The Damsel in This Dress (29 page)

Soldier pulled his weapon and followed where the cop had gone, Taylor close on his heels.

“Which way?” Soldier yelled to Taylor.

“There! Between those two cars and down that alley!”

While sirens blared and people screamed, Soldier and the three uniforms took off down the street.

When they reached the alley, they were greeted with overflowing trash bins, a rusty Ford station wagon with only three wheels, and brown autumn leaves blowing in the wind. But no Carla Denato.

“Fuck!” Soldier choked out. “We
couldn’t
have lost her.” Turning to a winded Taylor, he said, “You see anything?”

His brother shook his head and looked up and down the street. The two uniforms looked just as stumped.

They hadn’t lost any time getting out the door, and Carla Denato was certainly no athlete. There were no doors she could have ducked into and no cars had left the scene.

Soldier huffed out a huge breath and looked around.

“Where’s the other officer?” he barked. “The one who fired the shots? I thought she was right behind us!”

Taylor wiped his brow. “No. When we ran out, she turned back into the—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes registering understanding.

Panic ripped through Soldier’s brain as realization hit him with the force of a shotgun blast to the gut. “It’s her. Goddammit, it’s her!”

On a dead run, they took off back up the street. By the time they reached the funeral home, sweat slicked Soldier’s face and neck. His weapon was slippery in his hand. As he plunged through the doorway, mourners parted to let him pass.

“Betsy!” he yelled into the confused gathering. “Betsy!”

In the far corner, Dave Hannigan leaned against the wall holding his head in his hands while blood seeped through his stubby fingers. Claire urged him to sit down so she could examine him as Loretta tried valiantly to slow the bleeding with her lace handkerchief. In her other hand she held a limp Chihuahua.

“S-Sorry, Detective,” Dave slurred. “Tried to stop her. Hit me with the gun. Carla. Fuckin’ Carla, man. Didn’t recognize her at all . . . s-sorry—”

Soldier felt his heart turn over in his chest.
Was he too late to save Betsy?

“Out the back door!” Claire yelled above the din. “She only has a two minute head start!”

Two minutes. A gun could empty into somebody’s head in less time than that. Soldier sucked in a huge breath and tried to quell the panic in his heart.

As he raced toward the back of the building, an image formed in his head of Betsy at Carla Denato’s mercy, facing the woman’s lunatic rage. Shoving it aside, he refused to let the scenario form. He sucked in another breath and plunged through the door.

He knew Betsy. She’d find a way to take care of herself until he got there. She was smart and tough and brave. She’d find an edge somehow. Goddammit, she
would
because the alternative was just too sickening to even consider.

Hang on, sweetheart. I’m on my way. God, Betsy, please, hang on. . . .

A
shot was fired. Then another! Betsy watched, her heart in her throat, as Soldier ran out the door and down the steps.

The noise in the room became deafening. People were screaming as they shuffled around, not certain whether they should stay or leave. Next to her, Claire said, “Sorry, honey, but I need to sit down.”

Claire appeared pale and tense. Her cuts were healing, but she was still very weak.

“There’s a spot over there,” Betsy said as she escorted her friend to a vacant chair. “Why don’t you let me get you some water.”

“Ma’am.” She barely heard the woman’s voice above the din. When she turned, the uniformed officer who had been stationed at the door was standing there, her mouth a grim line.

“Yes, Officer?”

The woman said something, but the noise level was so high, it was nearly impossible to understand her words.

The officer raised her voice and appeared to be making an effort to control her temper. “Detective McKennitt would like me to take you to a safe place until this is over! Come with me, now!”

Betsy shook her head. “No,” she yelled over the noise in the room. “I need to stay with my friend.” Turning away from the officer, she began to speak to Claire when, a few feet away, the violently yapping Piddle leaped from Loretta’s arms and attached his sharp little teeth to the police officer’s ankle.

The woman shrieked, then backhanded the dog, sending him flying across the room and into a wall, where he slumped to the floor in a furless heap.

Loretta screamed, and Dave Hannigan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he took a long look at the police officer.

Betsy’s head snapped around, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. A sickening feeling chilled her blood to thick sludge. She became queasy. It was Carla.

Carla sneered and pushed the gun closer to her face just as Dave Hannigan made a lunge for it. Carla swung her arm out of the way, clipping him at the temple, sending him backward into a candelabrum.

Reaching out, Carla grabbed Betsy by the hair and began pulling her toward the back entrance.

Betsy balled her fists and flailed about, trying to connect with Carla’s jaw, but Carla snarled, “Stop it now, or I shoot your friend!” Turning the weapon, she pointed it directly at Claire.

Raising her hands, Betsy breathed, “No . . . don’t . . . I’ll go with you. Please don’t . . .”

People made way for them as Carla dragged her through the room and out the door. In the back parking lot, Betsy recognized Carla’s black Chevy. “Get in!” Carla ordered. “You’re driving.”

Betsy slid into the driver’s side and put her shaking hands on the wheel. When Carla jumped in on the passenger side, she pressed the gun to Betsy’s temple and ordered her to pull out onto the street.

So, this is what it’s all boiled down to.
Betsy guided the car onto the busy street.
How soon will it be before Carla gets tired of the game and blows my brains out?

“Where’d you get the uniform, Carla?” Betsy said, her voice surprisingly calm under the circumstances.

Carla grinned, pulled off her hat and tossed it in the backseat. “Knocked off a dry cleaners. I made such a mess, they never even knew it was missing.”

Betsy swallowed. “I’ve got to hand it to you. Not a soul recognized you.”

Houses, trees, nicely trimmed yards crept by as Betsy kept her speed low, hoping, praying, the cops would fall in behind her any second.

“Not a soul except for that frigging mutt,” Carla snapped as she turned to look behind them and smile. Betsy glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing. She was on her own.

Where’s Soldier? Did Carla shoot him when they were outside? Is he wounded, dead?
Betsy’s mind choked on that thought.

In the uniform, Carla looked totally different. She had dyed her light hair black and cut it short, then darkened her fair skin with liquid makeup. She’d painted her lips a muted orange and given her mouth a different shape. With lifts in her shoes, dark glasses to hide her eyes, and padding to add bulk to her chest and hips, they could have passed each other on the street and Betsy would never have recognized her.

As she drove down Eisenhower Avenue toward the center of town, Betsy reached down and fastened her seat belt.

Carla laughed. “That seat belt won’t save you from a speeding bullet, you moron.”

Ignoring the comment, Betsy shrugged and said, “Where are we going?”

“Just keep driving until I tell you to stop.
I’m
in charge now.
I
give the orders now.
You
have to do what
I
say. I like that, Miss Betsy, practically perfect in every way. I like that a
lot
.”

Betsy’s hands were slick from sweat. The wheel slithered through her fingers. Her heart raced and her mind raced faster.

Stay calm. You can get out of this. You can.

“I thought we were friends, Carla.”

“We were
never
friends, you stupid bitch!” Carla laughed again and shifted in her seat to glance out the back window. “But I know how to be nice. It serves me well sometimes. But the simple fact of the matter is, I hate your guts. Pretty basic when you boil it all down.”

“Did you kill Linda?”

“Sure I did. But then
you
got her job instead of me!”

Sliding a quick look in the sideview mirror, Betsy watched as a dark sedan turned the corner a few blocks back.
Soldier?

Keep her busy, keep her talking. What to say? What to say?

Carla saw the car, too. “Drive faster! Step on it!”

Focusing on the road, Betsy said, “The light’s turning red. What should I—”

“Run it, stupid!”

Betsy closed her eyes and ran the red light, barely avoiding a pedestrian and a kid on a bike.

Sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll come back and apologize later!

As Betsy proceeded down the busy avenue, she said, “You know how, in the movies, when the bad guy—that’s you—has the good guy—that’s me—cornered and he confesses everything?”

Next to her, Carla said nothing.

“Well . . .” Betsy swallowed. “Before you kill me, is there time for you to tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you killed Linda. And Ryan. Why you’re going to kill me.” She laughed, a dry, high, nervous sound. “I mean, this can’t all be because of a job, right? There has to be some bigger, grander thing going on, right?”

As Carla considered her response, a calm began to slowly wash over Betsy. Her breathing steadied and her eyes seemed to be able to take everything in at once. She grasped the steering wheel firmly, her fingers no longer trembling. The knots in her stomach untied. She was not going to die today. She knew it, felt it down to the marrow of her bones, sensed it in the secret chambers of her heart where she’d always kept her most precious dreams. She had a life to live. A man to love. A future. And then she thought:
No, I am going to come out of this very much alive.

Carla must have sensed a change in her demeanor because she pressed the barrel of the gun hard into her temple.

“No grander thing,” Carla snarled. “You messed everything up for me, that’s all. Everything. I lost my job, was forced to kill my boss, had to destroy my apartment. All because of you.” She said the words as though they made perfect sense. “I killed my sister,
my sister
, Betsy! Because of you! You’ll pay for that. I loved my sister and you made me kill her. Yeah,” she screamed, “you’ll pay for that!”

Okay, Carla was nuts. It was now official, and Betsy was able to accept the true, up close and personal meaning of
crazed stalker
.

Even so, even with a loaded gun pressed tightly to her temple, she was still able to focus on Soldier, on the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her, on the way he loved her. No. She was most definitely not going to die today.

She just hadn’t quite figured out how to stop it from happening.

S
oldier’s fingers gripped the dashboard. “As long as Betsy’s driving, Carla won’t shoot her. Even Carla’s not that stupid.”

Behind the wheel, Taylor grunted. “Where do you think they’re headed?”

“That’s what worries me,” Soldier said. “With all exits out of town blocked, she’s either going to use Betsy as a hostage and make some demands, or do something really, really dumb.”

One block ahead of them the black Chevy moved at a steady speed down Eisenhower Avenue, smack into the center of town. Soldier had ordered patrol cars follow at a distance and do nothing to force Carla into any kind of position where she might take the life of her hostage.

Her hostage . . . his future.

“They’re turning left, heading for the ferry,” Taylor said. “What in the hell is she thinking?”

Soldier’s heart and mind raced. Every moment counted. Betsy was caught in the middle and he had to get her out. Alive.

“She’s not thinking. Her plans are toast, she’s been made, and she’s got a hostage. No clean kill, no getaway. It’s all up to Betsy now.”

Without warning, Carla shoved the barrel of the gun against Betsy’s cheek. She wanted to cry out, but bit her lip instead.

“What was that for?” Betsy said, keeping her voice as controlled as she could.

“ ’Cause I felt like it, that’s why,” Carla teased. “How does that song go? ‘
I’ve got the power, oh yeah
!’ ”

Carla was beginning to unravel. Her eyes were glazed with desperation, her hands and forehead sweaty. Her breathing had turned ragged, harsh. She flicked her gaze between Betsy and the car that had been tailing them for the last two miles.

“Carla,” Betsy said, hoping to distract her, hoping to keep her from taking a potshot at Soldier. “I can’t drive with that gun pressed into my—”

“Tough! Now shut up!” she screamed. “Uh, uh, when we get to Madison, turn left, toward the water. Yeah. Toward the water.”

Betsy swallowed past a thick lump in her throat. “Carla, there is no way you can get away with this. Listen to me. If you stop now, turn yourself in, the police—”

“Fuck the police!” she yelled as she ground the barrel of the gun harder into Betsy’s tender cheek.

Betsy whimpered, the pain almost too fierce to bear. A trickle of hot blood slid down her jaw and neck as she fought to keep from crying out.

They crested a hill, and it was a straight shot down to the docks. In the distance, Betsy could see the ferry pulling out, heading south into the sound. There wouldn’t be another one for hours.

Next to her, Carla was mumbling to herself, but Betsy tried to stay focused on the task at hand. She’d never been brave. Would she wail like a baby when Carla pulled the trigger? Would she plead for her life?

No. She would
not.
Besides, she’d already decided she wasn’t going to die today.

She slid a quick glance at Carla.
No. Not today, sister.
She hunkered down and held onto the wheel for all she was worth.

Traffic was sparse as they ambled down Madison. The ferry dock loomed larger in the distance. In a matter of minutes they’d be there.

Betsy’s toe pushed on the accelerator. Still mumbling to herself and panting, Carla didn’t seem to notice.

Glancing quickly to her right, Betsy checked to see whether Carla had fastened her seat belt, and she felt a surge of joy when she saw it dangling behind the door.

She pressed down on the accelerator a little more and the car lurched ahead. In the rearview mirror the car behind them kept pace.

Carla pulled the gun away from Betsy’s cheekbone and waved the weapon in the air. “What the hell are you doing? Slow down!”

In response, Betsy slammed her foot to the floor and the car leaped ahead, nearly causing Carla to lose her balance and drop the gun.

“What the fuck are you
doing
? Slow down or I’ll shoot you
right now
!”

Betsy didn’t spare Carla a glance, but checked to see if the car behind them had sped up as well. It had.

Only four blocks now, only three . . .

Keeping her hands tightly on the wheel, Betsy aimed the car toward the docks. As the decline of the hill increased, so did the speed of the car.

Carla screamed and tried to unlock her door. But Betsy had pressed the lock button. They were in to stay.

“Stop!” Carla’s voice was thick with panic. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will!” She swung the gun toward Betsy. The barrel touched her temple.

Betsy swallowed hard and lowered her head. Again pressing the accelerator full to the floor, she closed her eyes and hung on.

I love you, Soldier. I love you. . . .

One block more and they were on the dock, careening over the planking, roaring toward the water.

The explosion near her head nearly caused her to lose control, but the shot aimed at her head had gone through the roof as the car lurched onto the dock.

Betsy’s ears rang, her nostrils burned. She narrowed her eyes and kept her hands welded to the wheel.

The sound of sirens blasted Betsy’s eardrums, and tears slid down her cheeks. Releasing one hand from the wheel, she doubled her fist and swung it hard until it connected with Carla’s nose. Carla screamed and turned the gun back in Betsy’s direction. She felt the cold metal against her temple again and sent one last prayer heavenward.

Take care of my father, and my mother. And send Soldier somebody to love . . .

Betsy jerked her arm up just as Carla pulled the trigger. The blast shattered the front windshield.

Then the car crashed through the guardrail and sailed off the end of the dock.

Carla screamed, losing her voice as she clawed at her door, trying desperately to get it open.

A split second before the car hit the water, Betsy managed to catch Carla’s eye. “Have a nice trip,” she whispered, “you bitch.”

The car slammed into the water, flinging Carla forward and through the windshield. Betsy’s body strained against the seat belts but she stayed firmly in place as the airbag exploded in her face, punching her chin, making her see stars.

The concussion slammed her skull against the head rest and she was afraid she’d lose consciousness.

Immediately, the car began to sink. Icy water covered the floorboards up to her ankles, then her calves, her knees.

Her fingers were numb and shook uncontrollably as she tried to release her seat belt. She was panting, her heart raced, and terror choked her throat until she could barely breathe. Her mind felt thick and unresponsive.

Finally, a grateful snap and she was free. Flipping the door locks, she grabbed the handle and tried to push open her door, but at that moment the car lurched forward, taking Betsy down.

Cold, black water inched up her neck, her chin, into her mouth. Raising her face, she took one last, deep breath just as the water reached her nose.

Ten seconds passed . . . fifteen . . . twenty. How long could she hold her breath? A minute? More? Less?

She felt the weight of the car dragging her down and down into the cold. She couldn’t see anything and her lungs were near bursting. She gulped for air but got none. Her throat hurt, her head spun. She gulped again.

Darkness closed in as she gave one last push against the door.

It opened.

Then she felt him. His hands on her. His fingers prying hers from the door handle.

He grabbed her hair, her clothes, wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her through the opening, shooting for the surface. Feeling his hands on her, knowing he had come, she thought her heart would shatter.

He shoved her ahead of him, and her face broke the surface. She gulped for fresh air and began to cough violently, choking on cold salty water and hot salty tears.

She took another deep breath and choked again. And cried again. She cried because life was just so damned good, and she wasn’t through living it yet.

Beside her, Soldier coughed and stammered, and called her name. But her eyes were pinched tightly shut and she couldn’t see him.

Voices shouted and sirens sang, competing with the shriek of anxious gulls. Hands were on her, pulling her up, covering her with warm blankets, carrying her from the water to the safety of the dock.

She tried to breathe. Beside her, she heard him panting, calling her name over and over. But she was too tired to answer, too sleepy. Cold ate away her flesh. Lack of oxygen left her muscles and bones like jelly.

She heard him speaking, but it was so far away, and fading. The sound of his voice was low, urgent, and thick with tears.

His hands clasped her shoulders. She felt his warm breath against her face. He pinched her nose and blew into her mouth, and suddenly water erupted up her throat. She choked. More water came, and she gagged and choked again.

“Wake up,” he whispered harshly. “Betsy . . . I love you. Marry me and I’ll give you a baby with blue, blue eyes. But you’ve got to breathe.
Please
. . . wake up!”

She wanted to, she really did, but her chest burned and she just couldn’t get enough air. Turning her head, she coughed again and her lungs began to work, and she could breathe.

Around her, she heard a cheer go up. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he sobbed. “That’s my girl!”

Betsy lay on the dock and smiled. She’d known she wasn’t going to die today. She just hadn’t realized how much effort it was going to take to stay alive.

Opening her eyes a squint at a time, she saw Soldier’s face, wet, worried, gloriously alive. His hair hung over his forehead and she wanted to smooth it away.

“Hi,” he said. “Welcome back.”

“I’m going to hold you to it, you know,” she rasped.

Soldier laughed and tears filled his blue, blue eyes as he pushed a wet lock of hair off her face. “God, I hope so.”

She smiled up into his eyes. “You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. His mouth was warm and held every promise she’d ever dreamed of.

When he pulled back, she choked, “And you want to marry me?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Get me a hankie, I’m gonna cry,” came the bored voice of the paramedic crouched next to Betsy. “Now, will you kindly get your ass out of the way, Detective, so we can get this lady to the ER?”

Soldier quickly kissed her again, and took her hand in his, clasping it tightly, as though he would never let it go.

As the paramedics lifted her onto the stretcher, Betsy breathed softly, “And they all lived happily ever after.”

Then she sneezed.