The vibration of her phone made her heart skip a beat. “Who is it?”
“Lewis Hurdle.”
“On speaker.”
Underwood pressed a button and the wind noise of an SUV filled the Honda’s passenger compartment.
“Please tell me you’ve got a location on Marcks.”
“We do,” Hurdle said. “He’s on the move, so I’m gonna patch us through to the Stingray team. Hang on while I make the connection.”
Seconds later, Vail heard more voices on the line.
“I think we’ve got Deputy Henderson. Correct?”
“Ten-four,” Henderson said. “Agent Vail, I’ve got that phone number and I’m sending the location beacon directly to your handset.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes, ma’am. And here’s another thing we can do: I tapped into Marcks’s cell and I’m using it as a microphone. But doesn’t sound like there’s anyone else in the car with him because no one’s talking.”
Underwood held up Vail’s Samsung. “Got it. I see the beacon on the map.”
Vail glanced over at the screen but could not keep her eyes off the road long enough to make anything out. “Is it near the location where she killed Carla Rackonelli?” Vail asked.
“Looks like it,” Underwood said. “He’s headed right for it.”
“We’re minutes out,” Hurdle said. “Curtis and Tarkoff are meeting the rest of us en route, so sounds like you’ll get there first.”
“Understood.” Vail tightened her grip on the wheel. “Problem is, Marcks is gonna get there before me.”
67
Jasmine was concentrating on the dark streets, looking for one particular location. Every minute or so, she glanced back at Jonathan—who, she figured, would be waking up very shortly.
She had been thinking of how she needed to approach the coming hours. If Vail had discovered Underwood’s body in the basement, they would have left him there until the medical examiner arrived. And that meant her first impression—bolstered by the message she heard on Jonathan’s phone—was correct: Underwood had somehow survived. And that altered the dynamic of all that would need to come.
It was a fatal error, one of the few she had ever made. Perhaps the only one. Everything had been so well calculated, so well planned. Her execution was almost always near flawless—and even when it was not, it still worked. Her father landed in prison but she was free to continue killing.
True, she had to modify her methods, using crime concealment fires to hide her handiwork. But even that had gone well. She enjoyed the fires more than she thought when she came across the idea in Underwood’s book.
And then her father had called, letting her know he had escaped and was coming for her. He thought it would scare her. Intimidate her. But it was exactly what she had been planning all along.
While she had not yet disposed of him, she figured she had plenty of time to do so—because he would forever be looking for her. He was like that, to a fault. Fixated, unable to let go of a grudge. And this was more than a mere grudge. This was more than personal. She knew that. She constructed it that way. She would either kill him or a cop would kill him. She doubted he would allow himself to go back to prison.
Now, however, the entire equation had changed.
Time was no longer hers to manipulate. She might not be able to get to him before the cops did—because with all the publicity surrounding her father’s escape and now the revelation that she was the Blood Lines killer, she had to believe that law enforcement would spare little to track her down.
Sticking around increased the likelihood she would be captured.
She had to take what she could, what was in reach. And right now, that meant Jonathan. It would destroy Vail. She was sure of that. Like Superman’s kryptonite, killing her son would zap her of her essence, emasculate her like nothing else could. The more she thought about it, this was the better call, far better than killing Vail herself.
As Jasmine approached the wooded neighborhood, Jonathan stirred. She wanted to dose him again because he would undoubtedly attempt to fight back, and it would be easier to get rid of him without all the drama.
Jasmine now realized that this kill would not be as enjoyable as the others had been. It couldn’t be. With Vail and Curtis and the task force now likely looking for her, she would have less time with the body.
This pissed her off—but she knew the smarter thing would be to get it over with and get away. Another city, another state. Maybe Canada or Mexico. She did not know how big the net would be, but she was sure they would make it difficult.