“So predictable.”
She jumped, tried to turn away from Phil. He’d gone around and come at her from the opposite direction.
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. He’d pulled on jeans, but had on no shirt.
She swung her arm up and around, gun in hand. He clutched her wrist and slowed her momentum. Squeezed. The gun fell from her grasp.
His face was inches from hers; he’d pulled her up off the ground with angry strength. “I didn’t want you to suffer, Claire. But you made me mad.”
She screamed at the top of her lungs. Someone had to be around! Someone would hear her and call the police. He slapped her, once, twice, three times until she was on the ground. She felt around for the gun. It had fallen right here. .
“You’ll be better off dead,” he told her.
“Fuck you!” she yelled. With her good leg, she kicked him. Made contact dead-on with his dick. He winced, bent over, and she stood, all her weight on the uninjured leg, gun in hand-this time holding the barrel.
He put his hands around her neck. She was startled, not expecting the intense and instant pain as her breath was stolen from her.
She used all her energy and coldcocked him with the gun. He released her, holding the back of his head, and she fell to the ground, greedily drawing in fresh air. She crawled away from him. He was on his knees, a cry of pain escaping his lungs.
Go, Claire! Go.
She continued moving away from him, unable to focus, but knowing if she was going to survive she couldn’t be anywhere near him. Her head felt thick and her leg was slick with blood. She wanted to hold it, to stop the bleeding, but he’d come for her.
“Claire, you bitch!” he screamed, but he hadn’t moved. She had. Or had she? Her mind was muddled, and she didn’t know where he was.
She looked up and saw a backhoe in front of her. She almost laughed at the thought of using a slow machine as a getaway vehicle. She took a deep breath, put her hand on the metal, pulled herself up.
She turned. Where was Phil? She didn’t see him. Her heart pounded. No, no, no. Where was he? She looked right, left-
“You found your grave.”
He pushed her and suddenly she was falling. .
. . she hit mud, landing flat on her back. She was staring up at the starry sky, the half moon casting odd shadows in the hole she’d fallen into.
Hole?
You found your grave.
An engine roared to life. Dirt rained down on her. .
She pulled herself to standing. Reached as high as she could. The hole was taller than she was. She tried to climb out, digging her toes into the dirt. But it was too hard. She couldn’t get out.
More dirt came down on her head. A rock hit her, stunning her.
She screamed.
No one could hear her over the grave digger.
Mitch slammed on the brakes in Langstrom’s driveway, behind a sedan. “I heard a scream.”
“Wait for backup!” Meg said. “They’re two minutes behind us.”
Mitch ignored her and jumped from the car, gun drawn. He heard Meg swear under her breath, but she followed him out, Hans close behind her.
Silence.
They walked around the parked car. Mitch knelt and felt for a pulse on the body. He glanced at Meg and shook his head. Meg mouthed to him “Riordan.”
Mitch pointed to the marks in the dirt and gravel of the drive. Meg didn’t see what he saw, but she hadn’t had as extensive training in tracking humans.
They kept low. There were voices, beyond the bushes. A hundred yards away. They were all vulnerable in the open, but Mitch couldn’t wait for backup and a game plan. Saving Claire was the only thing on his mind.
“Fuck you!”
It was Claire’s voice.
Mitch ran across the open space.
“Claire, you bitch!”
It was Langstrom, it had to be. Mitch continued toward where the voices came from. He couldn’t see anyone yet, but they had to be near here.
A startled cry, then the sound of an engine.
He turned to the right and saw the backhoe on the far side of the property. A pile of dirt was being poured out. . into a hole?
Where was Claire?
Mitch sprinted toward the backhoe. “FBI! Freeze!” He aimed his gun at Langstrom.
“If you shoot, she dies!” Langstrom shouted. A scoop full of dirt was held over the hole.
Claire was in there.
Mitch heard nothing over the motor. Was Claire still alive? Had he already killed her?
“Claire!” he shouted.
He thought he heard a faint cry from the hole, but it might have been his imagination and hope.
Mitch saw faint movement on the other side of the backhoe. Meg and Hans were circling around. Mitch needed to buy time. But he didn’t know how injured Claire was. She could be dying in that hole. She could be suffocating. .
“It’s over, Langstrom,” Mitch shouted. “Step down from the backhoe and surrender.”
He laughed. “No, Special Fucking Agent. It’s not over. It’ll never be over until Bridget is dead.”
Bridget? Who-the woman who was strangled. The one Hans suspected had molested the young Bruce Langstrom.
“She hurt you, didn’t she?” Mitch said. He felt uncomfortable in this role. Hans had always been the one to talk to the psychopaths, working through their past and getting them to surrender or make a misstep. What if Mitch screwed this up? What if he said the wrong thing and Claire ended up dead because of him?
“You’re not part of this. Go away.”
“No,” Mitch said. “I know about Bridget. She raped her male students and went to prison. You were one of her victims.”
“Victim? Fuck you, Fed. I’m not a victim. I was never a victim! I loved her. I wanted her.”
“Is that what you told the judge when you testified against her?”
“I never did that! I’d never hurt her. My father-he humiliated me. He did it, not me. He had shrinks come in and interpret what I said and change everything around.”
“Shrinks. I can’t stand them either. Come down, Bruce,” Mitch said, trying to turn the conversation more personal. “Come down and we can talk about the damn shrinks.” Even as he said it, Mitch knew Langstrom wasn’t going to bite.
“You’re transparent, Fed. You’re going to back off, right now. Back off. Go back to your car. Drive away. Then I’ll let Claire live.”
She wasn’t dead. At least, if Mitch could believe this killer, Claire wasn’t yet dead. Mitch held on to the hope.
“You know I can’t do that, Bruce. You’re a cop. You wouldn’t walk away either.”
“Cop.” He laughed. “I’m a hired gun, by both the government and the criminals who run it.” He laughed, then it shut off abruptly. “Get away from me!” He released some of the dirt and Claire’s scream from deep in the grave pierced the night, over the sound of the backhoe.
She was alive.
Mitch took a step backward. “Okay, Bruce. Okay. Look. I’m backing off.”
Meg was in position.
“I’m backing off,” Mitch repeated.
“It’s better like this,” Langstrom said.
In the rapidly fading light, Mitch saw movement in the backhoe. Was that a gun?
He hit the ground and rolled as a bullet whizzed past his head. Mitch had his gun out and aimed, but more gunfire rang through the air and Langstrom fell out of the backhoe.
The dirt in the scoop above Claire cascaded down.
“No!” Mitch jumped up and ran. “Claire!”
Damn motor, he couldn’t hear her.
He ran to the edge of the hole. “Claire!”
He couldn’t see her. Oh God, no, all that talking while she was dying. . then he saw Claire’s limp hand sticking out of the dirt.
He jumped down and began digging around her hand. Her arm. Her head.
“Claire!”