Aim to Kill (36 page)

Slowly, she turned. Just inside the door, in a stall, a naked body lay sprawled on the ground. She sucked in her breath, realizing three things at once.

Deputy Jeffries was dead—his head had been crushed with a large, heavy object.

Whoever killed him was wearing his uniform.

The killer was most likely Chris Driscoll.

She had to warn everyone in the house. The
Krauses
wouldn’t think twice about opening the door to a man in uniform.

She ran two steps out the door when a strong arm grabbed her, pulled her into a solid chest, and held a gun to her head.

“Don’t say a word.”

CHAPTER

29

Zack and Quinn left the house and surveyed the barn from a distance. There appeared to be no activity. Silence.

“Maybe they’re chatting it up,” Quinn offered.

Neither he nor Zack believed it.

“You take the east entrance, I’ll take west,” Zack said, checking the ammunition in his gun, then chambered a round.

They didn’t get more than twenty feet when Zack saw them.

Chris Driscoll had Olivia at gunpoint. He forced her toward the deputy’s car parked in the driveway. Driscoll looked neither scared nor hurried. He walked confidently, Olivia’s struggling form an easy burden.

Driscoll and Olivia spotted Zack at the same time. Olivia’s eyes widened. Driscoll’s expression didn’t change, but he pressed the barrel of the gun firmly to her head and stared dead on at Zack: a warning. He walked around to the passenger’s door and shoved Olivia over to the driver’s seat, then climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Moments later the engine turned and Olivia drove slowly down the drive.

Zack ran toward Quinn’s car. “You’d better have the keys on you,” he called to the Fed. He suppressed his fear for Olivia’s life. If he thought about her as the woman he loved, he wouldn’t be as effective at the job of saving her life.

It was excruciatingly difficult to bury his feelings.

“I’ll drive.” Quinn unlocked the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Zack opened the passenger door. They had no time.

Quinn tossed him a .30-06 sniper rifle. “It’s loaded,” he said. Quinn grabbed two handguns and slammed down the trunk.

The stolen police car, with Olivia at the wheel, suddenly sped up as it rounded the turn in the driveway, its tires momentarily spinning in the pea gravel before hitting the packed dirt road.

Quinn started the ignition before he shut the door. A second later he peeled out of the driveway and pursued Driscoll.

“He’s not going to let her live once he’s clear,” Zack said, his entire chest tight.

“He’s not going to kill her yet,” Quinn said. “She’s a hostage. No one is going to be shooting at him with a hostage.”

Olivia. A hostage. The realization first made Zack ill, then furious. His fists tightened on the rifle. Though Quinn had told him it was loaded, he checked the ammunition and slid the bolt back to chamber a round.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Hell if I know. Look for an opportunity. Olivia’s smart, she’ll be thinking of a way to get out. Then we act.”

“Keep them in sight, Peterson. Don’t lose them.”

Quinn glanced at Zack. “Olivia’s a hostage. Let your training take over.”

Zack had been telling himself the same thing, but it didn’t help. “It’s hard. Damn, it’s hard.”

“I know.”

Olivia’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her entire body rigid as she assessed the situation.

Driscoll held the gun inches from her head, his finger calmly on the trigger. He seemed not at all fazed that they were being followed. His eyes were on the dirt road, though every few minutes he’d reach for the steering wheel and she’d flinch. He kept her in the center of the wide, one-lane road. If she slowed, he said calmly, “Keep moving.”

He would kill her as soon as he didn’t need her. He’d only grabbed her because she happened to be there—a shield, in case someone came from the house. Maybe he’d intended to take one of the Krause sisters once he realized the police were all over the mountain. Or maybe he simply planned on killing the deputy and escaping in his car. And she’d had the misfortune of walking right up to him.

In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think he might have made a clean getaway if she hadn’t walked into the barn this morning. Driscoll would have disappeared, resurfacing in another city to kill more innocent children.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her Zack and Quinn were still following. Olivia took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, focused on her situation. Not only did she need a way out, she had to delay Driscoll enough that Zack and Quinn could nail the bastard.

Missy’s killer sat next to her.

The thought made her foot ease up on the gas.

“Keep moving,” he said again, glancing in the side mirror at the car behind.

She jerked when he put his left hand on her knee, pushing her leg down on the accelerator. This was the hand that brutally murdered her sister. The car swerved and she came within a foot of going off the edge. He reached over and steadied the wheel. She could barely breathe, barely even
think
with Missy’s killer so close.

The winding road had a steep drop-off on the right and a rock-strewn gully on the left. If she aimed the car into the shallow gully, the impact wouldn’t kill them, but his gun would end her life. If she aimed the car off the cliff, they would both die. Even if they quickly hit one of the many redwood or fir trees, the steep slope and violent crash would leave them both dead. Driscoll wouldn’t kill again.

Fear pressed tight against every nerve ending. She was scared, no doubt about it, but anger boiled hot inside as she thought about this evil man’s horrid crimes. The children he’d killed, the families he’d destroyed.

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?”