Keeper of the Bride

onto the road.

Before she could recover her wits, the gun was back at her head. She looked at him, and saw a face that was frighteningly calm. The face of a man who knows he’s in complete control.

“I have nothing to lose by killing you,” he said.

“Then why don’t you?” she whispered.

“I have plans. Plans that happen to include you.”

“What plans?”

He gave a low, amused laugh. “Let’s just say they involve Detective Navarro, his Bomb Squad, and a rather large amount of dynamite. I like spectacular endings, don’t you?” He smiled at her.

That’s when she realized whom she was looking at. What she was looking at.

A monster.

Thirteen

Sam raced down the parking garage ramp, his legs pumping with desperate speed. He emerged from the building just in time to see his car, Spectre at the wheel, careening out of the driveway and taking off down the road.

I’ve lost her, he thought as the taillights winked into the night. My God. Nina…

He sprinted to the sidewalk and ran halfway down the block before he finally came to a stop. The taillights had vanished.

The car was gone.

He gave a shout of rage, of despair, and heard his voice echo in the darkness. Too late. He was too late.

A flash of light made him spin around. A pair of headlights had just rounded the corner. Another car was approaching — one he recognized.

“Gillis!” he shouted.

The car braked to a stop near the curb. Sam dashed to the passenger door and scrambled inside.

“Go. Go!” he barked.

A perplexed Gillis stared at him. “What?”

“Spectre’s got Nina! Move it!”

Gillis threw the car into gear. They screeched away from the curb. “Which way?”

“Left. Here!”

Gillis swerved around the corner.

Sam caught a glimpse of his own car, two blocks ahead, as it moved into an intersection and turned right.

“There!”

“I see it,” Gillis said, and made the same turn.

Spectre must have spotted them, too. A moment later he accelerated and shot through a red light. Cars skidded to a stop in the intersection.

As Gillis steered through the maze of vehicles and pressed his pursuit, Sam picked up the car phone and called for assistance from all available patrol cars. With a little help, they could have Spectre boxed in.

For now, they just had to keep him in sight.

“This guy’s a maniac,” Gillis muttered.

“Don’t lose her.”

“He’s gonna get us all killed. Look!”

Up ahead, Spectre swerved into the left lane, passed a car, and swerved back to the right just as a truck barreled down on him.

“Stay with them!” Sam ordered.

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Gillis, too, swerved left to pass. Too much traffic was heading toward them; he swerved back.

Seconds were lost. Seconds that Spectre pushed to his advantage.

Gillis tried again, this time managing to scoot back into his lane before colliding head-on with an oncoming van.

Spectre was nowhere in sight.

“What the hell?” muttered Gillis.

They stared at the road, saw stray taillights here and there, but otherwise it was an empty street. They drove on, through intersection after intersection, scanning the side roads. With every block they passed, Sam’s panic swelled.

A half mile later, he was forced to accept the obvious. They had lost Spectre.

He had lost Nina.

Gillis was driving in grim silence now. Sam’s despair had rubbed off on him as well. Neither one said it, but both of them knew. Nina was as good as dead.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” murmured Gillis. “God, I’m sorry.”

Sam could only stare ahead, wordless, his view blurring in a haze of tears. Moments passed. An eternity.

Patrol cars reported in. No trace of the car. Or Spectre.

Finally, at midnight, Gillis pulled over and parked at the curb. Both men sat in silence.

Gillis said, “There’s still a chance.”

Sam dropped his head in his hands. A chance. Spectre could be fifty miles away by now. Or he could be right around the corner. What I would give for one, small chance….

His gaze fell and he focused on Gillis’s car phone.

One small chance.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Who’re you calling?” asked Gillis.

“Spectre.”

“What?”

“I’m calling my car phone.” He listened as it rang. Five, six times.

Spectre answered, his voice raised in a bizarre falsetto. “Hello, you have reached the Portland Bomb Squad. No one’s available to answer your call, as we seem to have misplaced our damn telephone.”

“This is Navarro,” growled Sam.

“Why hello, Detective Navarro. How are you?”

“Is she all right?”

“Who?”

“Is she all right?”

“Ah, you must be referring to the young lady. Perhaps I’ll let her speak for herself.”

There was a pause. He heard muffled voices, some sort of scraping sound. A soft, distant whine. Then Nina’s voice came on, quiet, frightened. “Sam?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

“Where are you? Where’s he taken you?”

“Oops,” cut in Spectre. “Forbidden topic, Detective. Afraid I must abort this phone call.”

“Wait. Wait!” cried Sam.

“Any parting words?”