forced herself to not pass out. To not throw up. To not give in.