Rising Heat (105 page)

I shook my head to clear it.

No! I couldn’t allow myself to faint. I had to keep going. Groaning with pain, my muscles trembling from exertion, fear, and the aftermath of an adrenaline surge, I managed to crawl through the door. I heard the sound of an enraged howl from down below, but had no idea which man it belonged to.

My arms lost their strength and I tumbled face-first into the brown variegated shag carpeting. The lamp in the corner of the room cast a dull glow, shadows still clinging to the corners. The shelf was off to my right, no more than four yards away.

I crawled.

Choking back my tears, trying to ignore the stabbing pain that shot up my arm every time I placed weight on it or the way my right knee threatened to give way each time I moved my injured leg, I pressed on.

Hawk needed me. I focused my gaze on the bottom shelf, willing my screaming muscles to move faster. And then I was grasping the hard wood, lifting myself up from the floor, balancing the bulk of my weight on my left leg. My left arm hung practically useless now, but with my right arm, I pulled myself up, trying to reach my hand up to feel for Cutter’s phone.

Dammit! Where was it?

I stood straighter, grabbing onto the next shelf, pulling myself a little higher. My hand patted blindly as my fingers sought our only hope. And then I nearly sobbed with relief when I felt the hard case of the flip top. I clutched my fingers around what I hoped was our lifeline.

From below I heard another crash. Any moment, I expected Cutter to come racing up the stairs. I fumbled with the flip top, my hands shaking so badly I could barely open it. Finally, I managed. The dull blue screen glowed dimly in the semi-darkness. I felt the number pad, desperately dialed 9-1-1.

My heart pounding, my ears ringing, I barely heard the sound of the call dialing, barely heard the sound of the male voice answer.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

For a second I wasn’t sure what to say. “Please,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Send help!”

“Ma’am, what’s going on?”

“Killer — send help! Detective Westin — hurry!” My voice was trembling, my throat raspy. I wasn’t sure the man could understand me.

“What’s your address?”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “Don’t know—”

“Don’t hang up, ma’am. Can you tell me—?”

I heard a shout from downstairs. A loud curse. I couldn’t identify the voice. Was that Hawk or Cutter? My heart pounded even harder. I gazed at the shelf, trying to see whether Cutter’s gun was there, but all I saw in the glow of the lamplight was his wallet, his belt… and his car keys.

Car keys. His SUV. His gun was probably in his SUV. He wouldn’t have risked bringing it inside, but he surely had it close by. Could I do it? Could I make it to his vehicle?

“Ma’am! Ma’am, can you hear me?”

I turned to make my way toward the doorway into the next room. How far was the front door from here? I took a half-hobbling, half hop-step toward the doorway Cutter had come through earlier and found myself in another small room, with a doorway at the far side of the wall. A set of windows against the opposite wall let in a stream of moonlight. I took a step toward the doorway, felt my knees give way, and collapsed to the floor, the phone bouncing away. No! Get up! I had to help Hawk!

Have to help Hawk! That’s all I thought. I had to help Hawk…

Choking back a groan of frustration at my weakness, refusing to let panic overtake me, I quickly scrambled back onto my hands and knees, my arms trembling precariously. I crawled to the wall, used it to help me stand, and then, one excruciating step at a time, I made my way as quickly as I could toward the doorway.

Pain shot through me with every step. My ears buzzed. Blackness hovered around the edges of my vision, but I shook my head, refused to give up. I couldn’t!

And then I found myself in a kitchen, the old white appliances looking like they dated back to the forties or fifties. I lunged toward the refrigerator standing silent against the wall closest to me. Crashed into it and nearly fell. Beyond it, maybe six feet away, a back door, half glass, half wood. No curtains.

I heard another sound, distant, from down below in the cellar. I had no idea what was happening. All I knew was that I didn’t want Hawk to die. He couldn’t die! And then my hand was on the doorknob. I twisted and then I pulled it open, balancing my weight against the door frame. My left hand shook so badly I no longer had control over it.

Cool night air touched my skin. I felt invigorated, free, but I wasn’t, not yet. This wasn’t over yet. Clutching Cutter’s keys in one hand, I reached for and grasped the round metal railing that ran along the three cement steps from the back door to the ground. I scrambled down the steps. At the bottom, my legs gave way and I fell, landing hard in the dirt. The keys fell from my hand.

Shit!

Mumbling to myself, I ordered myself to find the keys, and quickly, I groped the ground, trying to ignore the pain surging through me. It was a steady thrum now, not even throbbing. Just a steady pain that threatened to take my breath away — the breath that was rasping loudly in my injured throat.

Crawling forward on my knees, I continue to grope and sweep the ground. There! My fingers clutched the keys and found the slick, plastic head of the one that probably fit the SUV, or least I hoped to God it was. But maybe Cutter hadn’t locked his car doors. Why should he? It was dark outside, no sign of lights anywhere. It looked absolutely isolated.

I looked around. Where was this place? Would the police be able to find us? Was Cutter’s phone too old that it wouldn’t have a GPS chip in it? It hadn’t looked old, but it was a flip, not the smart phones I’d been using for years. I could only pray it could be geo-located.

I heard another shout and fear caused me to glance back over my shoulder. I saw the light from a small window, down near the far side of the front of the house, almost at ground level. The cellar.

I didn’t have much time. As weak as I was, I could imagine that Hawk was even weaker. He had lost a lot of blood, had been shot or stabbed, I still didn’t know. He’d been beaten. How could he be any match to Cutter in such condition?

I quickly scrambled the rest of the way toward the SUV, parked only ten yards or so from the bottom of the porch steps. Grabbing at the hard knobby rubber tires, I pulled myself up, using the fender of the wheel well to grasp onto.

I grabbed the base of the antenna to help me up, then felt along the window frame until I grasped the door handle. Shuffling my feet, I stepped closer to the door, and tried the handle. Unlocked! Thank God I was on the passenger side, closer to the glove compartment. I dropped the keys onto the passenger seat and reached for the handle of the glove compartment praying it contained the gun.

I heard another enraged shout coming from the cellar, another dull crash, and then I had the glove compartment open, my hand groping inside, feeling for the hard grip of a gun. Nothing!

A cry left me.

Please God, Cutter had to have a gun in his SUV! I saw the compartment in between the front seats and leaned forward, crying out in pain as my right thigh banged against the bottom of the doorway. Ignoring it as best I could, I inhaled a pained hiss while I struggled to open the compartment. My fingers didn’t want to work.

Finally, I managed to open it. Choking back a rush of panic, I reached inside and pulled out a freaking CD case, crying with frustration as I tossed it to the floor. I reached in again and then my fingers touched something cold and hard. Metal.

Cutter’s gun!

I grasped it and pulled it out, my fingers tight on the grip. It was heavier than the Ruger Hawk had shown me how to shoot. I tried to remember what he’d told me as my thumb moved along the upper portion of the grip. Found the safety. Switched it to the opposite position. I could only hope to God that I was taking the safety off and not engaging it.

I dimly heard the sound of footsteps pounding on wood. My heart leapt into my throat when I heard the voice.

“You’re going to die, you bitch! You hear me? You’re going to die!”

I spun, grasping the side of the door of Cutter’s SUV as I nearly lost my balance. A dark shadow hovered in the doorway of the kitchen. Then it shifted and came toward me. Rushed toward me.

My mouth was dry, my hand shaking so badly, and my legs threatening to give way. He was coming toward me fast, shouting with rage, his words incoherent. Without thinking, I lifted my arm, my hand trembling wildly as I pulled the trigger. The loud retort of the gun startled me. I screamed or tried to.

Cutter paused briefly, then continued toward me. Only a few steps away now. His arms reached out, fingers grasping, leaving no doubt their intent. If he got his hands on me, he would strangle me. No more reprieves.

I pulled the trigger again.

Then pulled it again.

He barreled into me, toppling me to the ground and to my horror, the gun was knocked out of my hand. Oh God! I lost my breath as he landed on top of me. Terror bubbled in my throat, but couldn’t escape. I couldn’t breathe. I was being crushed.

Somewhere in my hysteria, I realized he wasn’t moving. And then I felt a blossoming warmth over my chest. What was that—?

Realization hit. It was blood. His blood.

Cutter was on top of me, apparently unconscious and bleeding. Stifling a cry of horror, I tried to shove him off me, but I barely had any strength left. He made a gurgling sound, and in growing horror, I renewed my efforts to shove him away. I managed to lift his upper torso enough to turn my body, to get out from underneath him.

I lay on my side, my legs still trapped under him. With every last bit of strength I possessed, I tried to push him off of me, my gaze riveted to his face, illuminated in the moonlight. His eyes were wide, staring at me. Was he dead? Was I free of him at last?

He blinked.

The soundless gesture nearly caused me to piss my pants.

I tried harder to get away, pushing and pulling, trying to roll. Anything. His fingers bit into my flesh and he made another gurgling sound. To my horror, he tried to smile.

Blood dripped from his chin and covered his teeth. The image seared itself on my brain. I kicked again and finally managed to roll away from him, away from his reach.

Think!

Where was the gun? I looked around, but couldn’t find it. It was gone, but where? I began to cry, unable to stop the ragged sounds. I scrambled backward on my butt, using my left leg to push myself away, to make sure that he couldn’t grab me, couldn’t put his hands on me again.

As I moved away, I kept my gaze glued to his face. Waiting. Watching. For what, I didn’t know.

Time tilted and I wondered how many seconds… minutes… hours had passed. I knew one thing. He hadn’t moved. His eyes hadn’t blinked again. I couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest.

Could it be over? Could it really be over?

Hawk. My breath escaped as I muttered his name.

I had to get back to Hawk. Was he alive? He had to be. He had to be! I barely had the strength to crawl, let alone stand up. On my hands and knees, I made my way back toward the house. Every inch was a struggle.

“Hawk!” The cry came out no louder than a whisper. Frustration surged through me.
Get up,
my mind shouted.
Get up! Move!

My body felt sluggish and refused to do my bidding. I toppled onto the steps, my right hand grasping the edge of the rough cement, my left arm down by my side, still trembling with a mind of its own. I couldn’t make the muscles in my left arm work. No use.

I began to cry again, this time at how helpless I was. I tried to move again, but my muscles wouldn’t respond to my brain.

I was dying. I felt life ebb away with each breath. Felt the heaviness grow thicker and stronger.

Raising my eyes, I looked at Cutter again. I’d gotten the fucker who killed me. Blasted his evil off the earth. That was a victory even if I couldn’t save myself. Or save Hawk.

Then, in the far distance, I heard a noise. Through my half-conscious state, I finally identified it for what it was. Sirens. My heart gave one leap of excitement, and then returned to its heavy throbbing. Thank God, the police had been able to track our location.

In a matter of moments, the reflection of red and blue lights bounced off the front of the cement steps and the lower portion of the house. I didn’t have the strength to even lift my head. Then there were car doors slamming, voices shouting. Footsteps approaching.

Someone turned me gently over. I found myself staring up into Detective Westin’s face. His expression was filled with concern.

“Hang on, Tracy, the ambulance is on the way.”

He cast his gaze over me, saw the mass of blood on my shirt and assumed it was mine.

“Hang on—”

“Hawk,” I managed, my voice sounding unrecognizable, even to me.

Westin froze. “Where?”

“Cellar… cellar…”

And then everything went black.

*

When I opened my eyes, I was confused until I realized I was in a hospital room. Sunshine filled the room, giving the walls a soft, comforting yellow glow. I felt so lethargic, but no pain. Remarkable. They must be giving me pain killers, I thought. Really good ones.

I turned my head to the left and saw a window. Between the bed and the window was a small bedside table and a chair. In the corner, mounted high on the wall hung a flat screen, staring blankly down at me.

I heard voices and turned my head to the right, saw uniformed police officers standing just outside my doorway. And then I remembered it all. Every terrifying moment. I tried to move. Hawk! Was he alive?

One of the police officers glanced into the room, saw me trying to move, and spoke to someone just out of my line of sight. In seconds, I watched Detective Westin enter the room. Before I could say anything, he spoke.

“You’re going to be all right, Tracy.”

The next words out of his mouth had tears forming in my eyes.

“Hawk is alive. He’s going to make it.”

I began to weep, tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks. Westin stared down at me, as if uncomfortable with my display of emotion, but I didn’t care. I looked up at him, a question forming on my lips. He anticipated it.