“Robbie, if I had known you wanted to go out on a date, I would have gladly accepted your offer.” She put on a concerned smile. The statement was a bald-faced lie, but she held his gaze anyway, hoping he’d believe her. She looked briefly at the black gun he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans, but she didn’t allow her eyes to linger. The last thing she wanted was to give him an excuse to use it. “We were always friends, Robbie. I had no idea you wanted something more.”

  “That’s because you didn’t see me.” He scowled, curling his lip as he paced the length of the living room with jerky movements. He was clearly unstable, which only made the entire situation more terrifying. Jacy sensed it wouldn’t take much for him to go over the edge. “All the pretty girls were blind when it came to me. Because I was a rash-covered fat kid with thick glasses. I was invisible to every single one of you!”

  “High school is difficult,” Jacy admitted. “And you are right about how some kids were cruel. But I wasn’t mean to you, Robbie. Not once. And now, as an adult, you know that those measly four years of high school don’t matter.”

  “Maybe not to you,” he sneered.

  “You’re a good-looking guy, Robbie. You’ve changed for the better.” Another lie, as he was evil personified, but she did her best to sound admiring. “Is that how you got those other girls—Suzanna and Claire—to go with you? Did you charm them into going along to your truck?”

  A ghastly smile creased his features. “Yeah. They didn’t look down their noses at me, the way you did, Jacy. And, really, once I had them in my clutches, I didn’t mind listening to their screams. When I put my fingers around their throat, they looked into my eyes. That’s when they finally saw me.”

  Screams? She shivered, despite her efforts not to show her abhorrence. She tried not to dwell on the pain both girls had suffered at Robbie’s hands. “I never looked down my nose at you,” she protested, because that much was true. “We were friends, Robbie. I valued our time together. You were one of the few people I could always talk to.”

  “Yeah, you talked to me about the guys you were interested in. Any guy but me, right?” He stopped his pacing and stepped closer to the sofa. Then he reached out to touch a strand of her hair. “You cut your hair. I don’t like it.”

  “I can grow it long again if you’d like,” she forced herself to say. It took every ounce of willpower not to shrink from his touch.

  “The fact that you don’t even remember when I tried to hold your hand proves you never saw me. That you never, ever, would have agreed to go out with me.” He abruptly yanked hard on her hair, the sharp pain bringing tears to her eyes. “For a police sketch artist, you don’t see people clearly at all, do you?”

  There was a kernel of truth to his words. She hadn’t seen this part of him, that much was for certain. “How did you know I was a sketch artist?” Blinking away her tears, she silently willed him to back off. “And how did you find that sketch I did? The one you slid under my apartment door with the eyes gouged out?”

  “I used the jail computer to find out all about you, Jacy.” He mercifully dropped her hair and took a step back. “I found out you were a police sketch artist and that you lived in Appleton. That was the main reason I got myself a couple of police scanners. To help track your movements.” The fact that he’d found her personal information so easily was concerning, but she pushed that thought away to focus on Robbie.

  “After I was released on parole, I made a plan to come and find you.” His smile only made him look evil. “Once I was able to secure a fake ID, the rest was easy. I stole a truck and found a place to stay. I couldn’t believe it when I came across your sketch at the technical school campus. Signing JC in the corner, rather than the initials of your first and last name was clever. But I still knew the artist was you.”

  Horrifying to realize how far he’d gone to track her down. And she felt certain that the reason he’d gouged out the eyes on the sketch was that she didn’t “see” him clearly.

  Keep him talking! “That was really smart of you to do all of that. But I’m curious, Robbie. Did you set the fire to our old high school? And what made you target Suzanna and Claire?”

  “I set the fire, although I realize now that was a dumb risk. I thought maybe I could distract the police attention from my plans, but that didn’t work.” His eyes narrowed. “As far as the girls? I had been in jail a long time, eight years, since it took nine months for me to be sentenced. I deserved Claire and Suzanna. I deserved to feel alive again.”

  So he could only feel alive when he was killing young innocent girls? Because that’s when they truly saw him? His twisted logic made her stomach churn with nausea. Or maybe it was the drug she’d absorbed. Likely both.

  Either way, Jacy tried hard not to gag.

  He abruptly swung toward her, the move causing her to rear back against the sofa instinctively. “Enough talking. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  No! Please, no! She swallowed the scream that threatened to overwhelm her. A glimpse of movement through the window behind him gave her pause.

  Someone was out there! Cash?

  Her pulse spiked with anticipation.

  “Wait. Could I please have some water?” She slid higher up along the sofa, so that she was in more of a sitting position rather than stretched out on her back. She still felt weak and shaky, thanks to the drug and tasing, but she intended to be ready if Cash was able to get her out of there. “Please, there’s no reason to fight with me, Robbie. You don’t need to hurt me. I care about you. I’m glad I’m here with you.”

  A flicker of distrust darkened his stare. His obsession with her was completely irrational, but she didn’t think it would hurt to play along.

  At least for now.

  “Please, Robbie?” She smiled, tucking the strand of hair he’d cruelly yanked behind her ear. “Just a sip of water would be great.”

  For a long moment, she thought he’d refuse, but he turned and crossed to the kitchen sink. After filling a dirty glass halfway, he brought it over. “Here.”

  She readily accepted the glass. Particles of dust from the rarely used glass floated in the water, but she took a sip anyway, briefly closing her eyes while praying she wouldn’t choke on it. To her surprise, the water was soothing against her dry mouth and throat, despite the dust tainting it.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She wanted to look out the window again but didn’t because of the intensity of Robbie’s glare.

  How much longer could she hold him off from attacking her?

  She swung her legs over so that she was sitting upright on the sofa, her feet on the floor. She took another cautious sip of the water while surreptitiously sweeping her eyes over the room, searching for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing obvious in sigh.

  Maybe a log for the fire, but the stove was located behind the sofa. She didn’t dare turn to look that way. Tightening her grip on the glass, she struggled to act normal.

  Every muscle in her body was tense, although she tried not to show it. She fully intended to be ready to make her move the moment Cash did.

  But the waiting was agony. Had she imagined the flash of movement? What if she had, and Cash wasn’t really out there at all?

  She drew in a deep breath, trying not to panic.

  Please, Lord, give me strength!

  “Enough.” Robbie reached out as if to grab the glass from her fingers.

  She instinctively tossed the rest of the water in his face then threw the glass directly at the bridge of his nose. He reared backward, raising his hands and yelling in pain as the glass struck his face.

  That momentary distraction was all she needed. Bolting off the sofa, she sprinted toward the door, desperate to escape. She yanked the door open and ran outside into the fresh air. Hearing the thumping footsteps behind her provided the surge of adrenaline she desperately needed.

  She ran, barreling out over the snow-spotted rocky terrain as fast as she could. Her strength was not nearly up to par, though. Not the way it was when she’d run from Robbie ten years ago.

  Hurry! She had to get away!

  “Jacy!” Cash’s shout made her want to weep in relief.

  “Look out!” she shouted, running toward the shed. “Robbie has a gun!”

  As if on cue, the sound of a gunshot reverberated around her.

  She intuitively slowed her pace, fearing Cash had been targeted. What if Robbie had hit him?

  No! Cash!

  “Go, Jacy! Go!” Cash shouted as a second gunshot echoed through the air.

  With a sob, she forced herself to keep running, stumbling over rocks, rutted dirt and fallen branches, yet managing to stay upright. Deep down, she understood she was Robbie’s ultimate prize.

  And once she was out of the way, Cash would have a much better chance of taking Robbie down.

  There was an eerie silence behind her as she reached the relative safety of the trees. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone.

  Where were Robbie and Cash? She didn’t know.

  Jacy slowed her pace as tree branches snagged at her clothing and her hair. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she fought the urge to collapse on the ground. The drug Robbie had used in the dart was still not completely out of her system.

  She continued pushing forward.

  Hoping and praying there would be more officers swarming the farmhouse at any moment.

  * * *

  Ignoring the pain in his thigh from where White’s bullet had grazed him, Cash took cover along the side of the shed. He was glad to see that Jacy had kept running toward the trees. Her safety had been his priority.

  But now that she was out of harm’s way? He would not rest until he had Robert White in custody. Hearing her refer to him as Robbie had been jarring. She’d obviously known White, and fairly well to use his nickname.

  There wasn’t time to worry about their relationship now.

  He wasn’t sure how long it would take Vargas and the others to arrive. Once he’d validated the black truck was in the shed, he’d rendered the vehicle useless by slashing all four tires, grimly noting the police scanner mounted to the dashboard. Once that task was accomplished, he’d crept closer for a better look at the house.

  The only way White was getting away from the farmhouse was on foot. Or on a stretcher. Either way worked for him, as long as the guy was in handcuffs.

  “I’m Detective Cash Rawson,” he shouted. “Throw down your weapon.”

  No response.

  He tried again. “Robert White, you’re under arrest for kidnapping and murder. Throw down your weapon!”

  Still nothing. He stifled a sigh. It wasn’t really a surprise that White would force this to go down the hard way.

  He eased up to the edge of the shed and quickly peered around the corner. There was no sign of White, which concerned him.

  Weapon in hand, he rounded the shed and half limped and half ran toward the house. Pressing his back against the wall of the old structure, he listened intently.

  Hearing nothing but silence.

  A flash of panic hit hard. Where was he? Hiding inside? Waiting for Cash to show himself?

  Praying Vargas would get there soon, Cash made his way around to the back of the farmhouse. He gingerly tested several windows as he went, but they all seemed to be painted or possibly nailed shut.

  Going in through the front door was not an option—the space looked too open, making him an easy target. He wanted to apprehend White, not be shot in the chest by him.

  He stumbled across a rear door, one that faced a half caved-in barn. Testing the handle, he was relieved that it turned.

  Someone had come this way recently. White? Escaping from the house? Maybe.

  He eased the door open and stepped inside. Sweeping his gaze over the floor, he didn’t see any damp footprints, indicating someone had come this way.

  Keeping his weapon ready, he continued sneaking through the house. There were bedrooms along both sides of the narrow hallway, forcing him to stop and peer into each one to make sure White wasn’t waiting there. To his surprise, he found another police scanner in one of the bedrooms.

  Up ahead, he could see the living room and kitchen. But no sign of White. Could he have missed him? Was the guy outside hiding behind the dilapidated barn?

  Cash stepped on a board that groaned beneath his weight. Horrified at the noise, he ducked just as more gunfire echoed through the house. At least two bullets shattered flimsy and half-rotten drywall, forcing him to crawl into one of the bedrooms.

  “Shooting a cop isn’t smart,” Cash shouted, glad to know White was still inside. “You’re only racking up more jail time. Guess you liked being in the slammer, huh?”

  More bullets pelted the walls, sending bits of plaster and paint raining upon him.

  Huddled in the far corner, he mentally counted the shots. He hadn’t gotten a good look at White’s weapon, but had surmised it to be a handgun. That meant the guy might be getting low on ammunition, if he wasn’t almost out already.

  There had been at least seven shots here, and at least four back at his house.

  The most common handgun was a .38 and those only held five to six rounds. A 9-millimeter Luger could hold up to eighteen.

  A Glock, the second most common handgun, held fifteen rounds.

  Considering he’d counted ten to eleven shots so far, he was hoping White had a Glock without a spare clip.

  “Come on, White,” he goaded. “Give it up already. The house is going to be swarming with cops at any second.” He prayed that was true. “Toss down your weapon and walk forward with your hands on your head to avoid getting hurt.”

  Two more bullets punctured the wall.

  He’d only fired one round at White. While he wasn’t happy he’d missed the guy, he was glad he still had a full clip. Eventually, White would run out of ammo.

  It was only a matter of time.

  The silence stretched, making him wonder if White was already out of bullets. Sliding across the floor toward the doorway, he risked a glance down the hall.

  There was no sign of the killer.

  Using the wall as support, he rose to his feet. Blood stained the floor, dripping down his leg from the thigh wound. Refusing to let the injury hold him back, he eased carefully down the hall.

  Keeping his back flat against the wall, Cash peered toward the kitchen. The prolonged silence was unnerving, making him think White was attempting to draw him into a trap.

  Honestly? It was working.

  He took another step, listening acutely when the rumble of a car engine reached his ears.

  Vargas?

  The sound of a horn blasting made him frown. Vargas, or other officers, wouldn’t sound off the horn.

  But he imagined Jacy would.

  He saw a flicker of movement from the other side of the sofa, giving him the impression that White was crouched behind the furniture, using the worn cushions as a shield.

  “Throw down your weapon!” Cash shouted again.

  The horn abruptly stopped and he prayed Jacy wasn’t planning on coming inside. The barrel of White’s gun eased up over the edge of the sofa, forcing Cash to duck down and hit the floor.

  White didn’t fire, though, and Cash wasn’t sure if that was because he was out of ammo or simply preserving what he had left.

  Seeing the gun was enough for him to react and made him mad. Cash fired several rounds at the top of the sofa, knowing his bullets wouldn’t likely reach their target. The best he could hope for was that returning gunfire would keep White pinned down in the living area long enough for Vargas to arrive.

  The horn sounded again. Jacy’s attempts to save him were exasperating, even though he was touched by her efforts.

  He’d wanted her long gone from the area, not pulling up to the house in his SUV, sounding the horn.

  The blaring sound stopped and he listened intently, apprehensively wondering what White would decide to do next.

  Would he make a run for it out the front door, rushing toward Jacy?

  Or jump up to fire his last few bullets at Cash?

  The latter. As soon as the thought registered, he scooted backward, trying to get out of the way. The barrel of the gun came up first, followed by White.

  “Got you,” White said with a creepy grin. Then he pulled the trigger.

  Cash had hugged the wall as much as possible but it wasn’t enough to avoid being a target. The bullet from White’s gun slammed into his shoulder, sending a tidal wave of pain washing over him and rendering his right arm useless.

  The gun in his right hand fell to the floor, his arm numb.

  White laughed again. Cash braced himself for another shot, but this time there was only a metallic click.

  He was out of ammunition!

  The pain was excruciating, but Cash shifted so that he could grab the gun with his left hand. He lifted it and fired. Only, he was a fraction of a second too late.

  White dove for the doorway. Cash’s bullet went wide, hitting the door frame instead of his intended target. White disappeared outside.

  No! Jacy!

  Cash pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the door, desperate to stop him.

  FIFTEEN

  Jacy had been relieved to find Cash’s SUV, including the keys lying on the driver’s seat. She knew Cash expected her to drive away, maybe to get help, but she couldn’t leave him.

  Not when she knew exactly what Robbie was capable of.

  Hearing the gunfire from inside the farmhouse had been horrifying. She had no way of knowing if Cash had been hit.

  Or if he was even still alive.

  Driving up toward the house and leaning hard on the horn was the only distraction she could come up with.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19