The Survivors Club (39 page)

The bathroom. Maybe she could find a razor or hairspray. Of course, a razor didn’t exactly compete with a hunting knife and hairspray hadn’t been known to checkmate a gun. Halt or I’ll spritz you to death!

She almost giggled, then realized she was becoming hysterical and bit her lower lip. The movement pressed the gag deeper into the corners of her parched mouth. Her eyes teared.

What if she could make it to the bedroom window? She could open it, maybe get onto the roof. Or if the house didn’t have a first-story overhang, she could always just jump. It would probably hurt. She might break a leg or worse. But given the alternative . . .

She heard a sound. It was a whisper, slithering down the long dark hall.

“Oh Meg, pretty Meg,” David crooned softly. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Fight or flight? Not much time left . . .

Poor beaten Meg made her decision.

Griffin had to get up to the second story. He wasn’t sure how. As in so many small New England homes, the staircase was narrow and steep. With his build, he’d be a walking target all the way up. All Price had to do was hear him coming, turn the corner and open fire.

Then again . . .

Floorboards creaked up above. Price was on the move.

And then Griffin heard another sound. More old wood groaning, then the telltale squeak of a window finally giving way. But this noise came from the opposite corner from the first noise.

There was a second person upstairs. Oh no, Meg . . .

Griffin didn’t have a choice anymore. He abandoned the cover of the table and made his move.

Jillian came around the side of the old house. The first thing she saw was Fitz on the ground, kneeling over another man. “Come on, buddy, come on, hang in there.”

“Detective Fitzpatrick?” she called softly.

He jerked around sharply. It was hard to see his features in the rapidly growing dusk, but his movements appeared dazed.

“Jillian, what are you . . . Never mind. Got a cell phone? I need it now!”

“Is he . . .”

“That son of a bitch David Price shot him as he opened up the basement bulkhead. Guess David was already waiting in the cellar.”

“Meg . . .” the man on the ground murmured. “Price . . . going to shoot . . . her.”

“Shhhh, Griffin’s got her.”

“She’s still in the house?” Jillian dropped down on her knees next to Fitz, then dug in her purse for her cell phone. The downed detective didn’t look good. She could see the stain growing rapidly along his left side. His thin face was abnormally pale, sweat beaded his brow. He was going into shock.

“Here.” She thrust her phone out to Fitz, then took off her long coat and draped it over the man’s chest. He was starting to shake now. The cold grass wasn’t good for him, but she didn’t know if they should move him. She glanced nervously around the bare yard. They were five feet from a house with an armed killer and the damn landscaping didn’t even offer a bush or tree for cover.

Fitz was on the phone. In a quiet, controlled rush he was demanding backup, demanding an ambulance, demanding assistance for an officer down. “Detective Waters has been shot,” he said. “Repeat, we require immediate medical assistance.”

Jillian took Waters’s hand. His fingers felt cold and clammy to the touch. “M-M-Meg.”

“Meg’s fine,” Jillian lied. “Please don’t worry.”

“Got up . . . basement stairs. I . . . distracted . . . Price.”

“Shhhh, it’s going to be all right, Detective. Relax now. You heard Fitz. Griffin’s inside. Griffin will take care of Meg.”

Fitz was done with the phone and was now looking from her to Waters frantically. Jillian understood his dilemma.

“I’ll stay with him,” she said. “You go help Griffin.”

“He’s a good guy,” Fitz said gruffly, still torn as he looked at a downed fellow officer.

“I have Detective Waters,” Jillian repeated firmly. “You help Meg.”

Fitz gave Waters one last look. The detective wearily, blearily waved him off. “G-G-Go.”

Fitz turned. He ran back around to the front of the house, where David Price waited with a gun, where Griffin stalked a killer and where Meg fought for her life.

Jillian sat down in the cold, damp grass. She clasped Waters’s hand in hers. “Stay with me, Detective,” she murmured. “We’re going to get through this. I promise you, we’re all going to get out of this alive.”

Meg was at the window, exposed and vulnerable to the partially open doorway. She could hear movement now, creaking down the hall, growing rapidly closer. David was coming. Slowly but surely, he was checking out each small, bare room.

Not much time, not much time. Come on fingers, work!

She had her arms up, her elbows bent. Sensation was returning to her swollen fingers, and though they felt clumsy and sluggish, she finally had some movement. She’d gotten the blinds up. Now she fiddled with the metal half-moon window clasps until she finally got them turned.

Finally, the tricky part. Her arms were all wrong. Her shoulders still felt strange and disjointed. She didn’t think she could push anything up, let alone an old window stuck in its casing. But there was only one way out of this house at the moment. Only one way to circumvent David.

I am not a victim. I am not a victim.

Meg was weeping. Her breath was labored, her whole body hurt. She thought of how much she loved her parents. She thought of how much she loved Molly. And then she shoved her arms beneath the window, sank her teeth into her bottom lip and pushed with all her might.

The window squeaked, her arms screamed, and then . . . The window rocketed up. She stuck her head out into the crisp night air. And found herself looking straight down at none other than Jillian.

David heard the squeak of a window opening. Meg! She was trying to bail on him. He took two quick steps down the hall, leading with his gun, then he heard another sound, also up ahead, but this time to the right. He halted immediately, straining his ears.

Griffin, he deduced, trying to sneak up the stairs. Goddammit, why couldn’t he have just died in the foyer? David was running out of time for these little games. Dammit, he’d had a
plan
!

He frowned, caught the expression and forced his brow to smooth back out. Think. What could Meg really do from a second-story window? Fall? Break her back? All the easier to kill her later. Griffin posed the more immediate threat. He would deal with Griffin first.

David moved to the right side of the hallway. He pressed his back against the wall and brought his gun up to his chest in a two-handed grip. Griffin would be coming up the stairs low, trying to be less of a target. He might also be wearing a flak vest. So David would also go in low and aim for the head.

He bent his knees, sinking down to the hall floor. He felt fluid, smooth as silk, even after picking the locks of his shackles, divesting himself of his chains, and taking out a fully armed escort. In some ways, prison had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. He’d entered the ACI a physically weak man with a gift for charm. He’d emerged with a finely honed, absurdly flexible physique and a whole new understanding of human nature. Old David had preyed on kids. New David would prey on the entire world.

But first, he would kill Sergeant Griffin.

David eased steadily into the shadows.

“You can’t jump,” Jillian was saying, low and frantic from the yard.

Meg shook her head desperately and leaned out the window.

“Dammit, Meg, it’s too high—”

Meg couldn’t speak through the gag, just show her bound, bloody wrists.

“Oh, Meg . . .”

Meg took a deep breath, then threw one leg over the windowsill.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jillian cried. “Quick, I have an idea!”

Flat on his belly, Griffin slithered his way slowly up the hardwood stairs. He held his gun just in front of his face as he peered warily into the dark void waiting at the top. He grew closer and closer, knowing that at any time Price could strike.

Five steps from the top.

Groans down the hall. Squeaky floorboards, the sound of glass vibrating. He couldn’t think about those things yet. He had to keep his attention on the top of the stairs.

Four steps from the top. Three, two . . .

And then.

Suddenly, quickly, David Price’s face materialized in the gloom. A burst of fire.
BOOM
,
BOOM
,
BOOM
.

Griffin squeezed the trigger even before he felt the first bullet graze his forehead. He rolled sideways, hitting the unforgiving wall as he fired desperately, trying to hit a man he could no longer see. Rings of light exploded in front of his eyes, the muzzle flash temporarily breaking into his dark, dusky world and blinding him.

Blood. Pain. His head.

Griffin kept firing. Then he came up the stairs with an enraged roar.

David ran across the hall. He heard Griffin still firing. Good, good, good, blow your fucking wad, shoot up the staircase. David didn’t have many shots left; he certainly wasn’t going to waste them.

He darted into the bedroom, already looking for Meg.

A cool breeze immediately hit his cheeks, accompanied by a relatively brighter flash of fading daylight. He forced his gaze to readjust and realized that the blinds were up and the bedroom window was open. In the next moment, he heard a thump out in the yard.

David rushed to the open window. He stuck out his head in time to see a woman’s shadowy figure scramble to her feet and run across the lawn.

No, no, no. It wasn’t possible. Meg should be hurt. She couldn’t just get away like that. She was his, his,
HIS
.

David raised his gun to fire. Just as a second shape suddenly materialized from behind the closet door.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

David whirled around. “Meg? What the—”

She caught him in the side with her shoulder and they both went smack against the wall as Griffin roared into the room.

David was tangled. He had to get to his feet, find his balance and regain control. He got one hand around Meg’s neck and shoved her brutally aside. Just in time to encounter Griffin’s fist.

David’s left cheek exploded. He went down hard, registered the new threat in the room and rolled left. He came back up with his gun, squeezing off one wild shot before Griffin had his hand in his massive grip and started twisting his arm behind his back.

David cried out at the sudden pain. Then he grew royally pissed off. This was not according to his plan! This had not been part of his equation!

He went still, sagging forward and letting the sudden impact of his weight drag Griffin off-balance. They both fell forward. David rolled clear first and sprang up onto his feet. This time he had out the hunting knife. That was better.

He went for Griffin’s ribs, just as his old friend and neighbor threw up his arm. David sliced through Griffin’s shirt and had the satisfaction of drawing first blood. He danced back, watching Griffin rise thunderously to his feet. Griffin didn’t appear to have a gun anymore. He had probably run out of bullets on the staircase, then thrown down his gun in disgust. Griffin always acted on impulse. All the better for David.

“I’ve learned a few things since we last met,” David said, bouncing around on the balls of his feet, flashing his knife. He’d lost track of Meg. He decided it didn’t matter. What could a girl do?

“Needlepoint?” Griffin drawled.

“I’m not going back, no fucking way. I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to take out every goddamn cop along the way. I’ve already racked up at least six today. What’s a few more?”

“I think you should take the car in the driveway,” Griffin said, circling warily. “You know, Viggio went to a lot of trouble to set it up just for you.”

“Shit! He rigged it, didn’t he? Well, that just curdles my cheese. I’m the one who told him where to go on-line for the bomb-making guide, you know. Without me, that low-level turd would be
nothing.
”

David leapt forward, slashing at Griffin’s unprotected thigh. Griffin, however, saw him coming, stepped neatly left and slammed him with a fresh uppercut to his left eye. David’s head snapped back. He saw stars but didn’t go down. Instead he spun away and worked to regroup. Griffin was bigger, all right. But David was smarter, and better armed.

Griffin didn’t lunge again but just kept circling. He appeared strangely calm, almost curiously patient.

“Without you, Viggio could’ve been the College Hill Rapist forever,” Griffin said. “No one could ever rat him out—like you were planning on doing.”

“I wasn’t necessarily going to turn him in. What do I care if he’s running around this state terrifying college coeds? I sort of considered him a going-away present for you, Griff. Your job would never be boring. Now I’ll just have to kill you instead.”

“So you keep saying.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Griffin? Where’s the rage, where’s the holy war? Don’t you remember what I did to Cindy? Do I have to tell you again what her last moments were like?”

“Cindy died surrounded by the people who loved her. We should all be so lucky.”

“I told her
every little detail.
”

Griffin didn’t say anything. David frowned. He didn’t like this. Where the fuck was Griffin’s rage? He needed his old friend’s anger. He fed on Griffin’s rage. Griffin’s beautiful, dark, mind-fogging hate, which always lured the oversized detective into doing something stupid.

“She tried to close her eyes, Griffin. I held her eyelids open with my fingers. It’s not like she could fight me.”

Griffin still didn’t say anything. He appeared to be looking behind David at the doorway. David whirled around sharply, saw only the shadowed hall, then had to quickly twist again before Griffin jumped him from behind.

“What you looking at?” David demanded. He was getting the heebie- jeebies again, feeling his control of the situation slip away, though there was no logical reason why.