The van careened onto the main street, sideswiped a parked car, and slid into a spin sideways. Stark slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, sped forward, and fishtailed around the next corner. He was going eighty now as he raced toward the park. The van almost turned over as he took another corner on two wheels, but it righted itself as he swung the wheel hard to the left. He turned yet another corner and there it was, the back entrance to the park through the preserve.
The mule wasn’t behind him now, and Stark was certain he’d lost him. Giggling, he slowed down and entered through the joggers’ path. The van bounced along the black tarred surface, the left wheels gliding on smooth surface and the right wheels grinding over rocks at the edge of the path.
He thought he heard Laurant groan. He had to stop himself from leaping over the seat and tearing her skin to shreds with his bare hands. The rage was getting stronger, and the thoughts were coming so fast now, he was having trouble concentrating. He reached up to adjust the mirror so he could watch her. She was huddled in a ball on her side with her back to him, and she wasn’t moving. His mind was playing tricks on him, convinced now that she hadn’t groaned. He’d only imagined it.
He was so busy watching her, he almost drove the van into the lake. He swerved back onto the road, then adjusted the mirror again so he could see behind him. Because of the angle the path took, he had to slow the van down even more. He couldn’t slow his mind though. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Laurant again, but it wasn’t Laurant that he saw. It was the whore, Tiffany. He shook his head. Then, just as suddenly, it was Laurant again.
He wanted to stop and close his eyes. He wanted time to clear his mind and get organized again. He had to be organized. He was a planner, meticulous down to the very last detail. He didn’t like surprises. That’s why he was so rattled, he decided.
The surprise of seeing the blond priest leap in front of Tommy boy. The priest with the gun, shooting at him. The priest who wasn’t a priest at all. Stark couldn’t get over the fact that the mules, as stupid as they were, had actually tricked him. He’d never considered, not for one second, that Tommy’s friend was a mule in disguise.
Oh yes, that was why he was so rattled now. They had tricked him into making a mistake. He sighed then. He could feel himself becoming centered again. The thoughts weren’t bombarding him. Control, that was the ticket. He was getting his control back.
“Almost there,” he sang out to Laurant. He slowed the van so he could edge through the pines when he reached the main road that wound around the lake. Then he increased the speed again. The Buick was about two hundred yards away, parked between the trees behind the abandoned shack. He couldn’t see it yet, but he knew it was where he’d left it, ready and waiting.
“Almost there,” he repeated. All he had to do was drive around the entrance to the park, then along the curve, and hide the van among the trees.
He had just reached the road to a cabin when he saw the green Explorer again. The SUV shot through the entrance of the park and then slowed to take the turn.
“No.” Stark slammed on the brakes. There wasn’t time to back the van, turn it around, and try to outrun the mule. He couldn’t go forward either. Nicholas would see him and block him. What to do? What to do? “No, no, no, no,” he chanted.
He threw the gear into park, grabbed his gun, and jumped out of the van. Because he’d removed the door handles on the inside so that his lady friends couldn’t escape while he was busy driving, he had to run around and open the door from outside.
He shoved the gun in his jacket and then reached with both hands to lift her. A new plan. Yes, a new plan. He could do it. He’d get her inside, where it was nice and dark, and he’d work on her there, with the doors locked. The mule would be outside, trying to get in, listening to Laurant’s screams. The mule would make mistakes then. Yes, he would. And then Stark would kill him.
Laurant didn’t come awake slowly or in a foggy daze. It was instantaneous. One second she was unconscious, and the next she was struggling to keep from screaming. She could feel the bile burning the back of her throat
She was inside his van. She didn’t move for fear he would see her in the mirror or hear her groping around the floor for something to use as a weapon. She dared a quick look, saw the toolbox, but she’d have to move to get it. It was against the back door. Could she get out that way? Swing the door open and jump? Where, where was the latch? She squinted in the darkness, and then she saw the gaping hole in the back door. The madman had taken the handles off. Why would he do that? Her feet were pressed against the side door, but she couldn’t see if that handle had been removed as well unless she moved, and she didn’t dare.
She was shaking now and tried to stop, terrified that he would notice and know she was awake. The van hit something in the road. She was lifted and then thrown into the back of the front seat. A second later, she was thrown back again when the van lurched forward. She felt cold metal against her chest. The safety pin was pressing into her skin. She fumbled to get it open. Her hands were trembling, so she almost dropped it, and she caught the whimper before it escaped. She unhooked it and then bent it until it was straight. She didn’t know what she was going to do with it, but it was the only weapon she had. Maybe she could drive the pin through his throat. Tears stung her eyes. Her head hurt so much, it was an effort to think at all. Was he watching her now? Did he have a gun in his hand? Maybe she could jump him from behind, surprise him.
Ever so slowly she moved her legs up, thinking she could turn and spring upward, grab him by the neck, and then slam his head into the steering wheel. But something was holding her. Her skirt was caught. She was afraid to turn her head and look for fear that he would see.
The van suddenly came to a jarring stop. She did drop the safety pin then, but she grabbed it from the floor before she heard the door open. Where was he going? What was he going to do?
Oh God, he’s coming for me.
She had to be ready. When he tried to get her out of the van, she would have to be ready. Frantic, her hands violently shaking now, she hooked the pin around her middle fingers, just above the knuckles. The metal fastener dug into her skin, tearing it as she hooked it there, anchored so that the long needle was sticking straight out. She cupped her left hand around it, trying to hide it.
Don’t let him have his gun in his hand
.
Please, God, don’t let him have the gun
. She couldn’t spring up and get him if he was holding the gun. He’d kill her before she touched him.
If he does, I’ll wait
.
Make him carry me
.
He’ll put the gun down if he has to carry me
.
The van moved when the side door was slid open. Her eyes were tightly closed, and she was trying not to cry as she silently prayed.
Help me, God, please help me . . .
She could hear his harsh breathing. He grabbed her by her hair and jerked her toward him. When he bent down to pull her out of the van, she opened her eyes and saw the gun. His fingers dug into her sides as he lifted her over his shoulder.
He was strong, terribly strong. He ran with her draped over his left shoulder as though she weighed no more than a speck of dandruff on his collar. Laurant’s eyes were wide open now, but she didn’t dare lift her head for fear that he’d feel the movement. As long as he thought she was unconscious, he wouldn’t focus on her. She recognized the abbot’s cabin up ahead.
She heard a car coming toward them, then the madman’s obscenity. He ran up the steps and then suddenly stopped.
She heard him jiggling the doorknob, but it was locked. A second later, a gunshot went off next to her ear. She flinched, and she was sure he felt it.
Stark was in such a state to get inside, he kicked the door and tore it from its hinges. He hit the wall switch, and two lamps, one on a credenza by the door and another on a table upstairs on the balcony, lit the cabin. Still holding her on his shoulder, he ran across the front room and into the kitchen. He put the gun down on the countertop and ripped the drawers open, throwing them to the floor.
“There we are,” he cried out gleefully when he found the drawer of knives. He grabbed the biggest one there. A butcher knife. It looked old and dull, but he didn’t care if it was sharp or not. The work he intended to do wasn’t going to be meticulous. There simply wasn’t time. This one would do nicely. Yes, sirree.
He grabbed his gun, then turned around and ran back into the living room, kicking drawers and utensils out of his path. When he reached the center of the room, he stopped and shrugged her off of him. She crashed into the coffee table, then hit the floor, her left side taking the brunt of the impact.
He waited until she was down, then grabbed her by her hair again and jerked her up to her knees.
“Open your eyes, bitch. I want you to look out the door. Look at the mule when he comes running in here to save you.”
As he was speaking, Stark realized he had the butcher knife and the gun in the same hand. He let got of Laurant and switched the knife into his left hand. “There now,” he said. “What was I thinking? Can’t shoot and cut with the same hand, now can I? Look at me, Laurant. See what I have for you?”
She was still up on her knees, and he squatted down behind her. Her body would shield him from Nicholas’s gun. He held the knife out in front of her face. “Now what do you think I’m going to do with this?”
Although he hadn’t expected an answer, he was still disappointed she didn’t cry out when she saw the knife. She would though, once he started working on her. Oh yes, he knew how to get what he wanted. He was still the master. He jabbed her left arm with the knife and then chuckled with delight when she screamed. Blood spurted down her arm, thrilling him. Then he stabbed her again. “That’s my girl. Keep screaming,” he encouraged, his voice eerily high-pitched, manic with excitement. “We want Nicholas to hear you.”
He squatted and waited. He braced her shoulders against his with his arm as he pointed the barrel of the gun at the open doorway. He kept his head down behind hers, but he peeked around her toward the door. He jabbed her again, just for fun, but she didn’t cry out this time. He put the tip of the bloody knife against the side of her neck.
“Trying to be brave, Laurant? When I want you to scream, by God, you will.”
He heard her whimper and smiled. “Don’t you fret. I won’t shoot the mule right away. I want him to watch me kill you. Tit for tat,” he sang. “What’s taking Nicholas so long? What’s that boy up to? Maybe he’s trying to sneak in through the kitchen door. Oops, there isn’t one. He can’t do that, can he?”
Had he not been talking, he would have heard the faint creak above him. Nick had come in through the bedroom window. The tree branch had given way just as he grabbed hold of the window ledge, but the crashing noise he heard from inside covered the sounds he made.
The bedroom door was open, and Nick crept forward. He could see Laurant and Stark below the balcony, halfway across the room, facing the front door. Nick had his gun in his hand, and the Glock tucked into the back of his waistband.
He couldn’t get a clear shot at the bastard. If the bullet went through his body it would hit Laurant. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t go down the stairs either. Stark would see him. What the hell was he going to do?
Laurant looked up and saw the shadow on the ceiling. It moved ever so slightly, and she knew that Nicholas was upstairs. It was only a matter of time before the man behind her saw the shadow too.
“Why are you doing this, Justin?”
“Shut up. I have to listen for the car. I have to hear the mule coming.”
“You were too quick for him. He must not have seen your van, and he turned north instead of south. He’s on the other side of the lake.”
Stark strained to hear footsteps on the gravel outside, but he was smiling. “Yes, I was quick, wasn’t I? A mule can’t outsmart me.”
“Are the mules the FBI?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You’re a very clever girl, aren’t you?”
She had to keep him talking. Keep him focused on what she was saying so he wouldn’t look up. “Not as clever as you. Why did you choose me? Why do you hate me?”
He drew his thumb down the side of her face. The rubber glove was cold. “Hush that talk. I don’t hate you. I love you,” he crooned. “But I’m a heartbreaker. I break hearts.”
“But why me?” she persisted. Her head was down, but her eyes were looking up, watching the shadow slowly creep forward.
“It wasn’t you at all,” he said. “The mule killed my wife, and then he bragged about it in the newspapers. Oh yes, that’s what he did. All that time and energy training her was wasted. She was almost worthy. I sought perfection, and she was getting there. Yes, she was almost perfect. Then Nicholas killed her. They called him a hero. He ruined my life, and they called him a hero. They said he was oh so smart. I couldn’t have that, now could I? I had to prove to the world that I was the master.”
She cringed at the hate in his voice. She didn’t have to ask him another question. He seemed to want to explain himself to her. The words were coming faster now. He wanted to tell her everything, to brag about how he had fooled the mules.
“When I read the newspaper article and knew who had killed my wife, I had to retaliate. Don’t you see? I was forced into it. Your brother was mentioned in that article, and I wanted to know more about good old Father Tom. I read that he and Nicholas had been best friends since they were little boys. At first, I thought I’d kill Tom and then go after the mule’s family, but then I thought, why give Nicholas the home advantage? Holy Oaks was the perfect town for what I had in mind. It’s so nicely isolated. I did my research, found out everything I could about Tommy boy, and imagine my joy when I found out about you.