ALETA KEPT DRIVING, wanting distance between the car and Hot Shot, while Bubba pounded on the dashboard with both fists, screaming obscenities.
She’d often wondered about Bubba’s sanity, and she no longer had any doubts. Something was seriously off-kilter in his brain, which explained a lot.
Except why she’d ever been attracted to him.
She’d wanted to turn to see if Hot Shot had been injured during his escape, but couldn’t force herself to do it. As long as she didn’t move, her ribs didn’t hurt too much. Even inhaling too deeply caused a sharp pain to rocket across her side.
She hoped the kid hadn’t been hurt badly when he hit the pavement, but no matter what, he’d made the right choice. Hot Shot had street smarts and understood a trip with Bubba was one-way. The monster would never let him go. Like he’d never let her go, and eventually he’d turn those hammer-like hands on her.
Without moving her torso, she shot a glance to her captor. His face was twisted in rage as he railed against the universe.
Finally he stopped shouting. He punched the dash one last time and turned to her.
“Why did you unlock the doors?”
She had a lot of answers on the tip of her tongue—namely that he’d told her to unlock them—but she bit the words back. No sense antagonizing him further.
“I’m sorry.”
Bubba giggled. Actually giggled, a sound more unnerving than his obscene cursing. “He moved like a wounded giraffe when he got up.”
Thank God. Aleta breathed a sigh of relief, sending a prayer of thanks of heavenward that Bubba hadn’t instructed her to chase Hot Shot down. Because she wouldn’t have done it, and her refusal would have caused her a lot of pain.
“Stupid kid will call the cops,” Bubba muttered.
“Maybe not,” Aleta said. “He’s in a gang and doesn’t much like the police.”
“That skinny punk’s in a gang? What gang?”
“The Devil’s Posse,” she lied. How would Bubba know differently?
“Yeah, I heard they’re still around.”
“They run this hood now,” Aleta told him.
Bubba grunted. “Shit.”
“Who told you where I was?”
“Marco.”
Who? The name rang a distant bell, but mention of the Posse made her remember Cyrus and the trouble he was in. Tears blurred her vision. She couldn’t save Cyrus. She couldn’t even save herself. She blinked and pushed back at resurging panic, taking a deep breath to calm herself. A sudden sharp stab of pain made her wince.
She exhaled slowly and oh so carefully. She should take comfort that Hot Shot was safe. He’d been smart, and she needed to be smart, too. As long as she placated Bubba, went along with whatever he said, maybe she could find an opportunity to make her own escape.
Turning into the parking lot of her apartment building, she thought about how much pepper spray she had upstairs. She needed to distract Bubba, get her hands on a canister and hit his face with a good long spray. She’d be doing that now if he hadn’t kicked her purse away.
She wouldn’t be able to run fast, but he would be blinded. A wounded animal. If she remained smart and got lucky, she just might get away.
“We’re here,” she said, waiting for Bubba to give her instructions. She needed him to believe that he was in complete control. Not that he wasn’t.
He surveyed the building with a disbelieving sneer. “You live in this dump?”
Answers again begged to trip off her tongue about the charming state prison where he’d been living until quite recently. She swallowed them all and said, “Yes.”
“Damn, girl.”
“It’s all I can afford.”
“Give me a break.”
“That’s the truth.”
“What about your rich-ass parents?”
She stiffened. “What about them?”
“Did you forget I’ve seen where you used to live?”
“No, I didn’t forget.”
“Why don’t you ask them for money so you don’t have to live in a slum?”
“I don’t speak to my parents.”
“That’s pretty stupid. Why not?”
Aleta closed her eyes. Was she really having a conversation about parental disapproval with the sociopath who had caused her mother and father to disown her?
“Have you called your mother since you’ve been out?” she asked sweetly, shooting him a sideways glance.
A dark look passed through Bubba’s eyes. He jabbed her right side with his metal club, a vicious warning not to go there. His mother had always been off-limits.
Lesson remembered.
“Sorry,” she gritted out through the pain.
She needed to keep her big mouth shut and only respond to his instructions. How long are we going to sit in the car? But the longer they sat here, the more likely it was someone would notice them—and maybe remember them and possibly tell the police when they started asking questions.
“I guess you got stupid while I was away,” Bubba said.
Aleta raised her chin. No, I got smart. I got out of the life you dragged me into.
“I expected something one hell of a lot better.” He shook his head and glared at the structure before them.
“Sorry,” she said again, mentally reviewing where she stashed her pepper sprays, which canister would be the easiest to grab, how to flip open the safety. She had to be quick.
“You got any blow up there?” he asked hopefully.
“I don’t do drugs anymore.” She could hear Mrs. Wasserman’s poodle yapping from inside their first-floor apartment.
“Shit, girl. What about booze?”
“No.”
“Not even a beer?”
“I don’t drink much anymore.”
Bubba stared at her in obvious disbelief. “Everyone has opioids these days. You got any good painkillers?”
She shrugged. “Ibuprofen.”
Bubba slammed his fist into the dash again. Aleta flinched, causing her rib to stab into what surely had to be some vital organ.
“This ain’t the way I planned our reunion to go down,” he said.
She swallowed, her fingers itching to curl around a canister of pepper spray, rehearsing in her head how to make her move once upstairs. She had to take him by surprise. She’d wait until he got cocky and use his lack of situational awareness against him.
“You really don’t think that punk will call the cops?” Bubba asked.
Thrown off by the change in subject, Aleta shook her head and repeated her lie. “No way. He hates the cops.”
Bubba’s grunt again grated on her nerves. She gripped the steering wheel, wanting desperately to move.
“I went by your old crib last night,” Bubba said, jumping to yet another subject.
“Where I lived with the Street Sisters?”
“Shit, no. Your parents’ mansion, where you took me that time.”
“You went by my old house?” she asked, staring straight ahead, now afraid to even look at Bubba.
“Yeah, and I remember all the wine you used to bring to our private parties. Your parents have lots of booze.”
Aleta’s mouth went dry.
“I couldn’t break in, though,” Bubba complained. “They’ve got a lot of new security.”
She fought to catch a breath.
“But I bet your parents would let their long lost sweet baby girl inside if she asked real nice.”
Ignoring the pain, Aleta turned to look at the monster beside her.
“So let’s go visit dear old mom and dad,” the monster said, reaching over to turn the ignition.
“I HAVE A possible location for escaped convict Robert Burnett,” Sean told his sergeant over the phone connection.
“Explain,” McFadden demanded.
“Burnett abducted a female employee of St. Theresa’s and is reported to be heading to her apartment.” Sean rattled off Aleta’s home address. “I’m en route there now and request backup.”
“That’s out of our district.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, O’Malley?”
“Trying to save lives, sir. By any definition, Burnett is a serial killer.”
“How do you know Burnett is en route to that address?”
“A young man who was also abducted but managed to escape is in my unit with me. He heard Burnett direct the victim to drive to her home.”
Sarge was silent for a moment. “SWAT needs to be involved if there’s a hostage situation.”
Sean breathed a sigh of relief. Sarge had analyzed the situation and realized he had to act.
“Whatever is needed, sir, but it has to be quick. Every minute we delay is critical for the victim.”
“Roger that.”
“That’s not all, sir.”
“What else?”
Sean took a deep breath and braced himself for Sergeant McFadden’s reaction. “I need multiple units to converge immediately on the Fennell packing plant at US One and 167th Street. Dangerous gang activity is taking place at that location.”
“And how do you know about this gang activity?” Sarge demanded. “You’re supposed to be on patrol with your squad.”
“The same informant has firsthand knowledge that a violent gang initiation is going down right now,” Sean said. “A young boy is at serious risk.”
Sarge cursed, using language he seldom did while on duty. Sean held his breath, waiting for McFadden’s response. This was a tough call for his sergeant. His boss was operating in the dark with only a patrol officer’s word and no real proof. Would he send the units as requested?
“How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this jackpot?” McFadden demanded.
“My undercover assignment had unexpected repercussions,” Sean said. What else could he say?
“Okay,” McFadden said after a long pause. “I’ll scramble the units.”
The tightness in Sean’s gut relaxed a little. He’d done what he could for Cyrus. At least the kid had a chance now.
“But,” his boss continued, “you wait for special teams when you get to the female vic’s location.”
Sean didn’t respond.
“That’s a direct order, O’Malley.”
Sean glanced at Hot Shot. The kid raised his eyebrows, obviously listening to every word of the conversation.
“Did you hear me, O’Malley?” McFadden shouted. “Respond.”
Sean disconnected. He wasn’t going to make a promise he might not keep. He’d analyze the situation when he got to Aleta’s apartment. If he needed to make a move to save her life, he’d make that move.
ALETA DROVE AS slowly as she dared, trying to think, to come up with a plan. She’d thought her situation couldn’t get any worse, but she’d been so very, very wrong. Now her stupidity had put her parents at risk.
No. Only her mother. How twisted was it that she now sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that her father had moved out?
And how ironic that she desperately wanted to save the mother she’d convinced herself she hated. Why couldn’t she organize her thoughts, come up with a solution? If only she could fill her lungs with air. She felt dizzy because deep inhalations caused too much pain.
“Why are you driving like an old lady?” Bubba demanded, jerking her from her misery. “The speed limit is more than twenty miles an hour.”
“Because it hurts for me to move,” Aleta told him. “Just pressing on the accelerator causes agony in my side.”
“Agony? You want to feel agony? I’ll show you agony.” Bubba poked her with his club again.
She couldn’t stop herself from sucking in a quick breath, intensifying the pain.
“Stop it,” she said, shifting away from his attack.
“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.” He jabbed her again, harder this time.
“Do you want me to wreck the car?”
Which she realized was precisely what she had to do. She needed to drive this car into an immovable object.
Could she do it?
“Speed the fuck up,” he said. “You’re driving so slow any passing cop will pull you over and ask what’s wrong.”
Aleta mashed the accelerator. The speedometer needle moved to thirty miles an hour.
“Is that what you’re hoping for, bitch?” he asked. “You trying to get the cops to stop us?”
“Do you want to drive?” she asked, increasing to forty miles an hour. She’d always wondered how fast this old car would go. She was about to find out.
“Shit, no, I don’t want to drive,” Bubba said. “You’d jump out like that punk kid did.”
She rolled her eyes. What good would that do? I’m already hurt too bad to run away.
“And for sure that punk called the cops,” Bubba said. “Pigs are probably racing to your apartment right now to try to save you.”
She didn’t answer, but suspected he was correct. Hot Shot would have called 911 immediately. Would Sean have recognized the address that went out over the police radio? Would he be among those responding?
“Too bad that ain’t going to happen,” Bubba taunted. “Get over it. No one will rescue your lying ass.”
Or my mom’s. Aleta nodded, thinking hard about what she could do. Bubba the Beast had it right for a change. She was on her own. It was up to her to save her mother. I’m already dead, and if Bubba gets inside our home, Mom is, too. I can’t let that happen.
She pressed the accelerator even harder, edging up to fifty. She had to be smart about this, not accelerate too quickly. She needed enough speed to ensure the success of her plan, but she had to keep Bubba in the dark.
She watched the roadside as it flew by, looking for a good target, one where no one else would be harmed by the violence of the collision. Car parts might go flying everywhere. There might even be fire. She swallowed hard.
Can I do it? Do I have the guts?
She glanced at the speedometer. Fifty-five miles an hour.
The world would be a far better place without Bubba in it. How many people had he killed? She’d seen two firsthand, an event that had altered her life course forever, had put her on this path to destruction. No telling how many more he’d murdered since his escape.
But his carnage would end today. She would be his last victim.
Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t want to die. She had her whole life in front of her, a glorious life, one that could be filled with love and faith and even a chance for children of her own to nurture.
Yes, she wanted children. That was why she loved working with the kids at St. Theresa’s. Why hadn’t she understood that before? A mental image of a little boy running around with a baseball in his hand popped into her head. The child had bright blue eyes, the color of Sean’s. The man she was in love with.
The man she would never see again, never get to tell goodbye.
She had a lot to live for, but because of Bubba she’d always been too afraid to take a chance on love. Too hurt and angry to forgive her parents.
It might be too late for her, but no one else would die.
She blinked away her tears and spotted a six-foot concrete wall surrounding a structure ahead on the right. She knew that location. The headquarters of a huge insurance company sat behind that wall.
She changed to the outside lane and gave the engine more gas. Sixty miles an hour.
“What are you doing now, bitch?” Bubba demanded.
“Going fast like you told me.” So he’d finally noticed.
“Slow down, Delilah. I mean it.”
Aleta floored the accelerator. Too late, sucker. Sixty-five, seventy.
“Hit the brakes,” he yelled.
She pegged the accelerator to the floorboard and aimed for the wall, offering a prayer that God would welcome her home.
Blinding pain rocketed through her ribs and the left side of her head, not how she’d expected the end to come.
And then everything went dark.