Resuscitation (39 page)

“If you’re not out of there in one minute,” Julian warned, “I’m coming in.”

Yes, she thought, I could end his life.

Her mind was scrambling, trying to think of how she could distract him long enough to strike a blow. Where on his body would an assault be most effective? Suppose she missed her mark? What would he do to her in retaliation? Harsh reality replaced her conflicting thoughts.

He’s going to kill me anyway, so if I piss him off what difference does it make?

McKenzie carefully slid the scissors, point first, down the back of her capri pants, but realized that if Julian walked behind her and followed her back to the bed, he’d see the outline of the scissors through the form-fitting material. But where else could she hide them, in her bra?

No time to second-guess
.

She walked out of the bathroom and stood by the door, facing Julian. If she could get him to lead the way back to the bed, maybe, just maybe she could plunge the scissors deep into the side of his neck and puncture his carotid artery. This, she felt certain, would incapacitate even the Incredible Hulk. Maybe even kill him.

Julian pointed. “That way.”

McKenzie didn’t move.

“What’s the problem? Do you want me to drag you over there?”

She had to engage him in dialogue. Something to divert his attention. “Can I just sit down for a while and talk to you, without my hands and feet bound to that bed?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There isn’t? I think there’s a lot to talk about.”

“I’m not playing this game.” Julian grabbed her arm.

While he escorted her toward the bed, almost dragging her, McKenzie was careful not to give him a rear view of her body. As he tugged on her arm, leading the way, she reached behind her back, slid her hand down her capri pants and grasped the handle of the scissors. Walking slowly, he looked straight ahead, but every so often gave her glances as they moved closer to the bed. She had to wait for the perfect moment. She would get one shot and one shot only.

She tightened her grip on the scissors.

He stopped in his tracks, his grip on her forearm tightening. “What are you hiding behind your back, McKenzie?”

Shit!
“Nothing. My back muscles are a little sore. That’s all.”

This was the moment of truth. In an instant, he would spin her around before she had a chance to stab him and her plan would self-destruct.

Just as he tugged on her arm, pulling firmly to turn her around, with one quick motion, McKenzie cocked her arm like a trip hammer, and aimed for the side of his neck, thrusting forward as forcefully as she could. His quick reflexes stunned McKenzie. He moved swiftly, but not quite quickly enough. Just as the tip of the scissors pierced the skin on the side of his neck, he grasped her wrist and stopped her forward motion. Only the tip of the scissors penetrated his neck. What she didn’t realize was that she missed her mark and the scissors struck him several inches away from the carotid artery. Nonetheless, he went down on one knee and released his grip on McKenzie’s wrist, but still held her forearm.

She used a maneuver she’d learned in her self-defense class, and with a rapid circular motion, she twisted her arm counter-clockwise, and freed her forearm from his grip. Now it was a footrace. She bolted toward the front door, her legs and feet scrambling like a cartoon character’s.

She peeked over her shoulder and saw him still on one knee, gripping his neck.

Almost there.

She reached the door, grasped the doorknob, and twisted it with all her might. It didn’t move. Utterly frantic, she realized it was locked, so she clicked the lock a quarter turn and the doorknob now moved freely. But the door still would not open.

She looked over her shoulder to see if he had regained his composure and was moving toward her, but strangely, he was sitting on the floor cross-legged, his hand pressed against the wound, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, she could see a smirk on his face.

McKenzie tried again to open the door, twisting the doorknob in both directions and tugging on it with all her might. She looked up and saw a deadbolt.

Of course, she thought.

When she reached toward the deadbolt to unlock it, instead of seeing a thumbturn like on her door at home, what she saw was a keyhole. Without a key, she could not open the deadbolt. McKenzie now understood why he had not run after her. Where could she go? She figured that whatever he originally had in store for her, he would now make her pay a higher price for her foolish stunt.

She sat on the floor with her back against the door, trying hard not to be emotional, but unless a miracle happened, her fate was sealed. Choked up and feeling as hopeless as she’d ever felt, she watched him disappear into the bathroom, obviously confident that she had no way out of the loft without the key to the deadbolt. She could run to a window and yell for help, but the loft might be located in a remote area, far from civilization. Soon he’d come out of the bathroom and she would no doubt end up bound to the bed again completely at his mercy. Could she somehow reason with him? Maybe bargain with him?

Foolish girl
.

How do you bargain with a madman? Besides, she had only one thing to bargain with—the mere thought of it repulsed her—but he could take it if he wanted. And she suspected he would.

When Sami heard Al’s voice, she wanted to smash her cell phone against the concrete wall. She had just parked her car in the precinct parking structure and was walking toward the main entrance.

“The captain just called me.” Long pause. “He said you’re okay partnering with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“It wouldn’t be a popular choice with the department, but yes, you do have a choice.”

“And what do you suggest I say to the captain, that my boyfriend fucked another woman and—”

“I can say I’m sorry for the rest of my life, Sami, but if you can’t let it go—”

“Let it
go
? How about letting me catch my breath? Twelve hours ago you told me that you slept with another woman and you expect me to just dismiss it as if you kissed her on the cheek?”

“People make mistakes.”

“Yes, they do. But I don’t consider you screwing another woman a mistake.”

“If you want me to call the captain and tell him I have to go back to Rio, I still have some time under the Family Leave Act.”

“Back to Rio? Why? So you can fuck Sofia again?”

Al didn’t say a word.

Sami had to get back on task because this conversation was going nowhere. “We need to nail this guy before he murders another person.”

“We may be too late,” Al said. “I assume the captain told you about the missing person’s report.”

“He did. Are you capable of separating personal from professional?”

“Hey, I’m the one on the hot seat here. The question is whether or not
you
can work side by side with
me
without letting your personal feelings get in the way.”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Al breathed heavily into the phone. “There is one more thing, Sami.”

She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t drop another bomb.

“Should I look for an apartment? Room with a friend? I’m not quite sure how to proceed.”

Nor was she. On top of everything else, the last thing Sami wanted was to explain to her mother why Al no longer shared her bed. Even if she let him sleep on the sofa bed, her mom would still play twenty questions.

I hope I don’t regret this.

“How would you feel about sleeping on the sofa bed?”

“You’re okay with that?”

She wanted to say, “
No, I’m not okay with it
,” but didn’t think brutal honesty would help the situation. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t offer.”

“Thanks, Sami. I’ll give you as much space as you need.”

Space is not what she needed. What she needed was a way for her to trust him. “Are you coming to the precinct?”

“Be there in thirty minutes.”

Great
. She wasn’t so sure she’d made the right decision.

After Al flipped his cell phone closed, he stood silently staring at the Winslow Homer reproduction hanging above the bed. He was intrigued that the Holiday Inn Express had chosen the perfect watercolor to exemplify his emotions. Homer had poignantly captured his utter feeling of solitude and despair. In the painting, a man sat in a small rowboat, hunched forward, grasping the oars. The sky was dark and dismal, but the water calm. He couldn’t see the man’s face in the painting; the man’s back faced him. But he could tell that the artist’s intention had been to convey loneliness. He was no art critic, but from what he could see, Winslow Homer had captured the essence of loneliness. The painting now seemed as if it were an omen.

He sat on the bed, his mind a hornet’s nest of troubling thoughts. For so many years, he had quietly been in love with Sami Rizzo, never believing that anything would come of it, that his love for her was hopeless. When she had revealed her true feelings, telling Al how much she loved him, he felt as if he’d just won the lottery. Now, the thought of losing Sami was more than Al could bear. He knew her well enough to know, or at least hope, that eventually she’d find it in her heart to forgive him. He also feared that his indiscretion would forever tarnish their love. No matter what he did to beg her forgiveness, her heart was fragile, and this wound might never heal.

How many times had he cursed Tommy DiSalvo, her ex-husband, when he had cheated on her and she had called Al in the middle of the night looking for a firm shoulder to cry on? How many tears had he watched spill out of her puffy eyes? Now
he
was the villain, the unfaithful fool who jeopardized their relationship.

He remembered what Captain Davidson had told him when he’d asked about Al’s relationship with Sami: “
What you’ve got is the brass ring, Al. Don’t fuck it up
.”

Alberto Diaz could only hope that he hadn’t completely destroyed the most precious part of his life.

After retying McKenzie’s wrists to the bed with nylon straps, leaving her legs unbound and her body lying prone, Julian went into the bathroom to dress the wound on his neck. Fortunately for him, the scissors had not punctured a major artery or vein, so he felt confident the wound did not require stitches.

He understood her motivation to escape. If he were facing a similar fate, wouldn’t he do the same thing? He actually admired her courage and resourcefulness. He’d learned through years of experience with sickly patients that the will to survive is the strongest instinct.

He checked his neck in the mirror to be sure that blood was not oozing through the gauze, then he headed for the bed and sat beside McKenzie. Obviously startled, she jumped but didn’t say a word. He studied her form. Admiringly. Lustfully. His mind flooded with delightful possibilities. Thoughts of Eva. Thoughts of Rachael. He no longer fought the good fight like he’d done with Genevieve. No more troubled conscience or moral dilemmas. He surrendered to his deepest desires without the slightest concern for McKenzie’s welfare. His hunger to fulfill his fantasies far outweighed morality or reason. He wanted her the way he wanted her, and that was that.

He laid his hand on the small of her back and gently slid it over her butt. My, how firm she was. No doubt the results of her rigorous yoga workouts. She turned her head and stared at him, a look of total disgust on her face.

“Take your fucking hands off me.”

He admired the grit and determination in her voice. She was like a wild filly, fighting not to be saddled. Oh, how he’d break her will. He ignored her order and again slid his hand over her butt; this time his fingers lingered.

She struggled with the nylon straps binding her wrists to the headboard. She kicked her feet violently and twisted from side to side, but the straps restricted her mobility.

Julian eased off the bed and stood over the cart with the surgical instruments, carefully taking inventory. He picked up a pair of dressing scissors and sat down again on the bed. Without uttering a sound, he slipped the scissors under McKenzie’s sports bra and ran it up the middle of her back, cutting it from bottom to top.