Frozen (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (36 page)

Nothing moved.

Bryce was definitely not here.

Impatient, frustrated, she stopped and stood there, the quiet almost oppressive.

So quiet she jumped when her phone rang. She registered the number with relief, flipping the phone open. “Rick. Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying—”

“We have another body, Ellie.”

His voice sounded dead, empty.

Another body
.

“Jane?” The single word was barely audible. She didn’t want to ask, didn’t even want to know.

“No. It’s Melissa Simmons.” His voice shook. “Jesus, Ellie, we’ve found the dickwad. We’ve caught him.”

“Can you clarify? Where are you?” Then, because she somehow had known it all long, she asked sharply, “Is Bryce with you?”

“He is … how the hell else do think I would have found another body? He identified her.”

That
couldn’t have been easy. “Where … how … is he okay?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t his line of work.” His caustic tone was loud and clear. But then he audibly relented a little. “I might have had the same reaction. He’s understandably not the happiest person right now.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Rick. Off alone with a suspect when Pearson pulled you from the case—”

“Oh, you’re one to preach at me.”

Good point. She inhaled a cleansing breath. “I didn’t think you believed he was innocent.”

“Desperation makes for interesting partnerships. The body is here near a cabin on the Prairie. We searched the entire property twice before we found fresh upturned earth over by what once used to be a shed. If the snow wasn’t melting, we would never have seen it. The grave is shallow, but I’m wondering if that isn’t on purpose.”

“Get the hell out of there.”

“Exactly. The place is owned by a friend of Hathaway’s father. Can you call Pearson? He’s going to be pissed enough at me. We don’t have a search warrant and if this isn’t handled just right, the court will refuse to let us admit it. We’re going to leave before we do any more damage to the scene.”

“Hell yes, I’m calling him, though I am going to have to dance all over the place about how I know what I know. Can I talk to Bryce, please? He isn’t answering his cell.”

There was a brief pause before Bryce’s voice, slightly hoarse, said, “Ellie.”

At least he was alive. She’d have to address how much she found she cared about that somewhere down the line.

“What’s going on?” she asked more sharply than she should, but a tension between her shoulder blades that was almost a physical pain eased a fraction. “Why are you with Rick? Do you feel safe? Where did you—”

“I’ll explain later, probably from prison,” he interrupted with audible fatalistic cynicism and a ragged tone. “I was just trying to help. How in the hell do you
do
this?”

“Can I ask for at least the third time, where exactly are you? Prairie River is pretty vague. I’m at your cabin now, looking for you.”

“I’ll give you directions.”

She listened, her brain on automatic pilot now, taking in the facts. At the very same moment she was about to end the call, she realized she wasn’t alone. Ellie froze, her phone in hand. Then she slowly turned and stared at the man at the top of the steps.

Blond hair, cut short, wide shoulders, athletic build. He wore pack boots, jeans, and a dark lightweight coat. A rifle hung loosely in the crook of his arm and his good-natured smile surfaced easily. “Good evening, Detective. My father told me you were looking for me.”

Chapter 29

It was odd, but when a man embarked on an epic journey, he knew it would be long and hard, and of course he realized it was a mystery how it would end
.
How the finale happened was a matter of personal choice, and the Hunter was not one to back away from a little glory.

He’d earned it, he thought, having fooled the police so easily for so long, and if there was a full-scale investigation complete with so much law enforcement and alerts to the surrounding states, he could do no less than live up to his reputation.

This was nice … the ultimate hunt. He got a thrill scenting the fear, seeing the dawning realization of fate in the eyes of his quarry—especially the pretty hazel eyes of Detective MacIntosh.

She was a hunter too. She was hunting
him.

Time for a bit of role reversal.

*   *   *

Hathaway had called
and warned his son.

Ellie hadn’t expected it, and that was perhaps a fatal error.

There was an advantage to being a police officer, trained to handle dangerous situations, but first and foremost she was a normal human being and the jolt of adrenaline that shot through her held her paralyzed for a long, crucial heartbeat. Ellie stared at Neil and
knew
he was the one they were looking for.

Even worse, he knew she knew. They saw it in each other’s eyes, and at a moment like this, trying to deny it seemed futile.

The way the cabin was built into the hillside, with the panorama of the water view from the back showcase of windows, gave Ellie no place to go. The steps down to the front stoop where she stood were landscaped stone and actually set into the slope of the hill, so she was virtually hemmed in at the moment, and at the top stood … death.

It was a melodramatic thought, but three murdered women and two missing made it less so.

Still she tried to stay calm, conscious she hadn’t ended her call with Bryce. “You needn’t have gone through so much trouble, Mr. Hathaway. We just have a few more questions. Lieutenant McConnell and I will drop by tomorrow.”

“Close your phone.”

She did so at the uncompromising order. There were some points you didn’t argue. His weapon was at ready. Hers wasn’t.

“If you move your hands,” Hathaway said evenly, “even attempt to move for the gun I know you carry, keep this in mind: By the time you reach inside your coat, which is buttoned, and take the safety off your service revolver, I’ll have lifted this”—he did a mock demonstration—“taken aim, and fired. I’m a damned good shot. It isn’t my preferred method, but any decent outdoorsman occasionally runs across situations that test his ability to improvise. Seems like this is one of them.”

“I just told my partner where I am,” she said, surprised her voice was calm, a part of her in disbelief it was all happening. “How can you possibly think they won’t apprehend you, whether or not you kill me? I feel obliged to mention the state of Wisconsin frowns on citizens who shoot their law-enforcement personnel.”

“I don’t want to shoot you, Detective, believe me.”

“Really?” Ellie said coolly. If she took her chances and dove down, was there enough cover to wedge her body under the front step until she could pull out her Glock?

No. There wasn’t.

“That’s predicated on whether or not it gets really sticky from here, and whether they can catch me. You must admit you all haven’t done so well so far.” The infuriating note of satisfying conviction in Hathaway’s voice spoke of the cold eighteen-month investigation that had given it to him. “Canada is just hours north and I have a valid passport. Lots of country. Plenty of great hunting there.”

She knew he didn’t mean game.

Bastard
.

No death penalty in Canada. Wisconsin didn’t execute its killers either. She’d been afraid all along their quarry was aware of that.

What she needed was a little time. Time to get her weapon free. She couldn’t go forward, but she could go backward.

In a sense.

The window next to the door was just behind her right shoulder. It was old glass, probably original to the cabin, and maybe four feet high and two feet wide.

Enough to get through?

It didn’t matter if she miscalculated at this point, because standing in front of a serial killer armed with a hunting rifle limited her options to an extremely small number.

Hesitation was the enemy of salvation. As often as police officers have to make split-second decisions that might save or take a life, she knew this, so Ellie angled her body backward just a fraction so she could see the window out of the corner of her eye.

Then she turned and dived, literally, into the glass.

The window shattered as she propelled herself against it, her coat shielding much of her body, her arms flung up to protect her face. It didn’t work as perfectly as she hoped, for her legs caught the sill, sending her sprawling inside in a cascade of shattered glass. The first shot thudded into the floor near her head and she scrambled up, slamming into the nearest door, which ended up being a bedroom. She managed to get her coat open and yank her weapon free.

Gun out, held in trembling hands—she did her best to get her bearings. The bedroom wasn’t a good option because she was trapped. She peered out the doorway, saw Hathaway framed in the window, but he ducked back before she could take a shot.

No warning to freeze if she got a clear shot now. He was past that. She didn’t owe him anything. He’d fired at a police officer. Screw procedure, and besides, it was just the two of them.

To get to her, he had to come in, and she could cover the entrances to the cabin. If she could only call for help …

But staying alive and talking on the phone seemed to be mutually exclusive at the moment as she edged along a pine paneled wall and ducked into the hallway, risking him taking a sniper shot from the hill through the broken window, but now seemed a better time to try before he could settle into place.

She couldn’t get out, but she hoped he couldn’t get in either, and she had her phone. He’d have to run for it before help arrived.

Except, she realized, holding her weapon in still shaking hands, she
didn’t
have her phone. When she’d jumped through the window, she’d dropped it. It was lying there on the floor just inside the door in a pile of broken glass when she peeked around the corner from the kitchen.

Son of a bitch
.

Reconsider. Calmly.
Think
.

Did he know she’d dropped it? Maybe, since he had the scope on his rifle, but then again, it was getting dark. Would it help him? Maybe, maybe not. Magnified darkness was just more darkness.

In the dark, this game would get more interesting, and Hathaway knew she’d told Bryce where she was. How long would it take for him and Rick to realize she’d never had a chance to call Pearson?

An hour? Two?

She might not last an hour. How long would they wait before they assumed something was wrong? Had they overheard anything of her exchange with Hathaway?

What a question.

Surely she could shimmy out of one of the bedroom windows. On her stomach, Ellie lay on the kitchen floor, the shrouded gloom disconcerting. Maybe if she knew the house better it wouldn’t be so confusing, but discovering the floor plan with an armed killer outside didn’t lend a lot of encouragement to calm, rational tactics. She’d been in there a couple of times, had a glass of wine in the living room, but the rest of the layout wasn’t too clear.

The offensive came from the opposite direction.

A spray of gunfire shattered the windows, one by one, facing the lake. Glass rained everywhere, the noise was deafening, and she was close enough she could feel the flying debris in stinging cuts on her face. Cold air streamed inside. She slid to a more sheltered position by the refrigerator, her back to the wall, knees up.

That had been petty. He couldn’t get into the cabin that way. The hillside was too steep. Scare tactics, that was all.

But he was out back now, not out front.

Just as she had the urge to jump and run for the front door, she told herself he’d probably counted on just that and stayed put, the cold linoleum beneath her body reflecting a grim inner chill. He was probably in a position where he could catch her long range if she reached the top of the steps.

Her phone began to ring out in the glass-strewn hallway.

She muttered a word her mother probably didn’t know existed. Ellie’s male associates would approve and agree the timing was just right for her to start using it.

Neil Hathaway shot another round, this time the bullets hitting the ceiling and one smashing into a rack of plates on a shelf in the kitchen. Debris went everywhere.
Still on the hillside. Really making a point of having me know it too.

The front door was not an option.

She moved toward the hallway off the kitchen where she assumed there was another bedroom. The carpet was musty and the ghost of a hundred wood fires lingered in the air. The bed was a rough oblong from her position, but she did see curtains even from the floor.

Don’t think about it too much
. She heaved herself to her feet, crawled across the stripped bed, and peeked out the corner of the drape on the right side. It looked clear, but it was dark enough now outside she couldn’t tell.

Her orphaned phone started ringing again as she detached the window screen.

The drop was about ten feet because of the slope of the hill. She gauged it, wondering how she’d hit the ground and still be able to fire if he was waiting for this move. The only luck on her side was that no one person could watch all four sides of the same structure at once.

While it might be instinct to go still and hide like an injured rabbit, she knew waiting was lethal. So was indecision. She cranked the window open and levered herself over the sill. The ground was soft and gave as she hit. She’d miscalculated in an ungraceful disaster of how she imagined her descent, going down on one hip in a jarring landing, the slick pine needles making her slide a good three feet. Hastily, she scrambled to regain her feet, jerking up her gun, the adrenaline of possible escape a rush that took her breath from her lungs. In the summer, the thick woods could provide a perfect cover of leaf and branch, thicket and fern, but now it was bleak and stripped naked and if she ran and he had a good bead …

She was dead.

But it was a lot harder to hit a moving target and enough trees down here and there she might be able to find some sort of a hiding place.