open, drenching her white work shirt with blood, now in the process of drying. She appeared to be staring right at him. Instinct made him check her carotid pulse, though he knew her gray eyes and milky, nearly colorless skin meant she was looking only into oblivion.
Nick turned his head to the right to look away. That was when he saw Mollender. The Mole was directly opposite Noreen on the other side of the room, nearer the windows. He, too, was spread-eagled, but facedown on the polished oak floor. Two feet away was a heavy, eight-inch kitchen knife, covered with gore. The right side of Mollender’s head had been blown apart-an exit wound. From his years of dealing with gunshot wounds, Nick knew there would be a bullet hole on the opposite temple. Blood continued seeping from the gaping hole and fragments of bone and brain tissue dotted the floor like tiny islands of death. Nick took a few cautious steps forward, his eyes now transfixed on the dull steel of a pistol resting next to Mollender’s outstretched, lifeless hand.
A guttural, primal scream exploded from Nick’s throat as he crouched by the body. The odd little record room librarian had killed his one-time lover and then shot himself. That conclusion seemed obvious. But why? The two of them had held hands. They appeared to be doing wonderfully. He did not know Mollender well, but on the surface at least, the man hardly seemed capable of such violence.
It was then that Nick heard the click of the door closing behind him. Startled, he whirled around, rising to his feet. His leather bag, still slung over his shoulder, swung in an arc across the front of his body as he confronted a tall, well-built man, dressed head to toe in black. He was wearing latex surgical gloves. The heavy pistol held loosely in his right hand was pointed at the center of Nick’s chest.
Nick’s gaze traveled upward, until he met with the coldest pale blue eyes he had ever seen. Pure evil.
“What have you done?” Nick shrieked. “Why?”
“Pipe down, Doctor,” the killer said calmly. “What I’ve done is the non-kill that I do better than any other. Murder-suicide. I’m a master at it if I do say so myself. What do you think?”
He gestured to the grotesque pair of corpses.
This was the man. Nick knew immediately. This was the man who had sat by and watched Belle Coates die. He wasn’t the stocky killer in the OR, but he was probably responsible for some of the other deaths, if not all of them. Nick could barely keep from charging him. In fact, fueled by rage, he actually took a half step forward.
“Easy, Doc. This thing could get ugly for you quick. You brought the DVD?”
The man spoke with utter confidence, and his soulless eyes actually flickered with a hint of joy.
Suddenly, Nick was certain that he had Jillian.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“She?”
“Jillian Coates. Where is she? If anything happens to her, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Relax, Doctor. Isn’t that what you tell your patients before you take your index finger and ream them? Just relax. From what I can see, you’re not really in a position to demand or threaten anything. Besides, as chance would have it, I stopped by Roger Pendleton’s place right after you left and retrieved one of the discs. It had this lovely woman’s business sticker on it. That’s what led me here. With a little prompting, she told me you probably had the second of the two discs she gave you. I had our friend Mollender over there summon you here. So, give me the DVD.”
“What DVD?”
“DON’T FUCK WITH ME!”
Nick recoiled from the ferocity of the killer’s outburst. As quickly as that explosion came, the emotion drained from the man’s face until he was once again a steely evil. In an unhurried voice he said, “You know what I’m talking about, Doc. That cute little nurse died rather than expose her sister to the pain I had in store for Jillian. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t do it to her now.”
Nick’s heart beat wildly. He could feel his blood pressure rising, releasing beads of sweat across his brow and down the back of his neck. Instead of reacting irrationally, though, he closed his eyes, willed his pulse to slow, and began taking charge of his emotions.
His only option, for himself and for Jillian, was to buy some time. To that end, he had two possible tools: the DVD, and the monster’s gigantic ego.
It might be too late for him, too late for Jillian, but he had to do what he could to take charge of the PTSD that had controlled his life for so long. He had to act intelligently, rationally, and with force.
“Why are you doing this?” he began, searching for an opening-any opening. “Who are you?”
“Hey, slow down. I have the big gun, so I get to ask the questions. Now where’s the disc? In your sack, there? In the glove compartment of your car? Don’t make me tie you up and torture you, my friend, because if I have to do that, after you’re bloody and dead, I’m going to settle up with that girl of yours. And I mean settle up in every sense of the words. Now, the disc.”
“Just tell me. Tell me how you managed to kill all those people from the OR without having anyone know.”
It looked as if the killer was about to answer him. But before he could, Nick heard the haunting first notes of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.” The man pulled a cell phone off of his belt clip, never for a second lowering his gun or averting his soulless eyes. For several seconds he held the phone to his ear and listened.
“No, he hasn’t given me the DVD,” he said. “I think I can convince him, but it may require more pain than he’s equipped to endure.”
He listened again, then took a step toward Nick, the pistol an accusatory finger now pointing steadily at Nick’s heart.
Then he grinned.
“It’s for you,” he said.
CHAPTER 45
“Who is this?” Nick shouted into the killer’s phone.
“Mr. Koller there intends to torture you, until you give us the disc, or you die,” a man’s gravelly voice said. “I don’t want you to die. I have great respect for you as a man and a patriot who has served his country with honor.”
The voice sounded familiar, Nick thought, but from where? It was unhurried and composed, with an edge of power and entitlement.
“Who are you?” Nick said. “Why are you having these people killed?”
“Dr. Garrity, I believe if you were in my position, you would do the same thing.”
Again Nick tried to connect with where he had heard that voice before.
“That’s insane,” he said. “You’re insane. It was you in the operating room, wasn’t it? You’re the one who killed Umberto.”
“You’d be better off letting me drive this conversation,” said the man. “So I suggest you listen and try to understand what this is all about.”
Nick’s eyes met Koller’s. The gun in his right hand was rock steady and pointed straight at his head. The self- confident smirk etched across the killer’s face had Nick envisioning kicking him full force in the teeth.
“At least tell me who you are,” he said, his composure now largely regained.
“All you need to know is that you have become involved in business that is of the utmost importance to our country’s national security. The danger we are facing is very real. We need you to act like the soldier that you are.”
Nick caught his breath. He felt his chest tighten. The room seemed to be spinning.
The man’s ads had been all over the media. Alone and with moderate presidential candidate John Greenleigh.
Ramsland the patriot.
It was all starting to make sense. The ads portrayed the man as the consummate American, whose promise
