"Rape?" Slater asked.
The Judge shrugged. "And torture. He's going to make her suffer and he'll enjoy every minute of it."
"Why change now?" Slater asked. "What happened that's different?"
"Probably a psychotic break," Torres answered. "Prior to this, he's seen himself as a kind of avenger, a disciple punishing those who've committed transgressions."
"And now?" Slater asked.
"Now he's straddling the line between being the religious center in his own morality play and being the demonic figure," Warren sneered, "and I'll bet he enjoys playing the devil.
"If he gets away with killing Olivia – " Torres began from the back seat.
"He won't get away with it," Slater said. "We'll catch the bastard."
Warren glanced over at the Sheriff. He didn't have Slater's confidence. He didn't figure saving the professor was all that important, but they'd better reach the property in Marysville in time to save Jack.
Olivia ran like the devil. Prickly weeds tugged at her legs and branches dipped low to scratch her arms. Damn it! She'd blown her chance, maybe the only one she'd get. She'd found the tire iron by sheer, dumb luck under the carpeted trunk floor and planned a well-placed blow. Lying in the trunk all those long minutes, she'd fantasized about using it on Howard.
When she'd heard the first raspy footfall through the undergrowth, she positioned herself, knees bent, feet facing outward. She clutched the tire iron tightly in both hands, her arms bent over her head. Waiting, her muscles quivering with strain, she scarcely breathed. She kicked outward as hard as she could, catching him in the gut and when he'd gone down, she swung the iron with all her might.
It had glanced off his body like a fly swatter on an elephant.
She swung again, meaning to aim a killing blow. She didn't care if that made her a murderer. Her survival instinct kicked in and she wanted Howard dead. But the blow hit his shoulder and before she could swing again, he punched her, once in the head and then again in the stomach.
The breath whooshed out of her like a balloon deflating noisily. All she could think of was to run. Run! She galloped off into the brush with no idea of where she was going. She just knew she had to get away from him.
The scrapes on her arms, legs, and face stung. She stopped a moment and bent at the waist, hands on knees as she tried to catch her breath. She heard thrashing behind her. How had he gotten so close so fast?
She took off again, pumping arms and legs as hard as she could. A stitch spasmed in her side and her bare feet felt swollen, sliced, and wet with her blood. She ran harder, adrenaline spurring her on, ignoring the cuts of face and feet, the burning in her lungs.
Just as the woods opened into a clearing at the edge of what looked like a parking lot and an abandoned building, a knotted tree root tripped her. She sprawled gracelessly to the ground, her arms outstretched to brace herself, her elbows taking the brunt from wrist to shoulder. Mud, dirt, and leaves covered her bruised and bleeding body.
As she jumped to her feet, poised for flight, Howard slammed her from behind and threw her to the ground. He was on her in seconds, slapping her face open handedly, grabbing her hair in his fist and pulling until tears ran down her cheeks.
His breath was hot and heavy at her temple, and even though he panted, his voice was oddly detached, even calm. "Don't ever run from me again, Olivia. You'll regret it."
She would've been less afraid had Howard raged at her.
Moments later he dragged her to the building and shoved her down three cement steps. She lost her balance and received another abrasion to her knee as she landed at the bottom. Hauling her to her feet, he pushed her toward a corner of a wide, open basement where an industrial sink took up space.
"Remove your clothes," he ordered, brandishing a small, but nasty-looking knife in one hand and the tire iron in the other.
Hysteria bubbled up in her. No shoes, boy shorts for underwear and a skimpy tank top, she could hardly be described as clothed. What was left?
He tossed away the tire iron and his fingers pinched her upper arm while the knife nipped at her ribs. He hauled her closer to the sink. His eyes dilated wildly as if he were on drugs. A nasty snarl hurled from his mouth. "You really don't want to make me ask twice, Olivia."
The fighting strategy hadn't worked against Howard. She'd have to be more cunning if she were going to outmaneuver him. If she could just reach the tire iron or get him to discard the knife.
Olivia jerked the tank top over her head and pushed the shorts down to her ankles where she stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Goose bumps rose on her body and she rubbed her crossed hands up and down her arms. What now? Howard's eyes glittered and his body tensed. Angry because she'd hit him and nearly escaped? Or crazy with lust?
He reached behind her and grabbed soap and a rag from a shelf she hadn't noticed. With the other hand he turned on the water faucet. "Wash," he commanded.
"Why?"
The madness in his eyes clambered to the surface. "Because you are filthy," he said. "Because you are unclean." Spittle spewed from his mouth and spattered her face as his voice rose to a shout. "Because I command it and you dare not disobey."
Not sexual frustration, but insanity.
When she still hesitated, he threatened, "Unless you'd rather I do it myself?"
Undressing in front of Howard and performing such an intimate act as bathing disturbed her more than if she'd done the same things before a complete stranger. She wet and soaped the rag under the icy stream. Wringing out the cloth, she wiped her arms and legs. The sting of the soap burned in the raw cuts and scratches. She bit back a wince while Howard watched her carefully.
When she finished, he tossed her a large, clean towel which she used to dry off. Her skin was red from the abrasive soap and the freezing water. She dropped the towel to the floor, put her arms down, and stood defiantly before him.
Bastard! She wouldn't show him her fear.
Grabbing her upper arm, he dragged her to the bottom of a flight of wooden stairs. After climbing to the landing, he opened the door at the top and whirled her around to face him, pressing her close against him. She felt his growing erection against her naked body.
His mouth hovered over hers. "My intention was to use you, Olivia, use that perfect little body that you've been enticing me with all semester." He ran his fingers across the top of her naked breast. "You'd be good for a quick fuck, right?"
She flinched at his crude language and he laughed. "And I may do that yet. But you're such a perfect specimen I couldn't resist offering you as the penultimate sacrifice."
Forcing calm she didn't feel, she summoned the courage to fight Howard in a way that might give her an advantage. "You'll never do it, Howard," she jeered. "You didn't rape the other victims. You don't have the balls."
He ground his mouth into hers, his teeth cutting, his tongue trying to push through her tightly-closed lips. Then he released her abruptly. "Maybe we'll do both." He smiled and pinched her cheek viciously. In a flash his manner changed from the vicious would-be rapist to the mild-manner professor. "Now, wouldn't that be fun?"
Although she didn't see the hand that held the syringe, she should've anticipated it. Right before she lost consciousness again, the prick of the needle told her what he'd done.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jack left the Blazer at the foot of an inclined wooded area off the highway, and hiked on foot the rest of the way. The Blazer could've made it up the narrow dirt road, but he didn't want the engine to alert his prey.
When he arrived at the clearing, the trunk of the sedan was partially open. He nudged it with the tip of his knife blade, and it swung smoothly upward without resistance. He ducked his head into the empty trunk and inhaled deeply.