I fight like I’ve never fought before. Vaguely, I’m aware of the fire a few feet away. I smell smoke and kerosene. His coat burns next to the heater. The floor is catching, flames leaping three feet into the air. Hope soars at the thought of a passerby noticing the light.
All hope evaporates when he comes down on top of me. The first blow glances off my chin. I try to twist, roll away. But his weight crushes me. I kick with my right leg, but the angle is bad. A second blow slams into my left temple. My head bounces against the floor. White light explodes behind my eyes. He hits me again and I hear my cheekbone crack. Pain zings up my sinuses. Darkness crowds my vision, and I struggle to stay conscious.
My brain chants the words like a mantra. I try to head-butt him, but he’s ready this time. Hissing a curse, he drives his fist into my solar plexus. The breath rushes from my lungs. I hear myself retch. I try to suck in a breath, but my lungs seize.
The next thing I know his hand is around my throat. He’s incredibly strong. I open my mouth for air, but my airway is crushed. Panic descends in a rush. I buck and writhe beneath him. Stars fly in my peripheral vision. I feel my tongue protrude. My eyes bulge. I wonder if this is what it’s like to die.
Dark fingers encroach on my vision. Vaguely, I’m aware of him speaking, but I don’t understand. Consciousness ebbs. All I can think is that I want to live.
John would have missed the house if it hadn’t been for the yellow glow in the window. At first he thought he was imagining things. That maybe the dash lights were playing tricks on him. Then he saw it again. A flicker of yellow through the seemingly impenetrable wall of snow.
Headlights? Flashlight? Or fire?
Cutting the headlights, he stopped the Tahoe in the middle of the road. He tugged the Sig from his shoulder holster, pulled back the slide to chamber a bullet. Snow and wind bombarded him when he opened the door. Visibility was down to a few yards. He fought his way toward the house. Thirty feet in, he caught another glimpse of light. He nearly ran into the vehicle sitting in the driveway. Detrick’s Suburban, he realized. Immediately behind it, Kate’s Mustang was attached with some type of tow mechanism.
John slid his cell phone from his coat and dialed Glock. “I found them.” He could barely hear his voice above the scream of the wind. “The abandoned house near Killdeer.”
“I’m on my way.”
John dropped the phone into his pocket. He had no idea what to expect inside. But he had two things going for him. First, he knew Detrick kept his victims alive for quite some time. Second, the storm was the perfect cover.
CHAPTER 36
The first thing I’m aware of is that I can breathe. My mouth sags open. My tongue feels like a dry sock, but I suck in air by the mouthful. I smell smoke and kerosene. I’m laying on my back, my arms locked beneath me. I hear the wind outside, tearing around the house, a beast on a rampage.
I open my eyes to find Detrick over me. I see blood beneath his nose. The dark stain of it on his shirt. Everything that happened rushes back. The fight. The fire.
I raise my head and see that the fire is out. I feel the cold floor beneath my backside, and I realize my panties are gone. Detrick stands a few feet away. He’s removed his slacks, completely this time.
“Scream for me, Kate.” Crossing to me, he kneels and comes down on top of me. “Scream for me.”
I do the only thing I can manage and spit.
He stiffens, then his tongue snakes out and licks the spittle from the side of his mouth. I stare into his awful face. A face etched with unfathomable cruelty. I can’t believe my life is going to end this way. I can’t accept that. I won’t. The will to live rages inside me. Too powerful to be snuffed out. Too hot to be cooled. All I can think is that I’m not going to let him do this.
But hope is quickly dwindling. That precious lifeline has been severed. I’m alone in a raging sea with no chance of rescue.
Closing my eyes, I throw my head back and scream.
Blinded by snow and wind, John felt his way to the rear of the house. Twice he lost his footing and fell, but he never let go of the Sig or lost his sense of direction. The wind tore at his clothes as he went around to the back. He saw a porch, the screen flapping like laundry in the wind. Keeping low, he ascended the concrete steps and approached the door.
Dim light floated through the grimy glass. John peered inside, saw a dilapidated kitchen. He twisted the knob and the door creaked open. Praying Detrick didn’t hear him, he crept inside.
Kate’s scream raised the hairs at the back of his neck. His heart rate spiked. John had seen a lot of terrible things in his years as a cop. He’d seen the inhumanity man can inflict; he’d seen his own family murdered. Still, the anguish echoing in that scream went through him like a switchblade.
He sidled through the kitchen. Pressing his back to the wall, he peered into the next room. Dim light from a heater illuminated Detrick kneeling over Kate. He was nude from the waist down. John couldn’t see her face, just a partial silhouette as she lay on the floor.
A second scream rent the air. Gun leading the way, John rounded the corner. Detrick must have sensed his presence, because he turned his head. His eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, looked wildly around.
“Get your hands where I can see them!” John shouted.
Detrick lunged toward the mantel.
Kate raised her head.
John fired twice. Center mass. The first shot hit Detrick in the side just below his armpit. His body went rigid, then he went to his knees. The second shot penetrated his right cheek, snapping his head around as if he’d been punched. He fell on his side and lay still.
John didn’t remember holstering his weapon or crossing to Kate. He saw her shattered expression. Bare legs covered with specks of blood. Hurt, he thought, but alive.
A sob tore from her mouth when he knelt beside her. “I’m here,” he rasped. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“He was going to kill me,” she choked.
“I know, honey. I know. It’s over. You’re okay.”
She was bare from the waist down. He didn’t let himself think about what might have happened as he worked his coat from his shoulders and covered her. All that mattered was that she was alive. He hadn’t been too late. Not this time.
“How bad are you hurt?” he asked.
She was sobbing now, shaking uncontrollably, unable to speak.
John wanted to pump another round into Detrick. “I’m going to untie your hands, okay?”
Gently, he helped her sit up. He used his pocketknife to cut the cloth binding her wrists. When they were free, he took her hands between his and rubbed. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“Kate, did he . . .”
Tears streamed from her eyes when she looked at him. “No.”
Relief struck a hard blow. John could feel his own emotions winding up. “Come here,” he whispered.
She reached for him.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said.
“Promise me,” she whispered.
“I promise.” When he wrapped his arms around her, she broke into a thousand pieces.
CHAPTER 37
