The One That Got Away (31 page)

Not seeing him was so much worse than seeing him. Not knowing what he was doing added an additional element of fear. She couldn’t make out if he was getting pleasure from his work. She wouldn’t know when the whip was about to strike her. Did he know how much worse he was making this? She didn’t think so. He wasn’t sadistic, just self-absorbed, too wrapped up in his agenda to consider anyone else.

“I’m going to begin now, Zoë. It’s best that you brace yourself physically and mentally for the pain.”

This was really happening. There was no escaping it. She tried to prepare herself for what was about to happen, but she couldn’t. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the concept. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and sweat broke out all over her body.

“Remember, you brought this upon yourself.”

She clamped down on the bit, balled her hands into fists, and wrapped her legs together at the ankles.

The swish of the whip slicing through the air was the only sound she could hear beyond that of her pounding heart.

“One.”

A swish, a crack, then pain. It happened so fast she wasn’t ready, and it took her a confused second that lasted a lifetime before she realized she’d been hit. The impact was brutal. How could something that was as inherently flexible as a whip feel like a steel rod? The agony was searing and explosive. At first, it was a thin blaze across her back but it quickly ignited, spreading down the length of her back and to the center of her body.

She tensed every muscle to deal with the sensory overload she was experiencing. Her body turned to rock.

“Two.”

Swish-crack-fire.

Her brain filled with the noise of her pain. It deafened her. If she screamed, she didn’t hear it.

“Three.”

This lash felt as though it had crossed a previous one. She wasn’t so sure a moment later. The nerve endings in her back could be deceiving her. All of them were firing at once.

“Four.”

Swish-crack-fire.

Her body swung back and forth. The soft breeze failed to cool her; it only heightened the temperature across her flesh. The sweat sprang from every pore, leaking into her wounds and ramping up the pain another notch.

“Five.”

Something slow and thick trickled down her spine. A new wave of panic lit her up.
Am I bleeding?
her mind screamed. She couldn’t tell if it was real or a delusion.

Far off, someone was calling her name. She opened her eyes. The Tally Man was standing before her. He reached up to remove the bit from her mouth and placed the stool under her feet. She sagged under its support.

“That’s just the beginning,” he said. “We have a long way to go. I want you absorb what has just happened before we continue.”

An image of Holli hanging in the workshop filled her mind. Her body had been slack, streaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. She’d looked so bad that Zoë had thought she was dead. How many lashes had her friend endured by the time she had peered through the grime-encrusted windows? A low number was just as frightening as a high one. A low one meant the whip possessed devastating power. A high one meant she had much further to go.

“Are you sorry, Zoë?”

“Yes.” The word took all her effort to utter.

“Really? Your carelessness has brought people pain and frustration. Do you understand that?”

What people?
she wanted to ask.
Who exactly did I hurt?
But the questions weren’t worth asking. There were no answers. There was no making amends. None of it made any difference to him. He was making a statement, and nothing she did would change his mind.

He hopped up onto the stool with a bottle of water. He uncapped the bottle and put it to her mouth. She drank greedily, spilling as much as she swallowed. It didn’t matter. The water cooled the fire inside her, dulled the pain, and damped down the white noise in her brain.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He smiled sympathetically. “That’s good. Let’s continue.”

He put the bit back in her mouth and removed the stool from under her feet again.

She closed her eyes in resignation, then snapped them open. She’d just heard the sound of a vehicle drawing up outside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Trinity County Sheriff’s Department,” the officer called. “Anyone here?”

Shit
, Marshall Beck thought. Zoë screamed, but with the bit in her mouth, it was reduced to a growl. He spun around and drove a fist into her stomach. The scream died in her throat as she fought to get her breath back.

“You need to be quiet, Zoë. I can’t have you spoiling this.”

“Hello?” the officer yelled and followed it up with a blast from his car horn.

Beck jumped down from the stool, snatched up the chloroform rag, and gave it a fresh dousing before hopping back up. “I apologize for the interruption, but this shouldn’t take too long.”

She screamed again through her bit, but he smothered it with the rag. He watched the chloroform take effect and Zoë’s body go limp.

Beck slid off the stool and tossed the rag on his bench. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He had to be careful with this deputy. Confrontation wasn’t the answer. He had no beef with the officer. The man was only doing his job. But more importantly, his dispatch would know he was here, although the bigger question was why. This place was under the radar, so nobody should have any reason to be here unless they thought he was a suspect—and that would be problematic. He picked up his Bowie knife and slid it into his pants at the small of his back.

“Coming,” he called.

He strode out of the barn with Brando at his side. A broad-shouldered deputy in his forties was standing next to his cruiser, looking toward the house. He took the sight of a lone deputy as a good sign. This was a fishing expedition. If it had been truly serious, there’d be a whole SWAT team here.

“Hi there,” Beck said brightly. “Anything I can help you with?”

The officer spun around. His hand went to his right hip, and he drew his gun.

Beck knew in that moment his secret hideaway was no longer a secret. It wasn’t the end of things; it just meant he would be starting over again. He could easily disappear and reemerge under a different identity. He knew this day might come. He just had to lose this officer.

He stopped moving and raised his hands. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

“I need you to stop right there.”

“You’ve got a gun on me. I’m stopped. Just tell me what the problem is.”

“Are you the property owner?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Marshall Beck?”

“Yes.”

“Are you alone?” the deputy asked.

An edge crept into the deputy’s tone, but Beck didn’t detect fear. The man was a professional in a high-pressure situation.

“Yes, it’s just me and the dog. I’m here working on restoring this place.”

“Sir, I have to take you into custody.”

“Custody? Why?”

“It’s in conjunction with a San Francisco Police Department matter.”

“What matter?”

“You’ll have to take it up with them. I just have to take you into custody. Now I need you to lie facedown on the ground with your fingers interlaced behind your head.”

Despite the situation, Beck wasn’t worried. This deputy didn’t know who he was dealing with. He could be talked down.

“Oh, this is crazy. You don’t have to do this. If you need me to come with you, I’ll come with you. There’s no need for the
America’s Most Wanted
act.”

“Sir, I just need to you to follow procedure.”

The deputy reached for the radio mic clipped to his shoulder. Beck couldn’t let the deputy spoil his plans by making contact with his department and having them storm the place. He had to finish up here first. Had to finish with Zoë. He strode toward the deputy.

The deputy took his hand off the radio. “Hold it right there, sir.”

“OK, OK. I get it,” Beck said and stopped.

He might have gotten it, but Brando hadn’t. The dog breezed past him and kept on approaching the deputy.

“Sir, I need you to secure the dog.”

“I thought you wanted me to lie down. I can’t do both.”

“Sir, please.”

Beck detected the hint of fear in the deputy’s voice. He made no move for Brando and let the dog continue edging toward the cop. “It’s OK. You’re a stranger, and he just wants to check you out. I can make this a lot simpler. Let him come over there and sniff you and then he’ll be as good as gold.”

The deputy swung the gun to aim at Brando. Beck liked that the gun was off him, but not at Brando’s expense.

“Just secure your dog. I don’t want to be forced to shoot it.”

Beck bottled his sudden flare of rage. “There’s no need for that.”

“Then secure your dog, sir.”

Brando had covered half of the forty yards between him and the deputy.

Beck held out his hands. “His leash is in the car, so I need to come over there to get it.” He took an exploratory step closer to the deputy. “Is it OK if I come over there?”

The deputy swung the gun back to Beck. “Hold it right there.”

Beck did. He watched the deputy play through his options. He didn’t have any. It was two against one. No solution worked to his benefit.

“I’ll get the leash and throw it to you. Just tell me where it is.”

“Backseat or passenger seat. You should see it. It’s not locked.”

“Don’t move.”

Beck raised his hands again in confirmation.

The deputy went to the side of Beck’s Honda, his gaze and aim vacillating between Brando and Beck. Brando was less than ten yards from the squad car now.

“Tell the dog to stop moving.”

“Brando, stop.”

Brando ignored Beck, as he’d hoped.

“Like I told you, he’s curious.”

The deputy had to take his gaze off them to search for the leash. The moment he turned his head to open the door, Brando bolted for him.

Beck grinned. The dog was a true friend. The truest he’d ever known.

Brando moved with speed and stealth. The deputy had his head in the SUV and was totally unaware the dog was closing in on him until the animal was upon him. He had about a second’s notice before Brando slammed him into the side of the vehicle. He crumpled under the dog’s charging eighty-pound weight. The deputy yelled out when the dog bit down on his gun arm.

Beck took the yell as his cue and ran at the downed deputy. Brando had him pinned against the side of the SUV. The dog continued to chew on the deputy’s arm, thrusting him forward and slamming him into the side of the vehicle. The deputy smashed Brando again and again with his free arm with little effect. He tried kicking, but it was also pointless. The deputy was fighting an animal that knew one thing—killing.

Brando changed tactics and yanked at the deputy, dragging him away from the vehicle and out into the open. He was also hauling him away from his weapon. The deputy lunged for his dropped gun, but it was out of reach. The cop had lost this one.

Then the deputy reached for his belt and pulled out his Taser. He pressed it to Brando’s neck and pulled the trigger. The dog recoiled from the electric shock with a yelp, confusion and pain on his face. He stopped, appraising the deputy. That was all the edge the deputy needed.

Beck saw how it would all play out before it happened. “No,” he screamed.

The deputy rolled toward his gun. He snagged it, aimed it at Brando, and fired twice into the pit bull’s chest. The two rounds dropped the dog where he stood.

Seeing the dog go down, the deputy let the strength go out of his body and lay on his back, trying to catch his breath.

Still running, Beck yanked his knife free from his waistband. “You bastard.”

The deputy popped back up with his gun aimed, but Beck loomed over him and kicked the pistol from his hand before dropping on top of him. The deputy yelled something at him that he didn’t register. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, fueled by his rage and hate. He rammed the knife into the cop’s stomach, where the bulletproof vest didn’t cover it, and jerked it up in the search for vital organs.

The deputy screamed out. Shock overwhelmed his expression, then froze it. His body stiffened, his back arching. Beck intensified his pressure on the knife, twisting and turning, forcing it that little bit deeper, letting it do that extra bit of damage.

“You shouldn’t have shot my dog,” he said, then yanked the knife out. Blood poured from the devastating wound, but the deputy did nothing to stanch it and neither did Beck.

He clambered to his feet and went to Brando’s side. The dog was still. He dropped to his knees and put his ear to the pit bull’s chest. There was no heartbeat.

He wept, the sobs racking his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried for anyone. He hadn’t even done that for himself in his worst moment.

He wanted to hold his friend longer, but his priorities kicked in. He didn’t have much time to finish things here. When this deputy didn’t report in, they’d send others. He estimated he had an hour before anyone else came by. Trinity County was big, and the police force was small. He had time.

“I’m sorry, Brando. You deserved better.”

He pushed himself to his feet, looked down at the dog, gone but not forgotten, then over at the deputy. He wasn’t conscious, but his chest rose and fell shallowly. An ever-expanding pool of blood circled him. There was no saving him. It was just a matter of time.

There was just one more thing left to do before he could go. He strode back to the stable. What had happened here wasn’t Zoë’s fault, but she would pay the price for it.

When he reached the stable, Zoë was nowhere to be found.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The gunshots had jerked Zoë awake from her chloroformed daze. Gunshots were a good sign. Beck didn’t have a gun. It had to be the cops.

I’m safe
, she thought, but the screaming that followed made her thought fleeting. She couldn’t see anyone outside the stable, but she knew, just knew, it was the policeman who’d screamed.

She’d almost lost hope, but the arrival of the cop had changed things. People would know he was here and follow up when he didn’t report in. How long before that would happen? Twenty minutes? An hour? It wasn’t worth speculating on. She needed to focus on staying one step ahead of Beck, and he’d given her the opportunity.