Chapter Forty-Three

Gary tried his phone for the fourth time. No answer.

He thrust the phone into his pocket and lengthened his stride. His heart pounded. Adrenaline sizzled through his veins, his muscles. It all felt too familiar, too much like the scene that haunted him. It should never have come to this. The past rose up behind him, a lurking, shifting shape in the night, urging him to go faster. Nightmare visions swirled through his mind. Wounded. Trapped. Frightened or dead already. Why the hell wasn’t Perce answering the damn phone? He’d been powerless the last time, had watched her blood run through his fingers.

He hoped to God he was wrong. But the dark apprehension, the sense of foreboding wouldn’t let up. The fifth time he listened to the machinated whirr of the voice mail, the dispassionate, robotic voice took on sinister tones that drove straight to his heart.

The street was dark, but for the dim pools of light cast by tarnished lamps and the occasional passing car. Fear twisted in his gut. Cold sweat pricked beneath his collar. The wooden sign cast a long jagged shadow on the wall. The bookstore looked deserted.

****

Kate’s breath rasped painfully. On the stereo, a sixties song with a beach theme played incongruously, into the strained silence.

Delaney’s eyes flickered. “Surf’s up? Really? How can you listen to that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t have the soul of a sadistic pyromaniac with Machiavellian tendencies?” Panic made the words tumble from her lips. Words that might have been better kept to herself.

His hand lashed out and cut across her face in a vicious backhanded slap.

Pain blazed and flared hot across her cheekbone. Kate gasped. Her eyes stung. She blinked, caught her breath. Now she was angry. Seriously pissed off. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Kate thrust her hand upward, palm first. It connected with a sickening crunch and his head snapped back. Delaney clapped a hand to his nose. Blood ran through his fingers, over his chin and dripped onto his starched white collar, staining the fabric. His eyes were round with disbelief. “Bitch!” He looked at the gore on his fingers before wiping his arm across his upper lip. “You broke my nose.”

“You hit me, pal, I hit you.”

His hand snagged in her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up at him. The tendons in her neck strained against the force. Her hair felt like it was being torn out at the roots. She flinched, but looked at him steadily and noted with satisfaction that the blood still ran freely from his nose.

****

Gary approached the store, scanning the perimeter. The glass reflected the street behind him like the surface of a mirror. He cupped his hands on the surface, his breath fogging up the glass.

What he saw within had his blood running cold.

The man’s back was to him, but his shoulders were curved forward and straining with barely restrained violence. Kate was pressed against the counter, her head yanked back, trapped by the hold he had on her hair, the vulnerable line of her neck exposed. She glared up at the man, equal parts fear and defiance in her expression.

Gary’s vision went dark at the edges. His muscles went rigid, then loosened and warmed. His nerves sang.

He tried the door handle. Locked. That wasn’t surprising, only horribly inconvenient.

Gary hammered his fists against the door. “Kate!” His voice was a hoarse shout.

****

For an instant Delaney’s grip on her hair loosened. Kate didn’t hesitate. Her fingers scrambled over the counter, searching, then closed around cardboard. She smiled.

And flung the contents of the paper cup into his face.

He let go abruptly and cursed. Delaney swiped at his eyes, the hot liquid running down his face, dripping from his hair.

Kate dodged past him, toward the door, stumbling on legs stiff with tension. Her eyes met Gary’s through the window.

Then a hand clamped over her ankle as Delaney threw himself after her. She hit the floor, pain flaring as her elbows met the ground. Kate twisted, writhing, and lashed out at him with her foot, aiming for his face.

He ducked. “You fucking little bitch,” he hissed, and yanked her toward him. He loomed above her, drew back his hand, his fingers curling into a fist, dark intent in his eyes.

Kate drove her knee upward, into his groin. Direct contact.

From behind them came an explosion of sound. Debris rained over them. Splinters of glass pricked her skin.

Delaney’s eyes rolled back and he wheezed. He tumbled off her, knees curling involuntarily to his chest. He rocked back and forth, whimpering.

Kate clambered to her feet, staggering slightly, and breathing hard. “I warned you,” she gasped.