Slash and Burn (25 page)

‘We end this.’

I pulled on to the shoulder of the road. Cars rocketed past, the displacement of air buffeting the Windstar.

‘Are you prepared to do what must be done to get Kate back?’ I asked. ‘Even if it’s very dangerous?’

‘Anything. I’d give my life for her.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Because that’s exactly what you might have to do.’

Chapter 36

‘Sit down.’

‘I need to use the bathroom.’

‘Again?’

‘Can’t help it,’ Kate said to her jailer. ‘You keep giving me water; it has to come out some time.’

‘Wait until Rourke gets back.’

‘Why? Can’t a big tough guy like you handle things on his own?’

Rourke was the man who’d been lewd towards her when Huffman had been in the room. After Huffman had left, Rourke had gone further. He had delighted in ripping off her blouse and bra and it was all that Kate could do to hold on to her jeans. Rourke had enjoyed her humiliation more than any titillation he’d gained from seeing her breasts exposed. She was glad he was out of the room. He’d gone off on an errand, leaving Nixon alone with her.

Nixon, for all he was a hired gun, didn’t appear to be as cruel as Rourke, and it was he who had given her back her clothes after Rourke had attacked her. He was a big guy, with short sandy hair. His cheeks bore freckles and he had watery blue eyes that seemed large behind round spectacles. He had a wedding ring on his finger, which struck Kate as unusual among these kinds of men. She wondered if he had children, if he was a man whose conscience could be played upon.

‘I can handle things pretty well,’ Nixon told her. ‘Now sit down.’

‘I need to pee. Do you expect me to do it right here?’

‘You do that and you’ll damn well clean it up.’

‘Wouldn’t it just be easier if you let me go to the bathroom?’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Nixon stood up from the chair he’d placed by the door to the hallway. Coming over, he pulled out his gun. ‘You go to the bathroom, but you’re in and out, OK? Plus, I go with you.’

Kate nodded. Then she walked towards the bathroom with Nixon hovering behind her. During her incarceration at the ranch things had always been the same. Whenever she’d used the bathroom she’d been observed. Usually Rourke had been her chaperone, the sick bastard getting his kicks from watching her go through her very private moments. She’d gone beyond embarrassment after the second time. She’d realised that when she was up and moving it gave her an opportunity to escape. Plus, when last she’d been in the bathroom, she’d noticed something that neither of her jailers had recognised as a possible weapon. Thoughts of fighting back covered her shame at being ogled by a pervert.

‘Can you undo my cuffs? I need both hands to do this.’ Kate looked down at her buttoned jeans, then across at the toilet. ‘Unless you intend doing it for me?’

A flush crept over Nixon’s face. ‘Lift your hands up.’

Nixon unlocked her cuffs, placing them on a credenza just outside the bathroom door. He nodded at the toilet bowl. ‘Go on. Be quick.’

Kate worked her wrists, promoting the flow of blood into her weakened fingers. She reached for the door, about to push it to.

‘No you don’t.’ Nixon caught the door with the side of his foot. ‘The door stays open.’

Kate sighed, turning for the toilet and unbuttoning her jeans. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘No problem.’

Nixon grunted something. Then, allowing the door to swing partly shut, he said, ‘We’re not all animals like Rourke. I only want to know what you’re up to; I don’t need the full details.’

‘I didn’t think you were a sicko like him. Thanks, Nixon.’

He exhaled sharply, turning his back. Kate watched him slip his gun back into its holster.

She allowed herself a smile.

Now, she thought, to get out of here.

She’d given Joe all the time she was prepared to. If he was going to rescue her, he’d have done it by now. It was down to her to extricate herself from this predicament. She wasn’t some shrinking damsel from a Hollywood movie who would sit around looking pretty until the hero came charging in to save her. She was a NYPD cop, for Christ’s sake! Time she started acting like one.

Kate actually sat down on the toilet. It wasn’t going to be easy. With her decision to make her break for freedom adrenalin had flowed through her body. At first she desperately needed to urinate, but not now. All her bodily functions had shut down as her body readied itself to fight or run. She had to squeeze hard just to add validity to her story. She used tissue off a roll then flushed, pulled up her clothing, and silently lifted the item she’d noticed wedged behind the toilet bowl. Nixon barely glanced over his shoulder. Kate turned to the sink and ran her hands under the water. She towelled her hands dry, stepping back towards Nixon with the towel still in her hands.

‘Thanks, Nixon,’ she said to attract his attention. She deliberately used his name to humanise him, and to humanise her in his eyes. She smiled. ‘You don’t know how badly I needed that.’

‘Just finish drying your hands and then get back out here.’

‘Sure.’ She allowed the towel to drop to the floor. ‘I’m all done.’

Nixon turned his body halfway into the room. His mouth was coming open to speak. And that was when Kate raised the canister of insecticide she’d lifted off the bathroom floor. She’d concealed it under the towel until she was close enough, had used the cloth to cover her hands while she pulled off the cap. She gave Nixon a full blast of the spray directly into his eyes and open mouth.

The insecticide was never going to kill Nixon. All it would do was sting his eyes and give him a foul taste in his mouth, but the way he reacted was as if Kate had squirted him with sulphuric acid. He lurched away, crying out, his hands coming up to cover his eyes. His spectacles stopped some of the spray, but he was still momentarily blinded. Kate kept on spraying him, giving her all the time she needed for what she had to do next.

She brought up her bare foot and kicked as hard as she could directly in the juncture between Nixon’s legs. She hurt her instep but her pain was nothing compared to what Nixon experienced. He groaned, his hands now going between his legs. He crumpled forwards as his knees gave way. Kate reached across him, snatching at the metal cuffs on the credenza. Then she tried to push past him, to get clear of the bathroom. Nixon grabbed at her, one hand catching at an ankle. Kate kicked loose and she managed to swing round him and bring up the cuffs at the same time. These cuffs were the rigid type with a solid spacer bar between the two hoops of steel. Kate slammed the cuffs down on Nixon’s head. He yowled, one hand coming up to protect his skull, the other reaching for the gun in its holster. Kate slammed him a second time, cutting a chunk out of his scalp.

Nixon tried to turn towards her, but Kate danced around him, catching hold of the hand he had on top of his head. In the next instant she had the cuff on that wrist and she snapped it in place. The advantage of rigid cuffs was that once one of the hoops was in place a person inferior in strength could control a much larger opponent by way of leverage and pain compliance. Kate twisted the cuffs, straightening Nixon’s arm against his elbow, then she tugged, pulling him down and flat on his face. She quickly knelt against his shoulder to stop him getting up then grabbed at his free hand even as she twisted the cuffed arm round. Nixon howled, tried to resist, but she just twisted the rigid bar and he howled again. Then she managed to jam the other cuff in place.

Nixon’s gun was partly out of its holster. Kate grabbed it.

Nixon was face down, but he could still fight back or shout for help.

Kate only had a second to decide. She brought down the butt of the gun on the nape of his neck. Nixon swore. Kate struck him again and some of the fight went out of him.

‘Damn it,’ she whispered harshly. ‘Just black out will you, Nixon!’

She’d seen Joe knock out that colossal monster, Larry Bolan, by hitting him across the back of the skull. Why wouldn’t Nixon just go to sleep so she didn’t have to keep on hitting him? She didn’t want to crush his skull altogether, but it looked like she was going to have to. Then she changed her grip, caught the gun by its barrel, brought it down like a mallet and this time Nixon did flatten out. He exhaled loudly, then fell into a regular rhythm of shallow breaths.

Kate stood up, her entire body trembling.

She glanced round the room, looking for her boots. They were nowhere in sight. She doubted that they’d even been brought from Little Fork. Barefoot she’d be at a major disadvantage but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She moved quickly to the door to the hallway, checking Nixon’s gun as she went. It was a Glock 17, bigger than the model she was used to.

Expertly she ejected the magazine, checked the load and saw it was full. Reinserting the magazine, she racked the slide placing a round in the firing chamber. She flicked off the safety. She was trained never to carry a gun with the safety mechanism disengaged, but she had learned from Joe that the time you wasted flicking off the safety could mean the difference between life and death.

Thinking of Joe, she paused in her flight. What if he’d been killed?

She fought the idea aside. It wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate. Not now. Not ever. Huffman had tried to force information from her by playing on her feelings for Joe. She’d lied, said they were merely engaged in a business partnership, but Huffman had been nearer to the truth than he could ever have guessed. Kate had indeed fallen for Joe.

Enough, she thought. She wasn’t going to get out of this fortress going all weak-kneed over a man. She had to stand firm and do what must be done. There’d be no warning shouts. No warnings at all. She must shoot to kill whether her enemies were too close to miss or not.

She pulled open the door and spied along the hallway. There were closed doors to her left, a long narrow hall to her right. Double doors opened into some sort of lounge area further along. She listened but could hear nothing of the low murmur that had filtered from that same room earlier in the day. She stepped out into the hall, feeling her bare feet skid on polished planks. She sucked in a breath, lifted the Glock and headed for the lounge.

Except for when she’d been brought here and bundled up the stairs gagged and blindfolded, Kate had spent all her time in that one bedroom under constant guard. She had no idea of the layout of the building or of the number of people here. She knew that she was on the upper floor of a large house but she hadn’t realised just how big the place was. It was by definition a ranch, but was more akin to the plantation houses of the Deep South. When she came into the lounge she saw wide French doors leading on to some sort of balcony. Beyond the doors a prairie spread to the horizon, tall grass burnt yellow by the sun and wind. It was heading for late afternoon and the sky had paled, turning a light shade of grey along the skyline.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she looked for another way out. The stairs, she guessed, must be further along the hall. For all she knew they’d take her directly into the midst of Huffman and his men. Her gun would give her a fighting chance, but she wasn’t deluded; she knew exactly what the odds against fighting her way through a group of killers were.

She moved through the lounge, skirting a tall wing-backed chair, her feet squeaking faintly on the boards. Then she came to a halt. A stain marred the floor. A dark fan like a crow’s wings, only this crow must have been massive. She identified the stain without having to study it in any great detail. Blood had seeped into the grain of the wood. Someone had died here, and that death had been very recent judging by the coppery scent hanging in the air.

She wondered if the blood belonged to Joe or Imogen. Had Huffman caught either one of them and ended their lives right there in the centre of his living room?

She closed her eyes, forcing back the images invading her mind. If the blood had been Joe’s or Imogen’s, why would Huffman have allowed her to live this long? He wouldn’t; he’d have killed her or given her to Rourke or to Larry Bolan to kill for him.

Convincing herself that the blood must belong to someone else, she went towards the doors, skirting the stain in the floor. She heard a creak behind her and realised that it was someone walking along the hall. Probably Rourke on his way back to the room where she’d been imprisoned. She’d hoped that she would’ve been allowed a little more time to make her escape, but it looked like she was going to be found out in seconds.

She contemplated waiting for Rourke to pass the doorway and putting a bullet in his heart. That’s what the sick-headed scumbag deserved. But the sound of gunfire would bring the others running. Better that she get onto the balcony where her options for escape might be higher. At least out there she would get an idea of her surroundings and might be able to find somewhere she could hide.

Grabbing the doors, she pulled one open and went on to the balcony. It spanned the entire length of the building. She hurried to the left. Placing her back against the wall she peered round the door frame back into the room she’d just vacated.

Someone passed the doorway without stopping. She was pretty sure that it was Rourke, but he’d changed his clothing since last she’d seen him. He was now in some sort of paramilitary get-up with a hat pulled down over his hair.

Kate counted the seconds.