Gideon wanted to argue, but he knew they were right. He was one step away from falling flat on his face, holding on through sheer fear for Mercy.
One of the officers who’d been waiting outside knocked, then entered the house. “Detective Rhee asked me to drive Mr. Bain in his car while we wait for his call. Mr. Bain? Are you ready to go?”
Hank pushed away from the table and handed the officer his keys. “You drive. I don’t want to add a DUI to this night,” he added, his jaw tight.
“We’ll wait in our car,” Daisy told the officer. “Our escort is expected soon.”
The officer in the cruiser outside gave them a curious look as he passed them going into the house, but said nothing. Which surprised Gideon, but he didn’t comment until they were buckled into Rafe’s Subaru and driving the direction that Erin’s blue Range Rover had gone.
“That cop didn’t say a word to us,” he commented.
“Because he didn’t expect us to stay,” Daisy said. “Rafe probably said something to him.”
Gideon lifted his brows. “What did Rafe whisper in your ear?”
“The combo,” she said, “to the gun safe in the cargo hold.”
PLACERVILLE, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 4:15 A.M.
He leaned against the passenger side of the van he’d stolen, watching for headlights. He’d called Hank with the coordinates twenty minutes ago. He was ten minutes later than the thirty minutes allotted.
The asshole needed to hurry. It was cold outside for one, but more importantly, the sun would be up in three hours. He’d like to be safely in the cabin before sunrise. There would be less chance of discovery that way.
Except the road to Lake Tahoe could be treacherous if the weather got bad. If he needed to buy chains for the tires, he’d have to wait until the local Walmart opened at six A.M.
He’d been sorely vexed to find that it wasn’t an all-night Walmart one of the first times he’d dumped a body in the abandoned mine and wanted a snack on the way home.
It would depend on what kind of vehicle Hank was bringing him, he decided. Some SUVs could make it through the mountains without chains. Hopefully he was getting one of those.
He started when the passenger window lowered behind him, his right hand going for the gun in his pocket. He relaxed when he realized Mercy had somehow hit the window switch with her elbow. Her hands were bound and they were a good mile away from the nearest house. Considering that he’d taken her shoes, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Who are you waiting for?” Mercy asked in that quiet way she had.
He was undecided about Agent Reynolds’s sister. He wasn’t sure if her strange calm was peaceful or just plain creepy. He leaned toward creepy.
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“At the risk of sounding trite, you’re not likely to get away with this. My brother is very good at his job and he won’t stop looking for you, no matter where you run.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. She had wide green eyes and she studied him levelly. “Shut up,” he said, with a look that had silenced many of his victims.
She, however, didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “Are you planning to kill me?”
“No. But I will if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
She shrugged slightly as if it didn’t make any difference. She was trying to mess with his head. He was sure of it. “What do you do for a living?” he asked, curious now.
“I’m a forensic investigator.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. Damn forensics. So you’re like CSI?”
She rolled her eyes this time. “No. That is not a factual show.”
“So do you go out in the field?” he asked, because forensics had always fascinated him as much as they’d annoyed him.
“No. I mostly stay in the lab.”
He tilted his head. “Are you trying to make me like you so that I don’t kill you?”
“No,” she said easily. “I figure you’ll do what you’ll do.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
Her lips curved ever so slightly. Ever so mockingly. “I survived a monster far more terrifying than you. No offense.”
Now he was very curious. “Tell me about him.”
She shook her head. “No. You should have asked Eileen that same question.”
“Why?”
She looked out the windshield, no longer meeting his eyes. “She survived the same monster.”
“She was stubborn,” he said with a fond smile. “She lasted for two days.”
“Zandra lasted three,” she said mildly. “Until she got away.”
His jaw tightened. Stay calm, he thought. She’s yanking your chain to threaten your focus. “If you’re so brave, why did you go all zombie robot on me when we left the hospital?”
“I told you. That’s the way I cope with stress. I shut down.”
“But you’re not stressed now?”
“Of course I am. You’re probably going to kill me.”
He lifted a brow, then touched his face to find that the false eyebrow he’d fixed to it had fallen off at some point. “But you’re not afraid.”
“Stress is different from fear.”
“That’s fair,” he allowed. “Or you’re just crazy. I’m not sure which.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Why aren’t you all zombie robot if you’re still stressed?”
“The episodes don’t last as long as they used to.”
“Well, I suppose that’s good for you.” Not that it mattered. Sooner or later he would be killing her. He turned back to the road, watching for Hank. The man was almost out of time. And then what? What will you do?
I’ll kill Mercy, dump her, then drive to Mexico. He’d just have to figure out where to get a fake passport. Or where he could cross over without one.
“Why this place?” Mercy asked, surprising him. “Why did you come here tonight?”
He looked at her with a frown. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m curious by nature. And I smell death.”
He drew a deep breath through his nose. Yeah, he could smell it, too. “That would be Eileen,” he said. “If my ride doesn’t get here soon, you’ll be reunited with her.”
He shifted back to the road, watching, his sense of dread growing with every second that ticked by. Something wasn’t right. Hank should have been here already.
He was now fifteen minutes late.
Heart beginning to pound harder, he pulled out his phone and dialed Hank, fighting back the urge to pace as the phone rang and rang and rang. He’s not answering, he thought as the call went to voice mail. Why is he not answering?
He ended the call, his hand clutched around the phone, willing himself not to throw it in a rage. Stay calm. Stay fucking calm.
The phone rang in his hand, and he drew a breath. Hank. “Where the fuck are you?” he demanded. “And why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Sorry,” Hank said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I was filling the gas tank. It was almost on ‘E’ and I knew you wouldn’t want to stop. Because of the cameras at the gas station.”
“That’s true,” he said grudgingly. “Why are you so late?”
“It took me a few minutes to get to my neighbor’s house so that I could get his car.”
That also sounded plausible, but something was off. Or I could just be paranoid. “When will you get here?”
“Soon. I’m less than ten minutes—”
Hank’s voice was cut off by the loud clanging of bells.
Railroad crossing bells. He clenched his jaw. There were no train tracks nearby. There was, however, a train crossing near Hank’s house.
Hank had lied. He wasn’t coming.
He was cooperating with the cops.
I need to get out of here. Now. Carefully, deliberately, he ended the call, reminding himself to breathe. Stay calm. Breathe. Think.
“He’s not coming, is he?” Mercy said, that mocking tone back in her voice. “Your pal, I mean. He’s not coming.”
His temper boiling over, he shoved the phone into his pocket and opened the van door. He yanked Mercy out of the vehicle, tossing her to the ground, where she landed on her knees in the light snow with a grunt of pain.
“Do not mock me,” he snarled.
Twisting to look up at him over her shoulder, she smiled far too serenely. “Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. But he isn’t coming. Now what will you do?”
His right hand had connected with her cheek before intent to strike her had even registered. Her head snapped back and she sucked in a harsh breath.
“What will I do?” he snarled. “I’m going to kill you, for starters.”
“Kill me and lose your leverage,” she said with a calm that he wished he felt.
She was right. He hated that she was right. Leaning over her, he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her to her feet.
He saw the blade in her hand a split second too late, crying out in fury when she swung her body around, plunging it into his thigh. He knocked her hand away before she could twist the blade or drive it in too deep. He yanked it out, relieved to find that it had only gone in about an inch.
Where the fuck was she hiding that? I should have searched her. Dammit.