“It doesn’t matter who it is,” her tormentor mumbled, taking a step back from her. “This is your destiny. You can’t escape who you are. You can’t escape what you’ve done.”
Evi wasn’t sure if the words were meant for her or for the monster, who began to pace in front of her. Dressed all in black from head to toe, with a wide cloth belt banding the waist, a long knife in a scabbard hung from the belt, this looked like a character from a movie, but it was all too real. She had seen her husband fall. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her child was crying down the hall.
The knocking came again.
Had someone heard her screams? Could Eric have gotten to a neighbor’s house?
The phone on the nightstand rang like a sudden alarm. Evi jumped and looked toward it. If she could pick it up, she could yell for help. But she couldn’t get to it. It was too far away. She would die trying, leaving her daughter at the mercy of a madman.
Somewhere there was a person on the other end of that call sitting in a comfortable chair waiting for her to pick up. Maybe a friend. Maybe a telemarketer. Whoever it was, it would never occur to them that she wasn’t answering because a masked assailant would hack her to death with a sword if she tried.
The ringing stopped as the call went to voice mail.
She couldn’t expect help. She couldn’t wait for help. She had no way of fighting, but she had to try something. Maybe if she could make her attacker see her as a person instead of a target, she could buy some time.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling. She needed to sound calm. She swallowed hard and tried again. “Please, tell me why you’re here. What did I do to you?”
If she was going to die, she wanted to know the reason.
The monster stepped closer until the grotesque mask was inches from her face. It tilted to one side and then the other. Deep inside the black-rimmed eyeholes, blue eyes burned bright with madness.
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“You should. Jeager, Evangeline Grace.”
“You owe me this, Evangeline.”
“Please tell me why,” she pleaded. “I don’t know who you are. How did I ever hurt you? Please tell me.”
He pulled the mask off and tossed it on the bed, then looked at her and waited, as if he thought she would surely recognize him. His face was a battered mess, swollen and bruised. His lower lip was fat and split. He was young, twenty-something, with blue eyes and brown hair. She had never seen him before in her life.
She stared at him until her eyes burned, praying for some spark of memory. Was he connected to a client? Someone’s boyfriend? Someone’s brother? Her client Hope Anders had a brother she had accused of molesting her, but he was big and red-haired.
How could someone she had never met be so angry with her?
“You don’t know me?” he asked.
Evi said nothing, afraid of his reaction. The sound of her breathing filled the silence that stretched between them.
“You should,” he murmured. “You gave me life.”
45
“Don’t you fucking die on me, Fireman!” Nikki ordered, leaning over Eric Burke.
She had pulled him onto the grass at the bottom of the deck stairs. He had a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He had been cut badly across the face with some kind of blade. One eye was gone. She could see his cheekbone; she could see his teeth through the gaping wound.
“That’s gonna leave a scar,” she said to him, saying anything just to keep him connected. “Don’t worry. Women go for that shit. You get an eye patch, and you’re all set.”
With one hand, she pressed hard on a badly bleeding wound at the base of his neck; with the other hand, she fumbled with her phone to call Dispatch.
Having no idea where the assailant might be, she kept her voice low as she rattled off the required information about her rank and her badge number and location. Her voice was trembling from the adrenaline rush.
“Listen to me carefully,” she said. “I’ve got a badly wounded man here. I need a bus at this location ASAP, but absolutely no lights, no sirens. Got that? I’ve got a situation ongoing. And I need two backup units. I say again: no lights, no sirens. Tell them to come up the alley behind the house. I’m with the victim in the backyard.”
She made the dispatcher repeat her instructions back as she looked down into Eric Burke’s remaining eye. She could see his fear. She knew that look. He could feel his life draining out of him.
“Eric, you hang on,” she said. “You’re not gonna let a cop be the last thing you see, are you? You’re a fireman, for God’s sake!”
That was always the running joke between the professions: Firemen thought they were better than cops, and cops thought they were better than firemen. The ribbing between them never ended.
Eric Burke’s lips moved, but he made no sound. She could feel his body starting to shake. He was going into shock.
“You stay with me here, Fireman. I’ve got your buddies on the way to haul you out of here. Don’t you punk out on me!”