I'm Watching You (27 page)

Eleanor came around the corner with the games
Operation
and
Monopoly
in hand. "Lindsay, don't be
worried. Nicole's awake and ready to play a game. This is going to be fun
family time."

There was no escaping the Kiers.

Richard Braxton sat in the back of his Gulf Stream plane. The pilot
he'd hired was waiting for clearance from the San Francisco tower.

He picked up the morning edition of the
San Francisco
Chronicler
and reread the article on page A3. He smiled. According to
the article, the fire had destroyed most of the evidence and the lone
victim's identity had yet to be confirmed.

He licked his bottom lip, remembering the way the woman had whimpered as
he'd sliced the flesh on her face. The killing had been thrilling, more
exciting than anything he'd ever done. Already he wanted to kill again.

Beyond the pure entertainment value, though, torturing the woman had not
gotten him what he'd wanted. She had been a stubborn bitch and had
refused to tell him anything about Christina.

However, Carmichael's cell phone had told him quite a bit. Her
"address book" hadn't panned out, nor had "recent
calls." But under "missed calls," there had been a call from
a number in Richmond, Virginia.

Richard had been unable to resist and had called the number as a dying
Claire had watched. There had been no answer. He'd then called Vincent
and had given him the number. Twenty minutes later, Vincent had a name. The
number, along with another number, belonged to Lindsay O'Neil. Richard
had called her, half expecting to hear Christina's voice. When he
hadn't recognized the voice, he'd hung up.

Three hours later, Vincent had called him with a great deal of
information about Lindsay O'Neil, including the fact that she'd
gone to USC with Christina and was now the suspect in two local murders.
Vincent believed Christina was staying with Lindsay.

Richard tapped his finger on the morning paper. Soon he'd be in
Richmond. Soon he'd find Lindsay O'Neil and his wife. Soon both
women would curse the day they'd crossed him.

Wednesday, July 9, 8:15
P.M
.

Marcus Greenland came out of the convenience
store with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips tucked under his arm. He had
seen the evening news. That reporter had talked about that bitch
O'Neil--the one who had hid his wife and kids from him. It figured
the cunt had some kind of screwed-up past that made her hate men.
Bitch.

But he'd be damned if he'd end up one of her victims.
She'd not get her hooks into him.

"Hey, are you looking to make some money?" The raspy voice
had Greenland whirling around. An old white guy stood directly behind him. The
stranger had come up behind him without making a sound.

Shit.
There was a time when no one snuck up on
Marcus Greenland. His heart hammering, he said, "What the hell do you
want?"

The guy flashed a lopsided grin that was almost apologetic.
"I'm looking for a strong man who can do some heavy lifting.
I've got a piano to move."

Greenland glared at the old man. He had stooped shoulders, gray hair,
and horn-rimmed glasses. The son of a bitch didn't look like he could
lift a bag of sugar. "It's after eight o'clock at night. Who
the hell moves a piano late at night?"

The old man shrugged and smiled sheepishly as if he was embarrassed.
"Hey, it's not me. It's my wife. She wants the damn thing
moved before a party she's having this weekend. Personally, I think it
looks fine where it is, but she wants it moved. Just between you and me, my
wife can be a pain in the ass when she doesn't get what she wants, so
I'm not arguing with her."

"Can't live with 'em, can't shoot
'em." Greenland laughed at his own joke.

The stranger hesitated before he laughed. He reached in his pocket and
pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. "It won't take more than an hour
of your time."

Greenland relaxed when he saw the bill. He sure as hell could use the
money. "Sure, why not?"

Behind the horn-rimmed glasses, blue eyes glistened. "Great. My
van is over here."

Greenland snagged a beer from the six-pack and popped it open. He took a
long drink, savoring the cool liquid on his throat. It would take at least the
six-pack to get even a mild buzz. "You'll bring me back to my
car?"

"Absolutely.
I'll have you back in less
than an hour."

Greenland followed the man to a simple white van. The vehicle looked
nicked up and well used. "I figured you for a Volvo or a minivan kind of
guy."

The man pulled keys from his pocket. "This is a rental. The trunk
of my Audi is big but not big enough for a piano."

Greenland was impressed. He liked nice cars.
"An
Audi.
A-6?"

"Yeah."

"Good car. It hugs the corners real well." He sipped his beer.
"I used to sell cars."

"That so?
What kind?"

They'd been used cars.
"Lexuses
mostly."

"Nice."

The stranger slid behind the wheel as Greenland climbed in the passenger
side. With a hundred bucks, he could buy his boys that new video game and maybe
a nice bottle of bourbon.

Thinking about the boys made him sad. The last time he'd seen the
kids, he'd hit Jamal, because the kid wouldn't stop talking. The
boy had fallen to the ground hard. Damien had cried and cowered. He had tried
to console Damien, but the child had only wailed. That had pissed Greenland
off. He'd smacked the kid until he'd shut up.

Now, guilt gnawed at him. As their father, he wanted the boys to respect
him, but he also wanted them to love him. That video game would make it up to
them.

The stranger fired the ignition. Greenland settled back in his seat.
"Want a beer?"

"No thanks. The wife doesn't like it when I drink."

No matter how rich you were a wife could bring you down. "Is she a
real ballbuster?"

The stranger's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he smiled.
"You could say that." He pulled out onto the main road and quickly
merged onto the interstate. They headed west toward farmland bathed in the
setting sun's amber light.

Greenland took a long draft from the beer. The alcohol loosened him up.
"My old lady busted my chops every time I had a drink too many."
Just thinking about Aisha pissed him off. He killed the first beer and opened a
second. "My wife is a bitch. And full of lip. And now she's taken
my kids--
my sons
--and run off. It isn't
right that a man can't see his own flesh and blood. I have a right to
them."

The man frowned. "Family is about the most important thing there
is."

"Damn straight. Once I get me a real job, I intend on getting mine
back."

"You said you sold cars?"

"Did. Now it's construction mostly. I'm also licensed
to drive trucks."

"Well, then you should have no trouble getting work. Construction
is booming."

He couldn't seem to hold a job. "Not so easy. All the
outfits are run by pricks. That's what I say."

The stranger kept his gaze on the road. "Hey, don't I know
you from somewhere?" He snapped his fingers. "You played college
football for Tech."

Greenland grinned. "That's right."

"Heard you went to the pros."

"Did for a while.
Then I busted my right knee."

"Damn."

Greenland took a long drink of beer. It still pissed him off the way
that coach had cut him loose as if he were nothing.

"That was one hell of a catch in the Sugar Bowl."

"Yeah."
The memory of that one night made
him proud. "I was a damn superstar that night."

"And rightly so."

The stranger pulled off the highway and skirted down a rural road. Soon
the lights of the interstate vanished. Only the headlights of the van lit the
way.

"Is it going to be much farther?" Greenland asked. He had to
pee.

"Just another mile or two."

"Okay." Greenland didn't like the country.
Full of wild animals, snakes and shit.

They pulled off the side road down a gravel driveway. Tall trees hovered
over the road. Gravel popped under the tires. It felt as if they'd driven
off the face of the earth.

At the end of the road was a clearing. No house.

Greenland leaned forward. "Where the hell are we?"

The stranger put the car in park and shut off the engine. He pulled out
a gun and pointed it at Greenland's head.
"The
end of the line.
Get out."

"Hey, man, if this is about robbery, then you've got the
wrong guy. I don't have two damn nickels to rub together."

He cocked the gun. "Get out."

"Like hell I will."

Behind the horn-rims, the eyes that had looked old and weary hardened.
The stranger fired past Greenland's head and the cab exploded with sound
as the bullet shattered the passenger window. Broken glass nicked the back of
Greenland's skull. He dropped his beer on the floor. "Shit!"

Fumbling for the handle, Greenland opened the door and lunged toward the
ground. He didn't know who the hell this freak was, but he wasn't
going to stick around and find out.

The hard rains from Monday had left the normally marshy ground even
softer and he slipped in the mud. He struggled to stand. He slipped again. The
freak got out and walked around the side of the van.

Greenland pulled himself upright. He held up his hands in defense.
"Hey, man, I don't want
no
damn trouble.
Just let me go and we'll call it even."

The stranger looked taller, stronger now that he held his shoulders
upright. "We are far from even."

Panic knifed Greenland. "Who the hell are you?"

"The Guardian."
He said it with pride.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means
,
I kill men like you."

Greenland felt sick. "Hey, man, I
ain't
never
done anything to you."

Moonlight glinted on the gun barrel. "You should have treated your
wife with more respect." He fired. The bullet sliced into
Greenland's left knee. Pain scorched through his body and he dropped to
the cold, soft ground. He clutched his knee.

"What the fuck!" Greenland howled. Blood oozed out from
under his fingers. "Did that bitch wife of mine send you to kill
me?"

The Guardian loomed over him. "Don't talk about the mother
of your children like that."

Greenland's entire body burned. He tried to breathe through the
pain like his coaches had taught him in college.
Suck it up
.
But this pain was worse than any lineman's tackle. He could barely think
as he rolled on his side into a fetal position.

The Guardian stepped closer. Greenland's hands were inches from
his feet. This son of a bitch was going down. Moving quickly, he grabbed the
Guardian's ankle and yanked as hard as he could. The Guardian fell
backward and hit the ground hard, grunting in pain as his ribs connected with a
stump. The gun flew off into the darkness.

The Guardian's pain gave Greenland satisfaction and hope. He
started to crawl away. If he could get to the thick of the woods around them,
he could hide.

The Guardian wrestled his body to a sitting position. His breathing was
ragged and labored. With a grunt, he started to crawl around and look for the
gun. He couldn't find it.

Greenland clawed at the dirt and dragged his useless leg behind him.
"Jesus, save me."

Get to the woods. Get to the woods.

Greenland looked back and saw the Guardian chasing him. Determination
had hardened the set of his jaw.

"Oh, Jesus," Greenland muttered. His knee burned. His lungs
ached with the effort of breathing.

The Guardian's gait was uneven, but his two good legs easily
overtook Greenland.

The Guardian kicked Greenland in the head. The blow cracked teeth and
robbed him of the air in his lungs. Greenland rolled on his back. He tasted
blood and spit out a tooth.

Every nerve in his body screamed.

"You're not getting away from me," the Guardian
growled. He went back to the van, retrieved a machete,
then
hurried back to again kick Greenland, this time in the side. Ribs shattered.
Greenland was near passing out when the Guardian planted his booted foot on his
left forearm.

The Guardian ground the bottom of his boot into the tender flesh of
Greenland's arm. "Retribution is mine."

"Why?!"
Greenland shouted.

The Guardian didn't answer. Instead, he raised the machete high
over his head. The blade caught the moonlight before it came down and sliced
through the wrist's flesh and narrow bone.

Greenland screamed until his throat felt raw. He pissed on himself. His
own blood pooled around his body, dampening the ground under him.

The Guardian held up the severed hand and howled with satisfaction.

That was Greenland's last image before he passed out.