Stalked (37 page)

“I’m going to love watching your eyes,” he said.

The sand gathered in the bottom of the hourglass.

Her fingers were flat on the floor. She reached again and this time felt the piece of metal slide under her palm, where she scooped it into her hand and prayed.

It was a fish hook. Sharp as hell.

Maggie grew increasingly desperate as she crisscrossed the streets of Duluth. The weather made it worse. Her windshield wipers sloughed aside snow, but the downpour was so heavy that she could see little more than a swirling sea of white powder through the beams of her headlights. She squinted to see where she was going, and the car veered and fishtailed on the unplowed streets. The glowing clock in her Avalanche told her it was nearly four in the morning. They had several hours of darkness left, and even when the sun rose, it would be behind an impenetrable blanket of black clouds. The storm would still be howling, spilling a foot of snow over the city and then billowing it into house-high drifts with a wind that swept down from the Canadian tundra and blinded everything.

No one else was out on the streets, not at this hour and not in the middle of the storm. The cars were mounds of white, pasted over with snow-caps. When she passed a van that fit the right size and shape, she had to get out of her truck and brush off enough snow with her hands to make sure that it wasn’t the missing vehicle from Byte Patrol.

As she passed along the south end of Portland Square on Fourth Street, she saw windows of light in a house on the opposite side of the park and realized that it was Katrina’s upstairs apartment. She must have had every light in the place turned on, and Maggie knew why. For weeks after it happened, she found herself up in the middle of the night, turning on lights and sitting in the kitchen with her gun in reach on the table. It was irrational, but that was what fear did to you.

She turned left and drove around the square to the north side and parked near Katrina’s building. When she got out of the car, the gales almost knocked her over. She fought through drifts on the sidewalk and then ducked into the protection of Katrina’s doorway. She rang the doorbell.

Katrina’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Who is it?”

“It’s Maggie.”

“Oh. Hi. Come on up.”

Maggie tromped upstairs, leaving wet footprints on the steps. Katrina stood in the doorway with the door open when she reached the second floor. She was wearing an extra-large Minnesota Wild T-shirt that stretched to the middle of her thighs. Her legs were bare.

“Sorry it’s so late,” Maggie said.

“I was up.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Katrina nodded. “I was watching TV. I know what’s going on with your friend Serena. Sounds bad.”

“It is.”

“Is it the same guy who…?”

“We think so, yeah.”

“You want to come in?”

“For a couple of minutes, sure.”

Maggie took off her coat inside and hung it near the door. She did the same with her hat and gloves. Snow melted and dripped on the carpet. Katrina had the gas fireplace turned on, and it gave off a little heat when Maggie sat near the hearth on the yellow futon. Katrina shuffled to the opposite end, and they stared at each other.

“Look, I suppose I should say I’m sorry,” Maggie said.

“Why?”

“Because I never reported what happened. Maybe we could have caught this guy before he got to you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“How are you? How do you feel?”

“Like an empty milk carton, nothing inside.”

“It won’t always be like that.”

“Did you feel the same way?”

Maggie shook her head. “I was out of my skull. I couldn’t stop crying.”

“Tell me something. Have you had sex since it happened?”

Maggie shook her head.

“Me neither. Thinking about sex makes me nauseous. I feel like he took that away from me, the bastard.”

“Give it time.” Maggie’s guilt showed in her face again. “I wish I’d said something.”

“Let it go,” Katrina told her. “You don’t owe anybody but yourself.”

“Stride doesn’t get it,” Maggie said.

“He’s a man. It didn’t happen to him. You can’t live your life around what he thinks.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“No? That’s a switch.”

“He’s my safety net. You know that. When things got bad with Eric, I found myself turning to Stride again. It’s safe, because I know he’s not interested in me anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

“Please. I’m a kid as far as he’s concerned. And it’s not like I can compete with someone like Serena anyway.”

“So start living in the real world,” Katrina told her. “What do you really want?”

“I have no idea.”

“Bullshit. I think you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s only one thing you’ve wanted for the last two years. And it’s not Stride, and it’s not Eric, either.”

“A kid,” Maggie said.

“Bingo.”

“Well, so much for that dream. Three strikes, and I’m out.”

“You don’t know that.”

Maggie shook her head. “No way. I’m not going through that roller coaster again. Get my hopes up and my hormones up, and then feel like my life is over when I lose it for the fourth time? No, thanks. Besides, I’m missing half the equation now. No husband.”

“A husband is like an optional extra.”

“It’s too soon to think about it,” Maggie said.

“You could adopt.”

“Oh, sure, a single Chinese immigrant, a cop who was suspected in her husband’s murder. I’m going to be tops on everyone’s list.”

“Just think about it.”

“Yeah, I will.”

The truth was, she had thought about it already. She had even made some calls.

“You want a drink?” Katrina asked.

“I could drink a whole bottle, but no, I can’t.”

“Are you working?”

Maggie nodded. “Unofficially, but yeah. We’ve got most of the force out trying to find this son of a bitch. We just don’t know where to look.”

“Well, I hope you get him. As far as I’m concerned, they can skip the trial and put him in the electric chair. I’ll tell you right where they can attach the electrodes, baby.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have nightmares?” Katrina asked.

Maggie nodded. “All the time.”

“Me too. I keep reliving it, but it’s like I’m watching a movie, you know? Like it happened to someone else.”

“I’ve pretty much blocked it out,” Maggie confessed. “Usually, I remember everything, but I’ve built a wall around that night and what happened.”

“Lucky you.” Katrina added, “Listen, I never should have done the alpha girl thing. I could tell you weren’t comfortable with it.”

“That was me. I wasn’t going to tell you what to do.”

“Yeah, but it was in your eyes, girlie. I should have known how awkward it would be. I mean, I never really figured Eric would be there, you know? Hell, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid.”

Maggie frowned. “I never dreamed you would go through what I went through. After. When it happened to me, I never made the connection to the club. I feel like I let you paint a target on your chest.”

“Big target,” Katrina said.

“You know what I mean.”

“Hey, the worst part for me wasn’t the sex thing or having my face look like rainbow ice cream. It’s losing my appetite for fish and chips.” She laughed sourly.

“What are you talking about?” Maggie asked.

“Come on, I can’t even walk past the fish counter in the supermarket. The smell makes it all come back.”

Maggie’s face was blank. “I don’t get it.”

Katrina’s face scrunched up with surprise. “You telling me you can still eat fish after what happened?”

“Actually, no, you’re right. I haven’t been able to stomach it for weeks. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Wow, you really did block it out. Well, good for you. I shouldn’t have said anything. The fact is, the guy’s hands smelled like fish. Even through the gloves. It was this dank, briny smell, like he was underwater. Awful.”

The memory didn’t even knock at the door. It smashed the lock, broke the door down, galloped into Maggie’s brain, and suffocated her. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut. She could smell it as if it was happening to her all over again. “Oh, my God.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Maggie clenched her fists. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay. This is important. Do you remember anything else?”

“Nope. It was just me and Charlie the Tuna.”

Maggie yanked her cell phone out of her pocket and called Stride. He answered on the first ring. “Fish,” she told him.

“What?”

“Fish. This guy’s hands smell like fish. I’m in Katrina’s apartment, and she reminded me that his hands stank. It’s got to mean something. Maybe he has a smoker or something, or he works in a processing plant.”

There was silence on the line.

“Are you there?” Maggie asked.

“Wood paneling,” Stride said.

“You lost me.”

“He had a photo of wood paneling on his computer. Like from a camper or something. He had fish in his freezer, too—not from a store, it was wrapped in foil. He caught it.”

“He’s in a
fish house
,” Maggie concluded.

“Exactly right. That has to be it. He’s out on one of the lakes.”

“But which one?”

“Tanjy’s body was found in Hell’s Lake,” Stride said. “It’s a good chance he dumped her in the same lake where he has his shanty.”

“Are you close?” Maggie asked.

“I’m chasing down warehouses near the airport. I can be out on the ice in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

Serena buried the fish hook in the strip of cloth that tied her hand to the bed frame, and it sank into the fabric like butter. When she yanked it down, the cloth screamed and tore. Blue Dog heard it and threw his weight toward her shoulder, but she freed her arm with a single thrust before he could pin her down. She curled her arm around his back, where he still had the gun tucked under his belt, and clawed for the butt of the revolver. It was facing the wrong way, and she fumbled it in her fingers, but then she spun it around and the butt nestled in her palm and her finger found the trigger.

She was right-handed, and the gun felt awkward in her other hand, but she found the hammer with her thumb and cocked it and fired all at once. The gun was pointed toward the muscled, hard flesh in Blue Dog’s hip, but he was already moving when she got the shot off. He bellowed in pain and dove off the cot, landing heavily on the floor and scrambling backward away from her. She fired again, but the shot went wild and took out one of the rear windows in the shanty with a burst of glass. The smell of burnt metal and smoke filled the space.

He danced from wall to wall, his hand pressed against his side. A small trickle of blood oozed through his knuckles. She followed him with the gun, but didn’t fire. She only had two shots left and didn’t trust her aim from her left hand.

“You’re good,” he told her.

“If you leave now, I won’t shoot,” Serena said. “Just get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

Her head was pounding. The hot spot in her skull where the gun had landed on her temple throbbed and made her vision wobble and then refocus. She wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. Something warm ran on her skin, and she realized blood was leaking from her shoulder where he had stabbed her. She could see her flat stomach, too, which was a gooey mess of red streaks, and when she moved, the muscles in her abdomen howled with pain.

She swung the gun back and forth, left and right, until she was dizzy. She couldn’t keep this up forever, and he knew it. He was waiting her out.

“Drop it, and I promise I’ll make it quick,” Blue Dog said.

“Fuck you. Come close, and watch me blow your head off.”

“You’re bleeding,” he told her.

“So are you.”

She watched his eyes as they locked onto a shelf in the middle of the shanty, and she saw her own gun there and the magazine of bullets lying next to it.

“Go for it,” she said. If he got that close, she knew she could nail him.

He bent and scooped a glass beer bottle off the floor. The cap was still on; the bottle was full. He held the bottle by the neck and made circles with his wrist like he was slinging a lasso. Foam hissed and fizzed from under the cap. Serena gripped the gun tighter and aimed at the shelf, knowing that’s where he wanted to go. Blue Dog zigzagged the other way and flung the bottle underhanded at the cot. The glass shot over her head, missing her by inches, and shattered against the rear wall, cascading over her skin in a storm of beer and hail. Involuntarily, she flinched and closed her eyes. It took only a second, but the second was too long, and she heard him dive for the gun.

She had no choice. She had to fire. The gun recoiled, and her bare skin burned. The shot missed Blue Dog, but he had to hit the floor before his hand reached the shelf, and he was smart enough to know he didn’t have time to try again without winding up in her sights. He skittered backward like a bug. She kept her eyes open, despite the beer leaching into her tear ducts and trickling down her face. Some of it found its way to her lips, and she lapped it with her tongue.

Sam Adams. Good stuff.

He was at the rear of the shanty again, but he was slowing down. He couldn’t keep moving forever, and she couldn’t stay conscious forever, and sooner or later, one of them was going to slip.

“One bullet,” Blue Dog told her. “You only have one bullet left.”

“That’s all I need.”

But she knew the odds were against her. She glanced around, hunting for another weapon, and her eyes landed on the knife he had used to torture her, which was lying on the floor just beyond the reach of the cot. If she could free her right hand, she could stretch her arm out and grab it. She knew the fish hook was somewhere under her body, and it would be easy to reach around and slash the cloth that tied her down, but that would mean putting down the gun first. She couldn’t do that.