Impulse (24 page)

46

F
aith stared at the man standing be
hind Josh holding the deadly sharp knife. And suddenly understood exactly what it felt like to have a glitchy heart.

“Drew?” She couldn’t believe it. How could a man who looked like the Sundance Kid be a cold-blooded murderer. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked reasonably. “I’m hunting.”

“Hunting?”

“Of course. That’s what wolves do. They hunt.”

“But you’re not a wolf,” she said, struggling desperately for a reasonable tone.

She tried, with her eyes, to signal Josh to remain calm and not do anything foolish that could get himself killed.

“It’s obvious you’ve never heard of shape-shifters,” Drew said. “There are quite a number of cultures who embrace the concept.”

“And you do?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been experimenting with the idea,” His smile was cold. Deadly Even remote. Why had she never noticed that before?

Because, she told herself, that’s what serial killers do. They fit in. Hadn’t she thought, herself, how amazing it was how quickly he’d blended into the day-to-day rhythm of Hazard life? And his office was like a Native American museum.

“It proved quite satisfying with Erin,” he said conversationally. “Though unfortunately, humans don’t possess as functional canines as a wolf or a bobcat.”

“You’re the one who killed her!”

Recklessly, Josh tried to turn on him. Expecting blood to come shooting from a knife wound in the teen’s throat, Faith was relieved when Drew merely pinched Josh’s neck with his four fingers and thumb, causing him to immediately lose consciousness and collapse to the wooden floor.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a simple nerve pinch,” he said calmly. “Surely you’ve watched
Star Trek
at some point in your life.”

“Of course I have. But that’s fiction.”

“So the writers would like you to believe. As I did, until I discovered a remote tribe in Kazakhstan who practice a similar technique. They were essentially nomads or farmers, but first and foremost they were excellent horsemen and were the first in the world to master arrow-shooting at full tilt. I’m proud to say I became quite accomplished at this feat.”

“Congratulations,” Faith said drily.

“You don’t mean that."

“No. I don’t.”

“I didn’t think you did. But it’s quite the thrill, galloping across the mountains at night on the back of a steppe pony. Far more exhilarating than riding some damn noisy sled that stinks of gasoline.”
He shook his head. Then returned to what Faith recognized as his lecture mode.

“The Saks set up their firs
t state in Zhetysu, which is i
n southeast Kazakhstan. Their high priests served as their kings, protecting their language and their myths, and encouraging extremely well-developed animal art, which represents the struggle between predator and prey. Some of that gold and bronze art continues to be Exhibited in the best museums of the world.”

“Isn’t that interesting.”

He tilted his head. Studied her. “You’re stalling. Hoping against hope that Hazard’s hunky hero sheriff will come riding in like the Lone Ranger, just in time to save the day.”

“What makes you think anyone’s coming?”

“Faith, Faith.” He clicked his tongue. Wagged a finger at her. “Granted, the table’s only set for two. But you’ve gotten another bowl and set of cutlery out, so, from appearances, you and Bridger were planning a romantic evening at home. Then his son showed up. So, now you’re making the best of the situation by inviting him to join you.”

“That’s very good,” she allowed.

“It wasn’t exactly rocket science, darling. But I am,
after all, a psychological anthropologist. I study behavior. And, of course, the meaning of it.”

“And obviously you’re very good at it.”

He flashed a smile. “Flattery will get you a few more minutes. Only because I’d already decided to share my methods with you, because killing has lost a bit of its thrill without my prey understanding why, exactly, they’re being killed.”

“I assume it’s because, basically, you don’t like people very much.”

He was right. She was stalling. But she wasn’t just waiting for Will. She was reminded of the time, early in her career, when a mentally ill person had stormed the station, held her hostage, and required her to read a rambling, incoherent statement about the government trying to kill him by poisoning his water with uranium taken from nuclear bombs.

This was not that different. While she was struggling to carry on an outwardly casual conversation, her mind was scheming to come up with some way to get Josh and her out of this situation.

“Actually, I enjoy people,” Drew said. “I enjoy watching them. Studying them.”

“Manipulating them.”

“Of course. Why else would I have gone through all that schooling? Even a high school dropout can take a life. Killing is easy. Just like dying is easy. It’s the survivors who suffer.”

Comprehension struck, like a blow to the head. “That’s your trophy, isn’t it? The people you kill aren’t
the real victims. It’s the survivors. Who have to live with the pain of survivor guilt. You feed off that suffering.” Hadn’t he even written what some in his field called the definitive study of survivor guilt?

He nodded. “That’s very perceptive. And here I thought I was going to have to spend far more time explaining. It probably would have been better for you to have played stupid.’’

He’d begun switching the blade from hand to hand. Faith couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Getting back to the nerve pinch, it’s really quite exceptional. The elders of the tribe have allowed it to be used on their enemies, but it’s too holy a process to be used for mere day-to-day killing, such as a crime of passion, which will be swiftly dealt with. It’s also a popular hunting method.
It’s only too bad you’ll never see a man drop a snow leopard with a spear, then kill him with a simple pinch
.
"

Faith's gaze flashed to Josh, whom she’d believed to be merely unconscious. “You killed him?”

“Not yet,” Drew assured her. “What would be the fun in that?” As if to demonstrate, he kicked the teen with his boot. Josh moaned, but didn't move.

“I lived among the Saks for three years, eating with them, sleeping with them, riding and hunting with them. And, of course, sleeping with their women. They have some very interesting sexual rituals. I’ve been thinking I might like to share some with you.”

“I’d like that,” she lied through her teeth.

He laughed again, appearing to enjoy himself. “No,
you wouldn’t.” He winked. “But it really doesn’t matter, does it? Because you don’t have any say in the matter. I’m going to play with you, Faith. For a very long time. Then I’m going to let you go.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“I’ve no idea.” His blue eyes widened. He was mocking her, but if that was the worst he’d end up doing, Faith wasn’t about to complain. “I said I was going to let you go. I didn’t say I was going to let you live.
When I’m done playing, I’m going to let you escape. I’m even going to grant you a head start. Although, I’m afraid, given the storm raging outside, and the fact that you’ll be naked, I doubt you’ll be running for very long.”

Out of the comer of her eye, Faith saw Josh’s eyes blink open. Please, don’t let him try anything foolish, she prayed.

“You were telling me about the nerve pinch,” she said.

“Good try. Stall some more.” He shook his head. “It won’t make any difference. Because your lover isn’t going to make it here.”

Shock waves reverberated through her. “You didn’t kill him?”

“Of course not. He needs to stay alive. So he can mourn his lover. And”—Drew gave Josh another sharp kick—“his son.” Josh moaned, this time, Faith thought, as he closed his eyes again, on cue. “But I did arrange for him to be delayed. Long enough for you and I to leave.”

Which meant he was planning to kill Josh before taking her from the house. No way.

“If you hurt Will—”

He lifted a blond brow. “Is that a threat, Faith? Of course I wouldn’t hurt him. I just provided him a new challenge to keep him busy.”

“You didn’t kill anyone else?”

“Good guess! Now, for the bonus round, can you tell me who’s on the way to the morgue with a bullet wound in the brain?”

“How would I know?”

“Buzz. Sorry, you lose. The answer was, that intrepid lawman turned bounty hunter, Salvatore Sasone.”

Her knees sagged. Faith grabbed hold of the edge of the stove to hold herself up. “You killed Sal? Why?”

“Because I knew how it would affect you. And I was right. You’re white as a bone, darling. The good news is that you won’t have to grieve your lawfully wedded husband for all that long. But I’m going to enjoy it while you do.

“But you were asking about the nerve pinch
…
the tribal medicine man teaches that certain members, due to telepathic powers, are able to send a burst of psychic energy into another living being, overload its nervous system, thus rendering it unconscious. Since, with the exception of my shape-shifting ability, I’ve yet to develop any telepathic powers myself, I believe the pinch merely blocks nerve responses from reaching the brain.”

He gestured down at Josh. “Voil
a.” Then rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Well, as lovely as it’s been chatting with you, Faith, I believe it’s time we get on with the rest of this evening’s entertainment.”

He stroked the handle of the blade. Straddled Josh’s prone body.

It was now or never. She hadn’t been able to come up with a single way to keep Josh from being harmed. But there was a chance she’d be able to prevent him from being killed.

Just as Drew began to bend over, every atom of his attention riveted on the teen, like a wolf about to attack a lamb, Faith grabbed the pot of bubbling stew from the stove and threw it into his face.

He screamed like a wounded animal. Dropped the knife as he swabbed his scorched face with his hands.

At the same time, Josh jumped to his feet, the knife blade in his hand. A hand that was turning an ugly shade of red from the splash of stew.

“Go!”

Josh grabbed her hand with his uninjured one and they started running.

With their would-be murderer blocking the kitchen door, they were forced to run through the living room, dodging the boxes she still hadn’t gotten around to unpacking.

The last one had been serving as a pseudo foyer table, and as they raced past it, she snatched up the red bag. They yanked their jackets from the coat hooks.

Then together, hand in hand, Faith and Josh ran out into the storm.

47

W
ill cursed as the jeep started rap
idly losing power. Seconds later, the power steering went out on him.

“Damn. Talk about a fucked-up holiday week.”

As if Erin Gallagher and her mother being murdered, and a Russian
coach in the hospital from a vi
cious attack, were not enough, Will would rather be covered in molasses and staked out on an anthill rather than have to break the news to Faith that her soon-to-be-ex husband had been shot in the head.

He knew, since the bounty hunter was only in Hazard because he’d tracked her here, that she’d blame herself. Which he totally understood because he’d do the same thing.

He’d have to figure out some way to dissuade her of the notion the attack was her fault.

But first he had to get to her place. Suspecting the problem, he climbed out of the Cherokee, opened the hood, and shone the Maglite into the engine. Just as
he’d thought, the damn drive belt had broken. Just what he needed.

He waded through the drifting snow, around to the back of the SUV, where he kept his emergency toolbox.

The county had had the snowplows operating around the clock for days, since before the wind had stopped. But the Canadian clipper was bringing the snow in so thick and so fast, it was getting nearly impossible to keep the roads clear.

The sheriff of a rural county had to be prepared for any contingency, which is why the back of the SUV was packed with not only the toolbox, but wooden road barricades, tire chains, rolls of reflector and crime-scene tape, a portable defibrillator, which he’d learned to operate from Jack Dawson, orange safety cones, and flares.

He pushed aside two of the cones to get to the red metal box, opened it up, and stared down at the space where the long black belt was supposed to be.

The wind was howling as if all the lost souls of hell had landed in Hazard. He was all alone out on a road five miles from the nearest house. Which would be Faith’s.

He trudged through the snow back to the engine and began to examine the belt more thoroughly, realizing his worst fear.

The long, serpentine belt that wove its way above and around just about every engine part, controlling so much of the Cherokee’s operating system, hadn’t broken. The black rubber had been cleanly sliced through.

But not all the way in the beginning, Will thought.

Just enough to ensure he’d get far enough out of town to be stranded.

“Goddammit!” He yanked open the driver’s door, grabbed the radio from the dash, only to discover that the coiled mike cord had been cut as well.

Okay. That’s what God invented cell phones for, right? He ripped his off his belt and punched in the #HELP, the cell equivalent of 911.

“Sheriff’s Department,” the familiar voice answered.

“Earlene, this is Will.”

“What’s wrong, Sheriff?” She’d worked for his predecessor long enough to know that a cop wouldn’t call into emergency just to chat.

“I need you to send out every unit we’ve got, right away, to Faith Prescott’s house. I have reason to believe the killer is out there, and he’s obviously armed and dangerous.”

He waited for her to repeat the instructions as protocol required.

Nothing.

He checked the signal bars. Nothing.

Despite all those stories about people being able to make phone calls from the top of Mt. Everest, and the telephone commercials showing customers happily chatting to friends hundreds of miles away from out in the middle of the forest, the fact was that service was always iffy up in these mountains. And often, nearly impossible during a blizzard.

As he looked around at the near whiteout conditions, Will’s damn glitchy heart began to go wild.