Blood Ties (33 page)

ey have no sense of

sportsmanship. Hell, I thought they might scalp me.”

He nearly busted a gut, laughing at his own humor.

I gulped down another sticky mass of blood, spit, and fear. Had Bobby slashed Ben’s throat too? “So, you killed them? All the ones they found in Rapid Creek?”

“Yeah. Another dead injun don’t make much diff erence, does it. Besides, gave them my own kind of last rites.”

He crossed himself and laughed again.

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“What about the one in Bear Butte Creek a few years back?”

“Don’t know nothing about that one. Too much hassle when I’ve got plenty to choose from here.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

My momentary relief Bobby hadn’t killed Ben evapo-rated when I realized Bobby would be
my
killer. But, if I kept him talking, maybe Kevin or Jimmer would rush in and save me. “Just wondered how you got Samantha to come with you.”

“Why should I tell you?”

With the ropes wound so tight, I couldn’t shrug. “Since I tracked you down, it’d be unsportsmanslike for you to let me die not knowing how you pulled it off .”

He nodded like it made perfect sense. “She’d seen me around, knew Tim and I were buddies. Stopped her inside the church before her counseling session. Told her he’d been called to the church camp. Said if she wanted to see him we’d have to head up here.”

My eyes bugged. “And, she just went with you?”

“Jesus, you are stupid. I just
told
you Tim and I are best friends. She didn’t suspect a thing.” His mouth turned into a grotesque frown beneath the war paint. “Didn’t expect her to have that knife.”

“Dick’s

knife?”

“Didn’t know it was his at the time.” He stared at the gash across the back of his hand. “Little bitch pulled it out 353

of her purse when she realized Father Tim wasn’t coming.

Can you believe she cut me?”

I gagged at the idea of Samantha taking on, and ultimately losing to Bobby Adair. But, I kept up the fl ow of conversation; it took my mind off the fact I was tied to a tree, completely at his mercy. And, I knew he hadn’t showed any mercy to any of his victims. “Why did you stick it in Kevin’s tire?”

“Th

at day in Tim’s offi

ce, I knew you suspected Friel.

I’d kept the knife, but when I saw you and Wells . . .

seemed obvious to leave it and let the cops connect it with that loser, Friel. Fucker deserves to go to jail. Screwed me over on the last bike I’d brought in for repair.”

I didn’t care about Dick’s bad business practices because it hadn’t led to Samantha’s death. But, it’d nearly led to ours. “So, you were the one trying to kill us that day?”

He scowled at me. “Not kill you. If I was, you’d be dead. Th

is is better; I might even let you run before I shoot you.”

Underneath the ropes my body started to shake. From my toes, up to my shoulders, to my head. I clamped my teeth together to keep them from chattering. I was going to die. Violently. Alone. No way around it.

He caressed the carbon fi ber arrow shaft, fi ngering the orange nock.

Bobby’s sudden silence unnerved me. I blurted, “You killed Shelley, didn’t you? Left her just like you did after 354

the rape.”

Th

e arrow tips unscrewed easily under his deft fi ngers and he reached in his pocket. “I had nothing to do with raping her. Dumb cunt thought Tim killed her bastard girl.

Told Tim she planned on checking out of rehab and going to the police. Tim panicked and went off to the church camp to hide and
pray
about it. Fuck.” He tossed his head back and laughed. “Stupid asshole, praying. Like God himself was gonna come down and save him.
I
saved him.”

“By getting rid of her?”

His eyes never left the bow. “So? I followed her. My gun, a bottle of Jack, made it easy. She passed out.” His shoulders rolled casually. “Tossed her in the car and started it. Not much challenge, but she deserved it. Shelley had already fucked up my and Tim’s lives enough.”

“Th

en, why did you kill Tim?”

Jaw tight, he blew across the blunt tip of the arrow.

“He was an ungrateful, pious prick.”

Th

e ropes had started to cut off my circulation. If I moved, they chafed my forearms. Without a knife there was no way I was getting loose, but I wasn’t going down without a fi ght. “Not a good way to describe your lover.”

“We hadn’t been that for a long time,” he nearly crooned, husky voice replete with longing. “I almost had Tim convinced no one would know about us . . . then that girl showed up and ruined everything.”

Not one ounce of regret. He wasn’t sorry that he’d 355

killed, just pissed off that his former boyfriend had moved on. To God, apparently. I’d heard of carrying a torch for your high school sweetheart, but this was carrying it too far. Fucking crazy loon. His dulcet tone scared me worse than his silence. I took a shuddery breath.

“But you’d tried to change things to the way they used to be? By taking care of Samantha and Shelley? No one knew what happened seventeen-years ago.”

I tried moving my hand, but it wouldn’t budge. Th e

rope burned like it’d gone through skin and was grinding on bone. “Bobby, were you hoping that Tim would show his gratitude by . . ” I searched for a delicate phrase. “By resuming your relationship?”

Bobby jerked upright and sneered, “He said what we’d done, what we’d been to each other for
years
was an abomination. What he did to Shelley was an abomination.”

“So, he hadn’t been with other men?”

“Shut up.” He edged closer. “I don’t want to hear another sound.”

From the inside pocket of a fl ak jacket identical to Jimmer’s, he pulled out a small tin box. I craned my neck; Bobby lifted the arrow to my line of vision. He’d replaced the target tips. With broadhead tips.

Shit. Everything inside me went liquid hot with fear.

Broadhead tips are essentially fl ying razor blades. Dia-mond-shaped steel on a stick, zooming at 180 mph and can drop a three-hundred pound fully racked buck in seconds.

356

Th

rough hide, through bone, sometimes even straight through the body until it’s stopped from coming out the other side by meaty tissue or the vanes on the arrow. Hunters use a variety of types and sizes of these deadly tips, mostly determined by the prey. All broadheads have one thing in common. Th

ey are lethal.

Depending on the accuracy of the hunter, death can be quick, but not always. Some deer have been known to run twoo-hundred yards or farther with the arrow intact.

Or, spend years with an arrow showcasing a hunter’s lousy aim. Any animal drops to their haunches when a pierced lung collapses and fi lls with blood. Or, their heart explodes from a combination of the arrow and fear. Bad shots are not pretty, but slow and incredibly painful. And, I knew that’s what Bobby planned for me.

I pressed closer to the tree, as if I could melt into the bark. “Even if you kill me, they’ll know it was you.”

“I know. Don’t care.” He screwed another broadhead into the second arrow. “I won’t be around.”

He’d slaughter me like some animal and leave my carcass out here to rot as fodder for wildlife. Anger welled in me and I spit, “Places to be? Other people to kill?”

“Just

you.”

I screamed as loud as I could.

Th

e quick slice of the arrow across my chest cut the fl ow of sound. Huge spots of blood appeared on the edges of my T-shirt before I felt the fi ery pain.

357

“I told you to shut up.” Bobby dragged the side of the arrow across my forearm, leaving a thin red line that turned thick with blood. Th

en, he off ered the same treat-

ment to the other arm.

He watched the blood gather. Using his fi nger, he traced a circular pattern before pressing his thumb into the cut, and then rubbed the paint off his forehead. He’d made a singular dot. With my blood. Like some kind of warrior. My stomach convulsed and I dry heaved.

Watching me, he dropped to his knees by my other arm. “Remember when you made your fi rst deer kill? And you drank the warm blood?”

Frozen in terror, with cuts throbbing and bruises swelling, I couldn’t move. I hadn’t taken part in that particular ritual, although it was standard practice and I’d seen it done with fi rst kills.

“I’m gonna do it beforehand this time. Mix things up a bit.” His wet tongue licked a path up my arm, lapping up blood. He stood and smiled, lips and teeth red.

Everything inside me revolted. I screamed, “Fuck you, Bobby. You are a fucking deviant. You can go straight to fucking hell.”

Rage twisted his features as he reached down and picked up the bow and arrow. “Shut the fuck up.”

I whimpered when he stomped closer and pressed the sharp side against the pulse hammering in my throat. His angry, hot breath gusted over the chill of my exposed skin.

358

His prickly beard brushed my cheek, chin and neck, repeatedly. He was marking me as his kill. My subconscious kicked back to my rape, the sensation of strange hair burning my fl esh, and I wanted to pass out from sheer terror.

“Feel like screaming now? Talking some more? Or, are you fi nally scared?” he goaded, digging the tip into my skin until it gave way under the pressure.

Liquid trickled down my neck, sticky, warm like sweat, but I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t look. I didn’t answer.

He stepped back and loaded the arrow in my bow.

Aimed it at my head. Lowered it to my heart. Sighted my abdomen. His eyes were wild, out of control. “Th is isn’t

going to be any fun,” he complained. “I can probably shoot you one-handed.”

“Th

en, let me go. I’ll run. I swear.”

Bobby

cuff ed me again. “Shut up.”

I

bled.

A dog howled in the distance; angry, loud snapping barks followed by growls. Bobby cocked his head, lowering the bow to his side.

Silence peculiar to woods answered.

“Something is going on with Max. I’m gonna check it out.” He backed up and looked at me attentively, placing the bow and second arrow fi fteen feet in front of me on the ground. Taunting me, knowing I couldn’t reach it, but that I’d try.

An unnatural grin split his face. “Don’t go anywhere.

359

I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the trees.

I thrashed against the ropes, muttering, the fl ow of frustrated tears mixed with the blood on my chest until I was too tired or weak from the blood loss to move.

Th

en I heard it.

A twig snapped behind the tree. I went completely still.

Was this some kind of psychological game of terror Bobby played? Sneak up behind the quarry, make me wonder how long I had to live until the knife glinted and I watched as it slit my own throat?

Just like Ben
. Would my body end up in the creek too?

But Bobby didn’t step out from behind me.

Meredith Friel did.

I blinked. Couldn’t be. I blinked again. Not an appari-tion; her tiny form stood there, not ten feet from my bow.

I whispered, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been following you.”

“Th

at was you? Why?”

“I knew you wouldn’t let Sam down. Th

at you’d fi nd

whoever did this to her.”

“I did and look what happened.” I took a quick look around. “Meredith, he’s going to kill me
and
you if he fi nds you here.” I calmed my hopeful breathing. “Run. Run to the road and get help.”

“Is that yours?” she said, pointing at my bow. Crouching down, she picked it and the extra arrow up before 360

slinking back to me.

I didn’t pay much attention to her demeanor, busy as I was thanking every god in the universe for not letting me die. “Use the sharp side to cut the ropes.”

She studied the arrow and raised her limpid glance to mine.

“Meredith? Come on. He’ll be back any second. Cut me free.”

“No.” She calmly stepped behind the tree. Her whisper drifted out, “He’s mine.”

I didn’t think my heart could jackhammer faster. It did. Meredith was dooming us both by her need for vengeance. I understood it, but knew she’d never get a kill shot off with my bow. As it was, a forty-pound pull weight was diffi

cult for me to maintain, even with my added muscle.

With my years of experience, I doubted I could best Bobby Adair. Unskilled Meredith had no chance. I had no chance unless she cut me free.

“Meredith, please. Listen to me. Let me take care of this. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Ssh. He’s coming.”

I heard nothing. No wind whistling through the trees, no chirping birds, no plodding footsteps. Nothing but my own ragged inhalations and the sound of my heart swelling in my ears.

Th

en, there he was. Fear had sharpened my senses and I made out his form even as he blended into the tree line.

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Bobby appeared with the stealth of a mountain lion.

Stalking his prey. Fifty-yards out. Th

en twenty. At fi fteen

feet, he stopped and scoped out the empty ground where he’d left the bow. He looked up at me, puzzled.

His eyes slid to my right side as Meredith stepped out from behind the tree.

Planting her tiny feet, she drew back, aimed, and let it fl y.

Stunned, Bobby didn’t move.

Th

e spinning arrow made no sound as it sunk into the middle of Bobby’s chest. Neither did Bobby, save for the surprised
uff
when he glanced down in disbelief at the pink and orange vane sticking out of the center of his body. No dying words or additional last minute confessions spewed from his mouth. Blood geysered out from the wound in a thin stream onto the forest fl oor.

Meredith stepped closer and reloaded.

Bobby dropped to his knees when the blood started pouring out of his lips, over his chin, and onto his neck, discoloring his fatigues.

Meredith sighted one last time. Eased up. And let go.

Th

e second shot, the kill shot, hit him right between the eyes. Right where he’d used my blood to mark a perfect bull’s-eye.