Hold Still (29 page)

FIFTY-SEVEN

November 13th

She woke to the sound
of glass shattering. She bolted upright in bed, sweat dripping down her back. Her heart thundered, a dull roar in her ears. She reached down to throw the covers off and gripped one of Olivia’s legs. The girl snored softly beside her. Jocelyn listened for a moment and thought she heard a creak on the steps. Had she actually heard glass breaking or had it been a dream?

In the half-light of the hallway nightlight, Olivia’s round face was peaceful. Beyond that, the bedside clock read 3:34 a.m.

Creeeak.

This was definitely not Caleb.

In a single motion, Jocelyn scooped Olivia up, leapt from the bed, and darted across the hall. She tucked Olivia into her bed as quickly as she could. She’d probably wake up, but Jocelyn couldn’t help that. She had to keep her safe and out of the way until the threat was neutralized. Jocelyn locked Olivia’s door from the inside and pulled it closed behind her. The girl didn’t yet have the dexterity to unlock the door from the inside. All it would take was one good kick to get into the room. For now, it would deter Olivia from getting up and wandering around the house, at least until Jocelyn figured out what was going on.

She dashed across the hall to her bedroom, headed for her gun, which was in a lockbox in the top drawer of her dresser. The moment she was through the door, the man clotheslined her. His arm across her chest sent her flat on her back and knocked the wind out of her.

Her mouth worked to gulp air, but none would come. The dark figure tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her down the hall. Her limbs flailed, trying to keep up with him, to keep him from tearing her scalp off. Her chest burned. Panic tightened the noose around her throat. Her bowels loosened.

Olivia
.

Her mouth formed the word involuntarily, but no sound came. The struggle to the bottom of the steps was largely silent. Air returned to her lungs. She pressed his hand to the top of her head with both of her palms to take the pressure off and kicked at him ineffectually. He tossed her off the landing at the bottom of the steps. She landed in the middle of her living room, inches from her coffee table. She scrambled to her feet and launched herself at him, shooting for his hips. The party wall was plaster, and he hit it hard, letting out a cry. He recovered quickly and grabbed her face, large paws covering both her ears. Jocelyn reached up and gripped his pinky fingers, peeling them all the way back until he gasped and let go of her head. She was close. She could smell his minty breath and knew at once that it was Finch.

She pushed his hands down and elbowed him hard across the face.

“Ow! You bitch!”

She elbowed him again, harder, trying to draw every last ounce of strength she had from her terrified, trembling body. She heard a crack—another cry—and brought a knee up as hard as she could, aiming for his crotch. She got his abdomen, and he issued a grunt. She was swinging elbows again when he placed a palm on her sternum and pushed hard and fast. She stumbled back and fell on her ass. He was on her before she could rise, one hand in her hair, the other socking her with a heavy fist. It was a solid hit to the right side of her face. Pinpoints of light dazzled their way across her field of vision. Her limbs flopped around uselessly for a moment. The blow dazed her, and she went down more easily than she would have liked.

He sat on her chest. “Hold still, you stupid bitch.”

The full weight of his body crushed her sternum. His legs lay straight on her left side and his hands worked to pin her left palm to the floor. Jocelyn flailed with her other arm, hitting his body, straining to reach his collar. She kicked her legs, tried to buck him with her pelvis, but his crushing weight on her rib cage was too much. Her lungs screamed. He easily had one hundred pounds on her. He was forcing the air out of her. If she didn’t calm down, she would pass out, and then what? She would be at his mercy. The pain in her chest and ribs was excruciating. She clenched her teeth and prayed her ribs wouldn’t crack beneath his weight. She’d had broken ribs before. They were extremely painful. She couldn’t imagine fighting him off with a torso full of broken ribs. She tightened her abdomen, trying to preserve what breath she had left and keep her body from crumpling.

The nail went into her palm on one uneven stroke. She didn’t have the air to cry out. Her vision filled with black spots.

Hold on
, a voice in her head shouted.

He would move soon, shift to the other side. She’d have a slim chance then. Jocelyn let her body go limp, her eyes fall to half-mast. She tried to think about anything besides the pain in her hand. It wasn’t easy. He hammered twice more, embedding the nail into the floor beneath her hand.

Finally, he stood up, laughing softly. For a split second, the relief of having him off her eclipsed all thoughts of the pain in her hand. She sucked in air noisily. He stood over her, a hammer in his hand and an erection straining against his pants. A shaft of light from a nearby window fell across his face, giving his features an otherworldly glow. His lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile. He was leering at her, hungry like a wild animal. A shudder worked its way up her body, tugging at her pinned hand. It sent a streak of pain searing up her arm. He licked his lips and stepped closer. She worked hard to keep her body still, to discourage him from sitting on her chest again right away. She needed her breath.

“They always stop fighting after the first nail,” he said, chuckling. He nudged her ribs with his foot.

Please don’t kick
, she prayed silently.

“You’re no different,” he said. “Look at you. Where’s your big mouth now, you fucking cunt?”

Jocelyn turned her head and for the first time, looked at her hand. The head of the nail was small. Not as small as she would have liked but small enough for what she was about to do. A wave of nausea assailed her. Just looking at it—the silver head with the dark-red blood blooming around it—seemed to make it throb with greater intensity. She turned away from it, choking on the bile that rose in her throat.

Finch moved around to the other side and knelt beside her, his knee on the soft flesh above her right elbow, pinning her arm to the floor and cutting off her circulation. His excited smile loomed, filling up her field of vision. “How’s it feel, Rush?”

She turned away from him, an involuntary groan escaping her lips. Tears burned the backs of her eyes.

Pull it together, Rush
, said the voice in her head.

She had to get out of this. She didn’t care what he did to her. He could cut her hands off if he wanted to, as long as he didn’t hurt Olivia. She closed her eyes again and sent up a silent prayer that Olivia would not wake up.

“You know, your sister fought a lot harder.”

It was meant to upset her, but it made her feel better. She opened her eyes again and rolled her head in his direction. Her right arm was numb. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but she couldn’t be sure if they were moving. “What do you want?” she asked, still trying to even out her breath, to find some semblance of calm in her adrenaline-induced terror. She was only going to get one chance at this. Olivia’s life depended on it.

Oh God. Olivia.

Finch laughed. “I want you to beg for it, Rush.”

She coughed, spluttered, and said in a throaty voice, “Beg for what?”

He shifted, releasing her right arm and slid a hand down between her legs, cupping her. Ice filled her veins. A new wave of terror and disgust overwhelmed her. And anger. She wanted to break every one of his fingers. She had to focus. Again, she tried flexing the fingers of her right hand, relieved to feel the blood flow back into her arm.

“I want you to beg me to fuck you,” he said. “And then I want you to beg me to kill you. Because, Rush, by the time I get done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.”

She had no doubt. She glanced all around him, trying to see if he had his gun. It didn’t look like it. She remained silent, shoring up her strength.

“What? You have nothing to say? You?”

His hand fumbled beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. His fingers pried roughly inside her.

Is this what it was like?
she wondered briefly, thinking of Camille and Anita.

She crossed her legs, trying to trap his hand and stop it from moving. He licked his lips again, moving his face closer to hers. “What’s wrong, Rush? Don’t you like it?”

A sound from upstairs froze them both in place. Then Olivia’s voice, muffled but high-pitched. “Mommy?”

Finch looked down at her. “Who the fuck is that?”

“My daughter, you asshole. You leave her alone.”

The cry came again. “Mommy?”

A noise. Rattling. She was trying to open the door.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Jocelyn called as loudly as she could.

The rattling stopped.

Hold on
, Jocelyn said silently.
Just hold on.

Finch’s jaw was set, his brow an angry line. He obviously hadn’t planned on the interruption. “How old is she?”

“Three. She’s locked in her room. You don’t need her. Leave her alone.”

He stopped his ministrations and pulled his hand free. He looked uncertain. He didn’t know what to do, she realized. The hammer hung loosely in his other hand. He glanced toward the steps, made a move toward them.

“Finch!”

He turned back toward her. She swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Gi-give it to me. I want it. Give it to me n-now.”

He shifted back toward her, his face half smile, half puzzlement. “Say please,” he tried.

“P-p-please.”

He smiled, knelt beside her again. “Please, what?”

The words felt like razor blades over her tongue. “Please f-fuck me.”

He snaked a hand under her shirt and squeezed one of her breasts.

This was it.

“Mommy!”

In one swift motion, Jocelyn brought both legs up as high as she could, capturing Finch’s head between her knees and toppling him backward. She used the momentum of his falling body and tore her hand from the floor with a primal scream. The nail remained there, tufts of tissue and skin slick on its shaft. With the other hand, she fumbled for the hammer, wrestling it from his hand as she squeezed his head between her thighs.

“Mommy! Mommy! I’m scared!”

Me too, baby. Me too.

Jocelyn brought the hammer down on Finch’s head as hard as she could. After three tries, his skull caved with a sickening thunk. She kept his head scissor-locked between her legs and watched him, all the while trying not to throw up in his face. Slowly, he stopped fighting, until all the life went out of him. She took the hammer and dashed up the steps.

“Hold on, baby, I’m coming,” she called to Olivia. She reached the door and put her mouth to the crack. “Get back, baby. I need you to get back. I have to kick the door open.”

“Mommy,” came the tiny, tremulous voice. “I’m scared.”

Jocelyn tried to keep the tremor from her own voice. “It’s okay, baby. Everything is okay. The door is just stuck. I’m going to kick it. Are you in the bed? Get in the bed.”

Jocelyn listened for footsteps, then the rustling of blankets. She stepped back to put some distance between her and the door and stumbled, falling back against the wall. Dizziness washed over her. She took a deep breath and righted herself, kicking the door heartily, right beside the doorknob. It took two tries, but finally the door splintered. Jocelyn pushed through it and found Olivia cowering in her bed, Lulu clutched to her chest.

Tears streamed down Olivia’s face. Jocelyn scooped her up and held her tightly, burying her face in the girl’s hair. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

The scent of Olivia’s Baby Magic shampoo filled Jocelyn’s nostrils. Relief swept through her, so big that it swept everything away, leaving only shivers behind.

“I couldn’t get the door open,” Olivia said.

“I know. It’s okay. It’s okay now.”

Olivia pulled away from Jocelyn and glanced at the blood streaking her pajamas. “Mommy, you have a boo-boo. A really bad one.”

“I know, honey. It’s okay.”

Olivia’s face crumpled and fat teardrops rolled down her face. “Are you going to die?”

Jocelyn smiled and kissed Olivia’s forehead, gathering her in close. “No, honey. I’m not going to die. We’re going to call the police right now, and they’ll take us to the hospital.”

Olivia said nothing, but she let Jocelyn carry her across the hall into her bedroom. Jocelyn picked up her cell phone, smearing the blood all over the screen. She dialed 911 and put the phone between her ear and shoulder as she shifted Olivia’s weight in her arms.

“Nine-one-one, where’s your emergency?”

Her voice was steady. “Philadelphia. I’ve just killed an intruder in my home.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

November 13th

Jocelyn woke from a deep
sleep, slowly coming to, approaching consciousness as if from a great distance. Sleep was like a heavy wet blanket, and she couldn’t shrug it off. But she had to. She had to wake up. There was something she had to do.
Something important.

“Olivia!” She woke herself with her own scream, the sound something between a shriek and the sound a dying animal makes. She thrashed before she even knew where she was, her limbs clanging off something hard and metal. Bed rails.

When she opened her eyes, the white light of the hospital room was near blinding. She blinked rapidly and squinted, trying to make sense of the figures surrounding her bed. Gentle hands pressed her arms to her side. “Hey, Jocelyn,” a familiar voice murmured. “It’s okay.”

It was Caleb’s voice, and she turned toward it, her eyes finally adjusting to the light. She looked up at him, relief chasing away the terror she’d felt upon waking. She grasped his arms, trying to pull him toward her. The heavy bundle of bandages encasing her left hand made it impossible. He leaned over the side of the bed awkwardly, sliding an arm across her back.

“It’s okay now,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You passed out in the ambulance, and they kept you sedated so they could clean out your wound.”

“Olivia,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes. “Where’s Olivia? Oh my God, Olivia!”

Caleb stepped back so she could look behind him, where Inez sat in a cushy bedside chair, wearing street clothes and cradling a sleeping Olivia in her arms. Olivia’s face lay on her shoulder with the slackened look that came only from utter exhaustion. Her lips looked almost swollen, half-open in an O shape. Jocelyn knew that look. They could light off a hundred fireworks right next to her and she wouldn’t wake up. Blankie covered her back and Lulu dangled from her left hand, a bloody fingerprint between her ears. “She’s fine,” Inez said, smiling.

“Thank God,” Jocelyn said, falling back into her pillow. That’s when she noticed Phil and Captain Ahearn standing on the other side of the bed. Phil gave her an awkward wave. She’d never seen him so unkempt. His eyes were glassy, and he had a five o’clock shadow. He had undone his tie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He smiled at her but didn’t speak.

“Rush,” Ahearn said by way of greeting.

She nodded and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing. The pain in her hand finally broke through her fatigue with the kind of ache she hadn’t felt since she’d woken up from the accident at seventeen. “Jesus,” she gasped.

“You can have more pain meds in an hour,” Inez informed her.

Jocelyn opened her eyes again and scanned the room once more. “Where’s Kevin?”

She didn’t like the look that passed among them. “Please,” she said. “Just tell me.”

Phil stepped forward. “He’s in the ICU with a head injury. Last night he was leaving work and someone hit him over the head and robbed him.”

Her bundled hand flew to her chest. “Oh no.”

“He was lucky,” Caleb added, exchanging a look with Phil. “Delisi here was also leaving Northwest, and he caught the guy in the act. Chased him off. He’d probably be dead if Phil hadn’t found him and gotten him help right away.”

Jocelyn swallowed. She met Phil’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded. “We think it was Finch,” Caleb added. “He had Kevin’s wallet, badge, and gun on him when we removed his body from your living room.”

“Will he—will he live?” she asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

Again the exchange of looks all around the room, as if she were a child and they were deciding how much to tell her. “Just tell me,” she demanded. “Don’t keep anything from me, please.”

“His head injury was pretty bad, but the doctors say that the odds are in his favor,” Ahearn said from the far corner of the room. “But there is always a small chance he won’t pull through.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Thank you.”

Caleb perched on the side of the bed, near her feet. “We, uh, found Warner and Donovan,” he said. “Apparently, there was some kind of shoot-out at Vince Fox’s home after his bar burned down. Both Fox and Donovan were shot and killed. Warner took a bullet to the shoulder. He was picked up fleeing the scene with a bag of money. We found almost a million dollars in cash and drugs in a gun safe in Fox’s basement.”

“Guess he was dirty like Chen said,” Jocelyn mused.

Caleb chuckled. “You could say that.”

“There will be a full-scale investigation,” Ahearn added.

“And Camille seems to be recovering well,” Caleb said. “She’ll be discharged in a day or two—to a rehab facility.”

“At her request,” Inez piped in. “Oh, and your Uncle Simon has called several times, but he wasn’t sure if you’d want to see him, so he hasn’t come by. He has, however, been stationed by Camille’s bedside for the last several hours.”

“Thank goodness for happy endings,” Jocelyn said, somewhat sarcastically.

“It could have been a lot worse,” Caleb pointed out, staring at her intently.

Inez caught Jocelyn’s eye and winked. She struggled to her feet with Olivia in her arms and made her way to Phil and Ahearn. “Can I talk to you guys outside?” she said.

Once they were alone, Caleb put the bed rail down so he could sit closer to her. He lined his hips up with hers and sat on the edge of the bed facing her. He touched her cheek and then her hair, smoothing it away from her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have stayed.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jocelyn assured him. “But thank you.”

“I’m going to be here for you.”

She smiled and caught his hand with her ACE bandaged right hand, pressing it against her heart. “I would like that a lot.”

He left her with a soft, slow kiss. “I’ll let you get some rest,” he said as Inez slipped back into the room. Once he was gone, Inez laid Olivia in the bed next to Jocelyn. Jocelyn turned on her side so she could soak in her daughter’s sleeping face. Inez settled back into the bedside chair. “You know,” she said after a few minutes. “You are going to need therapy after this.”

Jocelyn laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

A few minutes of easy silence passed between them. Then Inez spoke once more. “You know what Sullivan would say, right?”

Jocelyn looked past Olivia at her best friend. “What’s that?”

“Hey, Rush. You know that time you killed Finch with a hammer after he broke into your house and threatened you and your daughter?”

Jocelyn couldn’t suppress the shudder that worked its way through her, but she answered anyway. “Yeah?”

“That was pretty badass.”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “Yes, it was.”