Web of Smoke (31 page)

“If it’s not the station, Kathy, it’ll have to be the hospital. She’s got to be checked for injuries and evidence.”

Kathy paled at the implications behind his words. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at her daughter.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home,” Jessica pleaded.

“I know, sweetie,” Kathy said, hugging her close. “Me, too. But we . . .” She paused, searching for words. “They . . .”

Her helpless gaze met Mike’s.

“I don’t think he touched her,” Christie said softly. “Jessica and I talked during . . . She said he just hit her and locked her in the bathroom.”

Mike squatted down to Jessica’s level and put his big hands on Jessica’s small shoulders. “Jessica, did he touch any other way?”

“You mean give me bad touches?” she asked.

Mike looked at Kathy. “She learned about good touch and bad touch at school,” she explained.

“Yes, Jess. I mean bad touches.”

Jessica shook her head. “He hit me here,” she said, pointing at her face. “But he didn’t do bad touches.”

Kathy’s relieved sigh carried on the night. “Jessica’s been through enough for one night already, Mike. Take us home.”

“I’ve got to find Sam,” Christie said. “After you drop them off, I’m going with you.”

Mike stared from one determined face to another with exasperation. Realizing the futility of resisting, he let out a frustrated breath and began herding the group into his car.

“I’ll take you
all
to Kathy’s house, then I’ll track down Porter. Christie, Sam will be checking in. Let him find you. You could spend the whole night looking and never find each other if you are both on the move.”

He faced Jessica. “Don’t worry, honey. I promise you, I’ll get him.”

* * *

Lights were on. Lights on in the house. DC pulled into the driveway of his mother’s rental house and jumped out of the car. His heart felt like a jackhammer, wreaking havoc through his body. He stormed to the bathroom prepared to kill, but the destruction inside stopped him short. His mother sat in the middle of it, staring glassy-eyed at the broken window and the glitter on the floor.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

She blinked, her glazed eyes turning to him. She hardly looked surprised at his bloody appearance. “Looks like you’re a little late, DC.”

“The kid and Christie,” he said, fighting to control his red-hot rage. “Where are they?”

She shrugged. “I told you to give it up, but you wouldn’t listen.” Her gaze traveled up and down his form. “You never listen.”

He clenched his fists. “Goddammit, where are they?”

Her brows raised. “Don’t you cuss at me.” She jumped to her feet and darted three steps across the room to where he stood in the doorway. She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you cuss at me,” she repeated. “I don’t know where they are. I don’t know anything anymore.”

He backed off, dropping his gaze to the bathroom floor. “They did this?”

“I certainly didn’t.” She faced the mirror, smoothing her fingers over her face as if to erase the lines that mapped out her misery.

DC stared at her reflection. For the first time he noticed the wild look behind her glassy eyes. The blood drained from his face in an icy wave. He met her gaze, as hard and cold as the reflective glass.

Laughing, she pushed past him. He followed her to the kitchen, yanking his keys from his pocket as he went. She watched him from the shadows, looking eerily like a ghost from his past.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Where the fuck do you think? Did you come here to psych me out? Is that what you’re trying to do? Is it?”

She shook her head. “I’m just coming full circle, DC. Finishing things up for you and me.”

“What are you talking about?”

For the first time he noticed the gleaming weapon in her hand.

“What are you doing? You’re going to kill me? Is that it? You’ve been doing that since before I was even fucking born.”

He waited for some denial, but she didn’t offer one. Just stood there, masked by the striped shadow of the Venetian blind, watching him.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why do you hate me so much? Why have you always hated me so much?”

In the silence she cocked the gun.

“Why? Answer me, goddammit! What did I do? Why do you love James so much and hate me? He’s not even your own flesh and blood.”

She shook her head.

“Answer me!” he screamed.

She stared at him, her eyes gleaming coldly through the darkness. “Because we’re too much flesh and blood, you monster. Don’t you see?” The veins stood out on her neck and pulsed beneath the translucent skin on her forehead. “Don’t you get it? We had the same daddy, DC,” she yelled.

DC blinked, feeling the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The same daddy. The picture became clear and the implications behind her words rolled over him like a giant steamroller, mashing him into pulp.

Too much flesh and blood.

The same daddy.

She would have known, then, when she abandoned him, what was in store for his young life. She would have known, because she’d been through it. And she’d left him anyway, as if it were DC’s fault that he’d been spawned by Satan himself.

It wasn’t DC’s fault, though. It wasn’t his fault.

He looked up, perhaps hoping to explain this to her, but she’d reached her own conclusions on the matter. The barrel of her gun was the only solution she was prepared to accept.

She aimed her gun at his head and fired.

DC felt the bullet zip past him as he hit the floor, rolling as she fired a second shot, barely missing him again. He lurched to his feet and tackled her, slamming her back into the counter. Another bullet whizzed across the room and embedded itself in the wall.

He grabbed her arm and jerked it back, wrestling for the gun. She fought him, twisting and kicking until he caught her waving hand and squeezed her wrist until it went limp. The gun fell from her hand.

He caught it, turning it on her as she scrambled away from him, cowering in the corner, just as Jessica had.

“You left me,” he accused.

His face felt hot and wet. He wiped it with his hand, surprised to find tears streaming down his cheeks. “You left me there when you knew what he’d do to me. You knew and you did it anyway,” he cried.

“I couldn’t wait to get rid of you. You are his filth
.
When I look at you all I see is
him
and his filthy, dirty ways.”

DC shook his head, his pain so deep that sobs shook his shoulders.

“I’m not him. I’m nothing like him,” DC whispered. “I hated him as much as you do.”

She pointed a finger at his face, hissing, “You are his son.”

“That’s not my fault,” he said, but looking into her eyes, he realized that she didn’t believe him. She had branded him filth before he was even born and in her mind, he would never be more.

“Say it,” he pleaded in a broken voice. “Say it wasn’t my fault.”

She laughed at him.

“Say it,” he yelled, pointing the gun at her head. “Say it!”

“Trash. That’s all you’ll ever be. You ruined my life and I hate you. I hate—”

He shot her, feeling the inconsolable chill of destruction race through his body. The bullet tore through her smile and silenced her bitter laughter.

“You bitch,” he said. “You bitch.”

He shot again, not caring that she was dead already. He pumped the last bullet into her, splattering the walls and his clothes with her blood.

He lowered the gun, staring at the bloody mess, the mangled corpse of the woman who had always refused to be his mother.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he repeated. “It wasn’t my fault.”

* * *

Kathy cried all the way. Tears of disbelief; tears of relief. She held Jessica close and warm, nestled under her arm. Burying her face in her daughter’s hair, she rejoiced in the scent of the child she had brought into the world. Jessica’s small arms were wrapped around Kathy’s body as she rested her tired little head on Kathy’s breast. Rookie sat on Jessica’s left, a silent sentry in the moving night.

“…and then Christie tried to talk him out of it. But he’s mean, Mommy. Really mean. She saved us.”

Kathy’s tearful gaze met Christie’s in the dark interior of the car. “Thank you,” Kathy said.

“You’re welcome.”

Simple words that held such complicated meanings. Christie had given Kathy back her daughter, her reason to live. Kathy, in producing Jessica, had somehow managed to give Christie the hope she needed for her own future.

Only moments after Mike had found Jessica and Christie at the gas station, he pulled to the curb in front of Kathy’s house and got out. Jessica clung to her mother as they stepped from the car.

Mike made a quick search of the house with Rookie’s attentive assistance, but none of them expected him to find DC there.

With her thoughts on Sam, Christie joined Kathy and Jessica in the kitchen while Mike called for backup. The little girl claimed to be starving, but she only nibbled at the sandwich her mother set in front of her.

Exhaustion slumped Jessica’s shoulders, but her shadowed, wide eyes refused to close.

Mike found them at the kitchen table, watching Jessica watch her food.

“Are they sending someone out?” Kathy asked him.

“A patrol car is on the way.”

“Just one?”

Mike nodded, chewing his lip. “That’s all they can spare right now. It looks like they tracked down the other kidnapper and he’s holed up with hostages. Everyone who’s not already responding to a call is there. Don’t worry. If I thought DC would be back here, I wouldn’t be leaving you.”

“But—”

“I’ll have my man guard your door and I’ll go on to Porter’s.”

“Not alone?”

Mike set a hand on Rookie’s head and ruffled his ears. “I won’t be alone and Jackson will get someone else out as soon as he can. Don’t worry.”

“Any word from Sam?” Christie asked.

Mike shook his head. “Not yet, but I left word to tell him you’re here. Stay put, Christie. Sam will find you.”

Outside, they heard a car stop. Mike looked out the window and nodded.

“The officer’s here.”

On his way out, Mike paused, looking back at Kathy.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

Sam cut his lights and engine, cruising to a soundless stop in front of Beth’s rental house. The front door stood wide open, light spilling out onto the doorstep. With panther silence, Sam pulled his gun and crept in.

He smelled the blood on the air as he neared the kitchen, and recoiled from it. His fear felt like a rock in his gut. Christie? Please God, not Christie.

He rounded the corner, gasping when he saw the gory mess that only vaguely resembled Beth McClain. He stepped back, forcing down the acid feeling inside him. Turning, Sam looked into the gray shadows behind him. Cautiously, he moved into the hall, stopping at the door to the bathroom. Holding his breath, he pushed it open with his toe.

Glass. Blood splashed on the base of the toilet. The broken window. A blanket. All the details rushed to him at once. Shock and anger shook him as he stepped inside, glass crunching under his shoes. Was he too late? Had DC taken them and moved on?

He heard a sound behind him and spun to face the business end of a gun. The man holding it flashed a badge. Mike Simens.

Sam quietly set his gun on the ground and held his hands up. Meeting Mike’s eyes, Sam mouthed “Sam McCoy.”

Recognition flashed across Mike’s face a second before he lowered the weapon. A huge dog at his feet watched for a command. Mike stayed him with his hand.

Still silent, Mike darted his gaze down the dark hall and back to Sam again. Sam shook his head. He hadn’t investigated that far. He didn’t know if they were alone or not.

By unspoken consent, they moved together, inching their way down the hallway, opening doors and investigating each closet and corner.

“He’s gone,” Mike said moments later. “Who’s that in the kitchen?”

“Beth McClain. DC’s mother.”

“His mother? McClain’s his
mother?”

“Was. He must have had Christie and Jessica here—’’

“He did. I picked them up a few minutes ago.”

Sam’s knees wobbled and he grabbed the wall behind him for support. “What? Are they…? Where are they?”

“They’re alive. I left them at Kathy’s house with a cop on guard.”

Sam’s glance bounced to the kitchen doorway and the splatter of blood that extended outside it then back to Mike. The uneasy fear in his eyes sent a message that was clearer than any words he might have uttered.

“Let’s go,” he said, already out the door.

* * *

“I finally got Jessica to sleep,” Kathy told Christie as she came from her daughter’s bedroom. “She talked nonstop through her bath and then it just hit her. I don’t think she’s slept since . . .” Kathy blinked back tears. “She was afraid to close her eyes in case she woke up and he had her ag—”

A loud shot cracked the air, obliterating the rest of Kathy’s words. Watching Kathy’s lips move, Christie couldn’t understand what she’d heard. A stunned silence followed and, as if in slow motion, Christie turned her head and saw the splintered wood of the door.

She scrambled to her feet as the second report sounded and another shot smashed through the door. Kathy jumped back, staring with terror-widened eyes at the bullet now embedded in the wall.

“It’s him,” Christie whispered.

She didn’t need to say who
him
was. They both knew. And without a doubt, the cop left to protect them was dead. They were on their own. Backing away from the door, they watched in horror as it shimmied again.

The fourth shot sent the doorknob flying like a saucer across the room and the door crashed back on its hinges into the wall behind. DC stood on the doorstep splattered in blood and wearing a smile colder than an Arctic wind.

“I don’t think your friend will be staying for dinner,” he said, flashing them a bloody police badge. He shoved the gun into a holster he had presumably lifted with the badge, but the menace he presented only increased.