The Firstborn (5 page)

Brett moved to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open gently.

There was the girl. She looked up and saw his face. His heart skipped as he tightened his stranglehold on the pistol’s grip behind his back. She’d seen his face. She could identify him.

Now there was no changing his mind.

He stepped in, closing the door.

Jimmy slammed on the brakes as he saw the trunk burst open in his rearview mirror. To the left he saw the man lift himself out of the snow and dash for the trees at the edge of the road.

The vehicle came to a sliding stop in the snow. He lunged at the passenger’s seat, clawing at a pile of things he’d brought along for cleanup. He snatched the Glock pistol with his rubber-gloved hand and glanced back at the escaping figure in the mirror.

He launched out of the car door, spinning in a single fluid motion, the handgun resting on the roof of the car as he braced himself to fire.

Only time for one shot before the man slipped into the trees…

The gun sounded like thunder.

Snow exploded off the burdened branches of an evergreen, sending white scattering through the air like a starburst. Devin hit the ground and rolled, then quickly scrambled back to his feet and sprinted into the trees.

Hannah stared at the man. He stared back, hand hiding something behind him.

He stood there, not moving, as if he were trying to work up the courage to do something. Her mind skimmed across the surface of possibilities. There were only a few options of things he had come for: her body or her life—or both.

The doorknob at the far end of the room turned, and someone pushed on the door. The man in front of her flinched, then turned around quickly, showing her his back—and the pistol he was holding.

The door opened.

“What are you doing?” Another man, dressed in black, looked around the room.

“Nothing. I was just…”

Hannah stared at the pistol. She wanted to scream, to tell the second man what she saw, but she couldn’t. She tried to speak, but her voice held in her throat.

“You don’t belong in here,” the second man announced.

The first man nodded. “You’re right.” As he spoke he tucked the firearm discreetly in his belt and moved toward the door, following the other man.

Jimmy moved into the trees, lowering his head beneath a branch—eyes sharp and attentive, handgun at the ready. The tracks were clear and distinct in the deep snow.

Just beyond, the world was darker, the ground shadowed by the canopy of trees. He looked for blood—there was none, but there were gaping tracks in the snow. He pushed on toward his quarry.

Silence.

That was all Hannah heard for several moments. Then she heard it, even through the padding—

Her captors.

Arguing. Yelling. Shouting.

Violence?

She held her breath for a moment then threw her head up, attentive to the noise—

The gunshot was deafening.

Devin pressed his back against the tree, his stalker so close he could hear the crunch of snow. He took a long, deep breath—and held it. He had to be completely undetectable, or he was dead.

Jimmy squinted. Just ahead he saw it—the cloth of a trench coat peeking out from behind a small tree. He took in a breath and stepped gently.

Carefully. Silently. Agonizing as he placed his feet in the packed snow at the bottom of each track he followed.

He was getting closer. Rounding the tree. Then his moment—

Jimmy threw himself forward, the pistol in his hand blasting.

One—two—three rounds.

He stopped.

The coat was empty. Riddled with bullets, it hung from a branch, limp and vacant. Cursing to himself he looked around frantically.

Something rammed between his shoulder blades, and he went face-first into the snow, pain stabbing at the base of his skull, chest slamming into the icy cold. His vision only went black for a moment.

He pushed up with a fist then felt an arm swoop around his neck, his chin locking in the cleft of the man’s elbow. Jimmy fought to bite the other man’s arm as he struggled to gain hold with his clawing fingertips. A hand pressed expertly against the base of his skull.

He threw elbows to the side, punches to the face. He clawed, scratched, and tried to jam a thumb under the man’s eye to put it out. The choke hold only tightened. Jimmy felt his body being thrown as he was fought deeper into submission, forced to his knees, his vision swinging hard to the right—

He saw it.

In the snow.

The pistol.

He snatched the cold metal, swinging it upward toward the black man’s face.

One bullet would do—

The pistol bucked in Jimmy’s hand as a round exploded from the muzzle, firing off into the air as a well-placed strike knocked the weapon away. The other arm continued squeezing, and Jimmy reprised violently.

Sweat ran down his back, sweet and slick.

His face burned. Muscles flaming.

Frustration. Burning rage.

He fought to bring his restrained arm to bear—the pistol going off again and again and again, blasting away at the snow near their feet.

He screamed in anger.

The man he would have murdered was quiet, calculated.

Jimmy snarled as the weapon was stripped from his hand, tumbling into the snow.

They both went back, slamming into snow. The air left Jimmy’s lungs and he gasped. The other man’s legs wrapped around his own, holding him down tightly. Trapped.

How did this happen? He was going to kill this man. In cold blood. But he was losing control, body locked in an expertly executed choke hold.

He gasped for air. Gray crept into his vision. Sight blurred. Consciousness slipped.

His world went dark.

Hannah was bleeding from her wrists, the ropes cutting deep into her soft flesh as she tried to work her way free. Her bruised wrists twisted under the stinging strain of the ropes that bit into her. A trickle of her own warm blood slithered down her finger. It hurt so much, but she just kept working.

She wanted to live. She wanted to see the sun.

Footsteps down the hall. Nearing.

Her work became more rapid, trying harder to free herself from the expertly tied fetters.

The door opened. She saw a man dressed all in black. He came close, leaning by her ear. Hannah went stiff—except for her lip, which quivered uncontrollably.