“You killed her.” Her voice was far harsher than she’d intended. She held her breath, awaiting a physical blow. Or worse, the knife cutting deep into her flesh.
He didn’t touch her. Instead, he said, “I didn’t kill her.”
What was he doing, going for an insanity plea? Or claiming innocence?
“Yes you did,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I saw you.”
“You said you saw Brian Hall.” His voice was mocking, almost laughing, and Olivia suppressed the kernel of doubt that tried to surface.
“We have your DNA.”
He was quiet. She continued slowly down the mountain. Spiraling down, down, getting closer to Road 56, which would bring them to the interstate.
Would he still need a hostage then? She hoped he’d keep her alive as long as he was being pursued but she couldn’t count on it. She needed a plan.
“She was suffering,” he said.
His voice was calm, almost surreal, and he was no longer looking at her. He stared out the window, lost in thought.
“What?!” She couldn’t have heard him right.
“Angels suffer, you know. So much pain. I freed her from her shell, gave her eternal life. Spirits live forever. There is no pain when you’re a pure soul. You should thank me for freeing your sister’s soul. You should be sad that I didn’t free yours, too.”
Dear God, his words terrified her but his voice was so ordinary. Reasoned.
“You killed Missy and all those other girls so they wouldn’t suffer.” She matched his tone: clinical and composed. She had to keep him talking. She didn’t dare hope she could talk him into surrendering, but she would damn well try.
“Yes. To relieve their suffering.”
“I think the court would consider that.” She hated the words, but hoped to convince him the system would be lenient.
“No one understands! No one sees other people’s pain.”
“Didn’t you know raping those girls hurt them?”
He didn’t respond, and Olivia mentally hit herself. She’d blown it. She should have pursued the other line of questioning. Dammit, she didn’t know what she was doing! She wasn’t a psychologist.
The police were all over the mountain. Quinn and Zack had certainly called in reinforcements. They’d be waiting at Road 56, as well as down the mountain. Would there be a roadblock? She didn’t know much about hostage negotiations, but logically, they would try and stop the car and talk to him. Reason with him. Promise him whatever he wanted, then find a way to take him down.
The fifteen minutes she’d been in the car seemed like forever; she certainly didn’t want to be a hostage for hours. She had to find a way to escape the car as soon as possible, before they reached Road 56, where jumping would be suicide.
She had only minutes to figure a way out. Where he wouldn’t kill her.
She had to get him talking again. Distract him. What did she really know about him other than he was a cruel, vicious child murderer? His mother had been murdered. His sister Angel. The man in his life, Bruce.
“Bruce is dead,” she said.
His fist tightened around the knife that was only inches from her side. Good move, St. Martin.
“Don’t,” he warned.
Too late to back out now. “He was bad news, wasn’t he? He hurt your sister. I saw her picture. She was beautiful.”
“He violated her.” Driscoll’s voice was quiet, almost childlike. “He raped her all the time and I couldn’t stop him.”
Olivia glanced at Driscoll. He had a faraway look on his face. Remembering Angel? What he did or didn’t do?
His hand gripping the knife fell into his lap. He stared out the windshield, not focused on her or the car behind them. Carefully, cautiously, she slid her left hand to the bottom of the steering wheel. He didn’t notice.
“When he hurt Angel, it must have made you angry. Frustrated.”
“I wanted to kill him.” He glanced at her and Olivia held her breath. “I would have killed him. I would have killed him if I had the chance.”
“I know. To protect Angel.”
He nodded, his eyes brightening. Did he think she understood him? That she agreed with him? If that’s what it took to get him to let his guard down, she’d follow that path.
“She was a beautiful girl,” Olivia repeated. Driscoll turned to her. “Bruce was a bad man to hurt her.” She sounded like she was speaking to a child, but Driscoll seemed responsive.
“Bruce was mean. He touched her and made her cry. I dried her tears. I kissed her bruises and made the pain go away.”
His gaze drifted out the front window once again.
Olivia braced herself. She would have only one shot at escape. She needed a sharp turn that veered right. No hesitation.
“Angel must have loved you a lot for taking care of her.”
“I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t.”
“You were just a kid yourself,” she said.
“I would have killed him. I would have,” he repeated, defiant.
Through the trees ahead she saw the turn she’d been waiting for.
Olivia dropped her left hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her lap. The knife was more than a foot from her.
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
Silence. The turn was seconds away. Now or never.
Without braking, she flung open the door and threw herself from the car, rolling. Her first impact with the rocky dirt road knocked the wind out of her and she couldn’t catch her breath. Gunshots echoed around her as she rolled down into the shallow gully.
A sickening crash of metal vibrated in her head.
Zack watched in horror as Olivia fell from the car and hit the ground violently, rolling away. Had Driscoll killed her and thrown her from the car? After her failed escape attempt ten minutes ago, Zack feared the worst.
“Travis!” Quinn shouted.
Zack raised the rifle and aimed at Driscoll’s tires. From the passenger seat, Driscoll was trying to both control the vehicle and move over into the driver’s seat. Quinn drove right on his tail, feet from the bumper. Zack fired, threw back the bolt, fired again. Driscoll’s car swerved left as he overcompensated and drove hard into the gully. The rear end of the police car lifted from the ground, then slammed down.
Zack dropped the rifle and drew his.45. He opened the passenger door and knelt behind the steel shielding, waiting for gunfire.
Had Driscoll been injured? He probably wasn’t dead, but Zack could hope.
He pushed aside the sickening thought that Olivia lay dead up the road.
She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead.
“Travis!” Quinn, in the same position as Zack but behind the driver’s-side door, nodded his head toward Driscoll’s vehicle.
Movement.
Driscoll opened fired through the shattered rear window. Zack and Quinn ducked, then returned fire, but Driscoll was already on the move. He ran down the road, away from them, toward the steep slope to the north. He could lose himself in the woods too easily.
Zack ran after him.
Driscoll ran fast, but Zack ran faster, the image of Olivia slamming into the road burned into his mind. Driscoll suddenly stopped, turned, and raised his gun in one slick move.
Zack was right behind him. He body-slammed Driscoll, knocking the gun from his hand. They rolled down the embankment.
Raw rage flooded Zack’s senses. When they stopped tumbling, Driscoll lay on his stomach. Zack flipped him and held him down with his left hand while he pummeled his face.
No killer had angered and scared him more than this bastard. What he had done to those girls, to their families.
He pictured Jenny Benedict’s small, lifeless body.
Jillian Reynolds’s decomposed body on the coroner’s table.
Olivia held hostage.
Driscoll struggled and Zack used both fists and pounded into the killer’s face, his chest, his stomach. Zack’s breath came out in harsh, ragged gasps. He grunted and swore, but didn’t know what he was saying. He heard someone shout, but didn’t hear the words through the river of bloody rage that flowed in his veins.