Miranda fired a shot to distract Larsen. Her bullet hit the ground right in front of him, but he didn’t flinch.
He was going to shoot Ashley in the back. Just like Sharon.
She jumped up. “David Larsen!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
That got his attention. He turned the rifle on her at the same time he moved away from the shield of the rocks.
They fired at the same time.
Miranda rolled to the left, the bullet coming so close to her head she felt its warmth against her cheek.
Larsen grunted. Had she hit him? Where?
She didn’t dare look and scrambled toward the relative safety of a pine.
She couldn’t see him.
Another minute ticked off. She ejected the empty clip from her gun, slammed in a full clip, and chambered a round.
She could no longer see Ashley, which meant neither could he. Unless he’d gone after her.
She had to distract him.
“I know who you are!” she shouted. “Everyone knows who you are, David.”
She heard the distinct sound of him reloading. Much, much closer than she thought. He wasn’t talking.
He’d never talked much.
“The FBI is all over this mountain. I’ve been talking to them in on the radio. They know exactly where you are. You’ll never get out of this canyon.”
She felt his breath on her neck. An icy shiver ran from the base of her skull down her spine. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
He chuckled faintly. “Run.”
She pivoted sharply to the left and swung her right leg high up, startling him into dropping the rifle.
He grunted and attempted to grab the stock. She kicked him in the gut, using her momentum to push him to the ground and roll away from him. Her wrist hit a rock and she lost her grip on her gun.
He grabbed her leg as she scrambled for her gun, but it was just beyond her reach.
He yanked her toward him, trying to climb on top of her. Not to rape her, but to kill her. He grunted as he grabbed her waist and pulled himself over her body.
She used the slope and gravity to roll left, forcing him off her. He hit her in the right kidney and she cried out.
But she felt the barrel of his rifle at her fingertips.
She swung it and the stock hit him in the head as he loomed above her. He collapsed to the ground, shaken. Scrambling up, she aimed the rifle at him. “How do you like being the hunted?”
Her breath came in sharp gasps, adrenaline pouring through her. His life was in her hands. One shot to the head and it was over. She aimed. Pressed the trigger.
She looked down. She hadn’t chambered the round.
He didn’t hesitate and grabbed the end of the rifle. She fought for it, but he yanked it from her hands. Then he slipped, losing his grip on the gun, and it slid down the slope out of reach.
She saw the glimmer of a knife in his belt. This was it. She’d never be able to defeat him in hand-to-hand combat. He was skinny, but tall and much stronger than he looked.
He glared at her, his crystal blue eyes cold with hate. Then he smiled slyly.
“You will die today.”
He jumped on her.
Quinn heard gunshots. They were so close, but what if it was too late?
He ran as fast as he could, stumbling over rocks and splashing through the rising creek.
He heard a startled cry. Miranda. He couldn’t see her, but she wasn’t far off. He added speed, desperate to call her name but not wanting to alert Larsen.
He burst into a clearing, stopping just in time to avoid sliding down a boulder. Right below him, Larsen had Miranda pinned to the ground. In Larsen’s hand was a knife.
Quinn reached for his gun.
Her heart raced, adrenaline pumped through her veins. It was as if her eyesight had become sharper, her hearing better.
Larsen’s body pinned her down, his left arm pressed hard across her throat. The knife in his right hand shimmered, rainwater dripping from the blade onto her face.
Her greatest fear was she would be paralyzed. That she’d never be able to defend herself when her life was on the line. That the years of self-defense classes she took, the ones she taught, the exercise, the determination, was all for naught.
That he would win in the end.
She reached up with her left hand and gouged his eyes as deeply as she could. He roared in pain and leaned away from her, raising his right arm high above his head, the sharp blade of the double-edged hunting knife coming down, down.
She arched her back and used his precarious balance to throw him off.
She didn’t wait to see how he landed. She jumped up, but he grabbed her foot and pulled her down again. She was on her stomach, the worst possible position. A hot burn seared the back of her calf. Warmth oozed out of her body, molding her jeans to her leg.
He’d stabbed her.
Miranda heard someone shout and the Butcher paused, his weight easing off her.
It was just enough.
Using her arms, she pushed herself up and back-kicked him with her damaged leg. Pain radiated through her body and she wobbled with vertigo. She shook it off.
Larsen stumbled, fell, and dropped the knife. They lunged for it at the same time.
Miranda felt her hand clasp warm, sticky metal. Sticky with her blood.
She stared at him and their eyes locked.
Larsen’s soulless eyes told her everything she needed to know about him.
He killed because he could. It was the hunt that thrilled him.
The hunt was over.
He lunged for the knife. Without hesitating she shoved the blade into David Larsen’s chest. His blood spilled over her hands and he reached for her. She cringed, but didn’t let go of the knife.
His mouth worked, but only gasps came out. He was trying to say something.
It sounded like
She didn’t understand the reference to the Greek god, if that’s what it was.
She watched him die, looking at his face clearly for the first time.
He didn’t look evil.
This man had raped her. Brutalized her body and scarred her breasts. This man had killed her best friend in cold blood, and at least six other women. He’d terrorized the women of southwest Montana for twelve years, making them scared to be alone. To drive alone. Or even in pairs.
Even though he was dying, no one would ever forget his reign of terror.
But he didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a scared kid. Blood dribbled from his mouth and his eyes looked skyward.
“Ther-on.”
She released the knife and staggered backward. He crumbled in front of her, his hands clutching the knife that still protruded from his chest.
She sank to the ground, her leg aching, her heart racing, her mind numb.
