by Willow Rose
“Oh, I do know,” I said and cupped my mouth. If this guy was after Kimmie or if he already had her, then we had to act fast to bring her to safety. These guys weren’t joking around. They weren’t only just helping to gather intelligence for those that hired them; they were also killers. I had no idea that Wanton would take it to this level, but it made a lot of sense now. It didn’t make me feel better about my decision not to help her out when she asked me to. I couldn’t stop thinking about the two officers that had been guarding her in the apartment. They didn’t stand a chance against this guy. It was a miracle that we hadn’t found Kimmie’s dead body in there as well.
As I lay awake, I couldn’t help thinking about why we hadn’t found her body. Had Wanton wanted her alive? If so, why? Or had she gotten away by some odd miracle?
“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come back here?” Isabella had asked.
“I can’t,” I had lied. I didn’t want her to know I was already there. I needed to be able to do my own thing first. “Kids and stuff.”
“Ah, I see. Well, let me know if you change your mind. We could use your eyes on this, especially since you know her.”
“I wouldn’t say I know her well,” I said right before I pretended I had to go, so she wouldn’t start asking questions, and we hung up.
I stared at the phone, then opened Instagram again and looked at Kimmie’s profile and the old picture of her and Chad.
I drove into a small town south of D.C. called White Oak, and it was like entering a completely different world with all its small quaint houses and landscape. I drove up in front of the building and parked right under the sign that I recognized from the Instagram photo and killed the engine.
Coming here was a far stretch, but it was worth a try, at least—desperate times and all that stuff.
As I stared at the dark building in front of me, I was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t too far a stretch, if I had made a mistake.
And then I saw something that made me realize that not only had I come to the right place, but also at the exact right time.
Chapter 28
She didn’t wake up until it was too late. Kimmie had been dreaming, a wonderful dream where she was back with Chad, and everything was perfect. She woke up with a gasp, bathed in sweat, when she realized the sliding doors leading to the balcony were open, and for one brief second, she wondered if she had left it that way or maybe Tristan had woken up and needed some fresh air.
But he was still next to her in the bed.
Then she felt the presence of someone in the room, and before she could scream and wake up Tristan, she felt a clammy gloved hand cover her mouth. She was yanked off the bed and onto the floor. She tried to kick out from underneath him as he dragged her across the carpet. Panic spread inside her as he stopped, put her head in his lap, and placed a gun on her cheek. Kimmie grumbled something beneath his gloved hand until she spotted the gun. She stared in desperation at her sleeping son. The gun had a silencer on it like the ones you saw in the movies, so chances were he wouldn’t even hear it as the trigger was pulled. He’d just wake up to find his mother dead, blood staining the carpet.
Killer long gone.
He’ll blame himself. He’ll always wonder why he didn’t wake up in time to save his own mother, how he couldn’t have heard anything. He’ll suffer from unbearable guilt for the rest of his life!
She tried to scream again, “Help, help me!” with the result that the attacker tightened his grip on her mouth, and as she writhed and fought him, trying to hit and kick, he pulled her head back so hard her neck cracked. As she looked up at him, panic-stricken, she saw his finger move on the trigger and closed her eyes, deciding this was it. There was no more for her here on this earth.
They had won. The bad guys had won.
Chapter 29
It wasn’t pretty. I was very happy no one was around to see me climbing up the drainpipe toward the balcony on the second floor, where I had seen the guy climb up. I had a hard time pulling myself up as my arms weren’t strong enough, and as I rolled onto the balcony, panting in exertion, I hurt my shoulder. I didn’t have time to complain, so I got up, then cursed my bad shape before pulling out my gun from the pocket of my hoodie and hurrying inside through the sliding doors.
I made it just in time to see her lying on the floor, a man in a red baseball cap holding her, a gun placed against her head.
The finger on the trigger was moving just as I spotted them, then paused as the guy laid his eyes on me. We locked eyes for a few seconds, me pointing my gun at him.
“You let her go now, or I’ll kill you.”
“Mom?”
Tristan sat up in the bed.
“What’s going on? Mo-OM?” he shrieked the last part as he saw his mother on the floor.
“Stay where you are, Tristan,” I said, not taking my eyes off the guy I assumed only could be Yossi David, the hired killer.
“You’re in a pickle now,” I said, addressed to him. “Guess you wish you had killed her in the bed after all. But you decided to take her out on the floor. Maybe because you’re not a bastard after all? You were thinking about Tristan, am I right? You didn’t want him covered in his mothers’ blood. See, it’s just those small signs of empathy that trick a profiler like me. It shows me you’re human; somewhere in there, there’s a guy who maybe saw his own mother be killed once or someone else dear to you. Am I right?”
There was silence. Yossi wasn’t moving. Neither was I. I was waiting for him to call my bluff, to realize I was just trying to win time by speaking to the small part of him that actually held empathy.
“Am I right, Mr. David?” I said, making it personal. “Or should I say, Yossi?”
He gave me a look of surprise.
“Yes, I’m not just anyone,” I said. “I know who you are and who you work for. That makes me one step ahead of you.”
“Mom, I’m scared,” Tristan said behind my back.
“Stay where you are, Tristan!”
I lifted the hand not holding the gun to signal for him to stay back. I couldn’t risk him getting caught in the line of fire should it come down to that.
Yossi stared at Tristan briefly, and I saw something in his eyes, fear, just for a brief second, before it was gone again.
“You can’t kill her while her son is watching, can you?” I asked. “Because it happened to you? I can’t blame you, Yossi. We all have a weak spot. As I said, it makes you human.”
Yossi’s eyes glared out from underneath his red New York Yankees baseball cap, and I could tell I was getting to him.
“You know why the guy that hired you is trying to get rid of this woman?” I asked. “Because she watched him murder someone. A young woman. He threw her over the railing of a rooftop deck, and she fell to her death. Only twenty years old. That’s who you work for. He wants to get rid of someone who dared to speak up. I bet your mom would have done the same, am I right? She would have spoken up about injustice. Was that what got her killed, huh?”
Yossi stared at me, his hand holding the gun still steady as a rock. Yet I saw that his right eyelid twitched slightly. Then a shadow went across his face, and something changed.
He let go of Kimmie and rose to his feet, still staring at me.
And just as I thought I had won, and a sense of relief was seeping slowly through my body, Yossi pulled the trigger and fired a shot.
Chapter 30
The gun barely made any sound as it was fired because of the silencer. Yet whatever little it was ripped through my flesh and bones. My heart stopped. I wasn’t breathing. I stared, terrified at the lifeless Kimmie on the floor, then up at Yossi.
He lifted the gun and pointed it at me.
I dropped my gun, raised my hands, and took a step back.
“Please, don’t shoot.”
We stood like that for probably only a split second, but it felt like some very long minutes.
“MO-OM!”
The scream coming from behind
me made the hairs rise on my neck. I turned to look at Tristan, who threw himself forward, then grabbed him as he approached her, holding his chest while he fought me. He was too out of it to realize he would be the next to be shot if he came any closer.
“No, Tristan.”
“Mo-o-om,” he continued, his face torn. “Please. No.”
I heard a noise behind me, then turned and realized we were alone. Yossi David had left—probably run out the door. I thought about going after him but realized a guy like him would be long gone by now. He had done what he came for. He had finished the job.
I let go of Tristan and let him run to his mother, then grabbed my phone and called for help. I knelt next to Kimmie and touched her throat. There was a pulse, even though it was weak. She was bleeding heavily onto the carpet beneath her. I examined her torso and found that the bullet had gone into her chest, then realized there was an exit wound in her back. That was a good sign.
What wasn’t was the amount of blood gushing out of her.
I asked Tristan to pull off a sheet from the bed, then pressed it against the wound in her chest, trying to apply pressure and stop the bleeding. The white sheet soon turned red, and my fingers were covered in Kimmie’s blood.
“Don’t die on me, Kimmie. Come on!”
“Is she okay?” Tristan shrieked behind me while I spoke to the woman at the alarm central, holding the phone clutched between my shoulder and cheek, using both my hands and weight to apply more pressure on the wound.
“Is she going to be okay?”
The blood on my hands scared me, and I could tell it frightened him as well. There was so much of it, and it just kept coming like a flood.
Please, come now, please.
I listened for the ambulances, for sirens to bring me relief, but everything was so silent except for Tristan’s heavy sobbing. The sheets were completely soaked now, my hands were bathed in her blood, and I felt so helpless. Kimmie’s skin was turning paler by the second.
“Don’t die on me, please, don’t die! Come on, Kimmie!”
I was crying now, and Tristan screamed helplessly as he watched life seep out of his mother.
That’s when I finally heard the sirens. They were still far in the distance, but they were coming closer.
I lifted my gaze and met Tristan’s terrified eyes.
“Go,” I said to him. “Go meet them down there. Guide them to us, so we don’t waste any time. GO!”
I stared at him, tears springing to my eyes as he left, and I felt Kimmie’s heart stop beneath my hands.
Chapter 31
THEN:
Samantha felt nervous as she approached the restroom. She met a colleague in the hallway and smiled awkwardly.
I want to kiss you.
That’s what he had written. She could do that, right? A little kissing wasn’t too bad. She could do that.
Right?
Samantha stopped in front of the door, hand on the handle, heart throbbing loudly in her chest.
What am I doing?
She wondered for a second if she could just go back—if it was even a possibility. What would happen if she did that? Would he get mad at her?
Probably.
He had seemed very insistent in his messages. She didn’t dare to anger him. Besides, it wasn’t like he was ugly or anything. And it was just a little kissing. It couldn’t harm anything to let him kiss her. It was even a little flattering to her that a guy like Wanton liked her.
She just didn’t like that it had to be in the restroom. It seemed so…well, so dirty somehow. And she also knew he was married, which made her feel bad for the wife.
Samantha looked down at her hand, then pulled the handle and opened the door. He was already there as she slid inside, praying no one saw her. He was holding a file of some sort in his hand, which he now placed on the sink before he grabbed the door behind her and locked it. Samantha gasped lightly, then felt his hand take her and pull her closer. He held her face between his hands, then put his lips against hers in a deep, demanding kiss. Samantha closed her eyes and kissed him back. His tongue filled her mouth while his hands were touching her breasts outside on her shirt.
Samantha opened her eyes and looked into his as his lips parted with hers. Then she smiled nervously. He smiled back, then reached down, grabbed her by the hips, and turned her around. He then pressed her down over the toilet, so she had to lean on it, then grabbed her skirt and pulled it up.
Samantha felt her heart rate go up as he pulled her panties down and pressed himself against her.
She wanted to protest; she wanted to tell him no, this wasn’t what she had come here for. Not like this.
But it was too late. He was inside of her, pushing himself on her.
Samantha closed her eyes and focused on holding on, so she wouldn’t slip and hurt herself while he did what he had come for.
Then he let go of her and zipped up his pants. She straightened up, her hands shaking as she pulled her panties back on. Wanton fixed his hair in the mirror, then grabbed his folder under his arm, gave her one last glance, then said:
“Lock the door after me. Wait five minutes after I leave before you go out. Then, no one will suspect a thing.”
He then kissed her on the cheek. Samantha stood there, and not knowing what else to say, she simply nodded.
Wanton left, and she did as she was told and locked the door. As she heard his footsteps walk away outside, she put her back against the door and slid to the floor, hiding her face in her hands, hoping her salty tears would somehow miraculously wash away the humiliation.
Chapter 32
I stared down at my blood-covered hands. The blood was Kimmie’s. I was sitting in the hospital waiting area while they fought for her life somewhere behind the swinging doors. The ambulance had taken her and Tristan with them and left me alone in the parking lot, covered in Kimmie’s blood. They had managed to get her heart pumping again, but she had lost a lot of blood, and her chances were small.
The woman I had wished dead so many times had died between my hands. Her heart had literally stopped. And now I wished more than anything in this world that she would live.
I sniffled and leaned back in the chair. I had seen a lot of other people come and go, and a lot of eyes kept staring at me and at the blood that I didn’t have the strength to wash off. I rubbed some of it off my hands, but it didn’t help much. Tears ran down my cheeks, tears of frustration and brokenness.
Please, don’t die. Please, don’t.
I could have saved her. That’s what I kept thinking about—how I messed up the entire situation. How I could have acted differently, and maybe he wouldn’t have shot her. That’s all I thought about—that and then what I’d do if she didn’t make it. I’d have to take care of Tristan. No doubt about it.
The thought was devastating. The poor boy needed his mother.
“Eva Rae?”
The voice was Isabella’s. She had come out from between the swinging doors. I looked up and met her eyes. I had called her to let her know what happened and then told her not to ask any questions until later. She shook her head. “What on earth are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were in town?”
I gave her a look, then broke into tears. “Oh, Isabella. It was awful.”
She sat down with a deep sigh. She grabbed my hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Eva Rae. She didn’t make it.”
“What?”
Isabella shook her head. “They called it about half an hour ago. They did everything they could; there were complications and…”
“You can’t be serious?” I almost shrieked, cupping my mouth. “Please, tell me you’re lying. Please.”
She exhaled and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eva Rae. I wish I had better news. I really, truly do.”
Oh, dear Lord, please, tell me it didn’t happen. Please!
“And Tristan?”
“He’s with her now. His grandmother is on her way. She’ll take him in.”
I stared at her, shaking my head slowly, refusing to acknowledge this. It couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t.
“Maybe we should get you back to the hotel, so you can get cleaned up. And then we’ll get you on a flight back home to your family. You did what you could, Eva Rae. Please know you couldn’t have done more.”
I stared at her, my eyes filling again. “Of course, I could have done more. I could have saved her, Isabella. I failed. I completely failed.”
Isabella pulled me into a deep hug, and I sobbed in her arms.
“No, Eva Rae. You couldn’t. This guy was a professional. You need to let it go now. Go home and be with your children. That’s where you’re needed now.”
Part III
One week later
Chapter 33
She was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. As Rachel entered through the glass doors, she had no doubt in her mind that she had to be the one who had contacted her. She didn’t know how she knew, you could call it a hunch, but she just did.
Rachel walked directly to her table and looked at the woman with the dark hair and blue eyes. The woman smiled and nodded.
“I am so glad you could make it, Rachel. Please sit down.”
Rachel pulled out the chair and slid into it. It was a nice restaurant, and she regretted wearing yoga pants. The woman in front of her was wearing a nice light red dress with long sleeves and dangling gold earrings. She looked like a million, whereas Rachel looked like she came straight from the gym, which was far from the truth. She hadn’t done much exercise in months; heck, she hadn’t done much of anything since she sank into this odd depression.