But instead of seeing the pictures of dead children, she envisioned little Amanda Davidson.
And Olivia came back to herself.
It would end today. She didn’t want to lose her life, but there was no way she would allow Driscoll to escape. A master of changing identity, of blending in, he could disappear and they wouldn’t know where he was until another blonde girl was found stabbed to death.
For the victims-living and dead-Olivia would stop him. She worked to control her fear and her anger, because both threatened to overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to act if she lost control of her emotions.
She almost laughed. For years she’d worked to suppress her feelings, to live in neutral. But ever since the day she learned Brian Harrison Hall was innocent, all her decisions had been guided by emotion. Instinct. Fear. Rage.
She slowed to round a sharp turn, glancing again in the rearview mirror. Her heart skipped a beat when she lost sight of Quinn’s white sedan, then steadied when the car came back into view.
Not that they could help her.
“Speed up!” Driscoll commanded, a new edge to his voice.
“Do you want me to drive off the cliff?” she countered. Her voice quivered but at least it was audible.
“Shut up.”
No conversation. Fine with her. More time to think.
She glanced at the mass of equipment built under the dashboard of the police car, trying to find something to grab as a weapon. Nothing. Driscoll had seized the shotgun as soon as they got into the car. It lay across his legs, its barrel facing her. His right hand rested on his lap, gripping the handgun, which was still pointed at her. He had turned on the police radio and appeared to be listening to the static. Did he think they were so stupid as to broadcast their plans when he had access to the radio? Perhaps.
He probably thought he was smarter than everyone.
He was looking in the side mirror again, distracted, the gun not pointing right at her, but more at the steering wheel.
If she was going to do anything to save herself and give Quinn and Zack the chance to capture or kill him, now was the time to act.
She slammed on the brakes. Her forehead hit the steering wheel at the same time that Driscoll reached up with his hands to brace himself. She heard the gun hit the floor as she grabbed at the door handle.
She pulled and the door opened, but Driscoll grabbed her arm. “Fucking bitch!”
She screamed as her left foot touched the ground, and at the same time he pulled her against him. With all her strength she resisted, trying to break his grip. The car started to roll as her right foot left the brake in her effort to throw herself from the vehicle.
With a loud grunt, Driscoll pulled her back into the car and she heard a click. Cold metal pressed against her neck. Something ran down her throat. It wasn’t until she glanced down that she saw it was blood.
The edge of a knife had cut into her neck. It burned.
As the car rolled, Olivia instinctively braked. Slowly, so the knife didn’t dig deeper.
His voice was low, rough, pure rage as he whispered in her ear, “Shut the fucking door.”
Mouth dry, unable to swallow, she complied. She fought to control her shaking body, fearing any movement might kill her.
His breath touched her cheek, his voice an evil caress. “Try something like that again, I’ll cut your heart out.”
He withdrew the knife from her neck, twisted it in his hand, and plunged it toward her chest.
She screamed before she knew she’d opened her mouth, her arms instinctively coming up in a defensive move.
He stopped the knife, but not before it cut through her blouse. A sharp knick of the blade on her skin stung.
Uncontrollably shaking, she watched a rivulet of blood spread slowly down her blouse. Her heart beat visibly through her shirt. He’d actually cut her.
Driscoll stared at the blood, transfixed. For a moment, she was certain he’d stab her again, this time without restraint. The knife would tear open her heart and she’d last a full three minutes as her blood circulated through her body and out the hole in her heart, drenching her, her mind slowing but fully aware that she was dying.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable, hoping that Zack would shoot the bastard.
Dammit, she didn’t want to die! Especially at the hands of a psychopath like Christopher Driscoll. She didn’t want to die now that she finally had hope restored in her life, that she’d found a man she loved.
She didn’t want to lose Zack.
“Drive.”
She couldn’t have heard right. She opened her eyes.
“Drive!” he shouted, moving the knife to his left hand and pressing the tip into her side enough to cause sharp pain. Would he nick her to death? Slowly drain her of blood until she was too weak to fight?
She let her foot up off the brake and the car rolled forward.
“Faster! And don’t be an idiot.”
Pressing the accelerator, she chanced a glance in the rearview mirror. Quinn and Zack were right behind them, Zack partially out of the car, his face all hard lines, his jaw clenched. His rifle was aimed at Driscoll’s head. But as Olivia gathered speed, Zack jumped back into the car.
“You won’t get away,” she said, her voice cracking. She swallowed, the cut in her neck throbbing painfully. “Kill me, it doesn’t matter. Cops are all over this mountain. They’ll shoot you dead.”
He said nothing. With the knife still near her side, he reached to the floor and felt around. His hand came back with the gun, but he put it under his leg. He liked holding the knife. His fingers turned it around and around. He wanted to use it.
On her.
Focus, Olivia. Don’t think about the knife. Don’t think about the gun. Get him talking.
Olivia didn’t remember much of her criminal psychology training, but one thing she did remember: get them talking.
She swallowed the terror remaining from her failed escape and said the first thing that came to mind.
“You killed my sister.”
His body stiffened, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak again, let alone announce that he’d killed Missy.
Olivia continued, emboldened by his silence. “In California. You framed Brian Harrison Hall for Missy’s murder. But you know he was released from prison.”
“I read about Harry’s release.” His voice was well modulated, intelligent. Gone was the hoarse, dark whisper. It sounded like they were having a regular conversation.
“Why Missy?”
He didn’t answer.
“I was there, you know.”
He looked at her closely. She forced herself to glance at him. If he got off on fear, she would bury it. Not give him the satisfaction that he had truly frightened her, that he still scared her, that she believed he would kill her without remorse or hesitation.
His pale blue eyes were cold, but his face was smooth, calm, normal. It didn’t surprise her that little girls had walked off with him; he didn’t look like a killer. He didn’t look like the monster Olivia knew he was.
“You?” he said. “You were that little brat?”
She nodded, shaking, and refocused on the road, trying to maintain a steady speed. They were twisting down, around the mountain, but Road 56 was only a mile or two ahead of them. Road 56 was paved. There he’d make her drive faster, and any hope of her escape would then be futile.
She didn’t think she’d live through another attempt.
“You hit me across the face,” she said, the sting of that long ago blow still vivid.
“You tried to stop me from taking what was mine.”
Olivia shivered at his matter-of-fact tone.
“Do you remember Missy?”
“My angel.” He said angel with such reverence it chilled her.