Blind Spot

by Brenda Novak

  Sure enough, the other car fell back and disappeared from view.

  No one was coming after him, thank God. He was in the clear. Even if the hunters had reached their truck or car by now, they wouldn’t be able to catch him. He doubted they’d be able to tell the police, or anyone else, either—not before they got back to the city. No way did they have cell service. They were in the middle of nowhere, not even halfway to Fairbanks.

  Evelyn, however, was still a problem. She was no longer tied up and she had access to whatever she’d used to stab him. He hadn’t had a chance to pick up whatever it was. He’d been too worried about reclaiming the gun.

  Turning on the cabin light so he’d be able to see her, he checked his rearview mirror. After attempting, unsuccessfully, to get out the back and, he supposed, jump onto the road, which would probably have killed her, she was now trying to reach him with a hammer!

  He jerked the wheel, throwing her off balance and knocking her down. But he had to keep driving like a maniac to make sure she stayed down, and he was afraid it would cause him to wreck.

  He had to pull over so he could tie her up again and check his wound, and he had to do it right away.

  While he was at it, he’d knock her out with that hammer she was wielding and give her a lobotomy. She’d had plenty of chances to behave. It wasn’t his fault he was going to cut into her brain while she was pregnant.

  He gripped his side to slow the bleeding and ease the pain.

  So much for trying to be nice.

  She’d just caused him the last problem she’d ever be able to give him.

  Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:30 a.m. AKDT

  When Brianne had called, it was just after six her time. Amarok assumed she’d wanted to talk to him before her mother got up. She was staying with her folks so they could help her take care of the newborn.

  She’d said baby Caden was doing fine, and she seemed to be holding up herself. But she’d been understandably subdued and concerned, as he’d known she would be, about Evelyn—Lara too. Thanks to what was going on, Lara had fallen into a deep depression. The doctor had her on a high dose of anti-anxiety meds and was giving her sleeping pills just so she could get through the nights.

  Amarok felt terrible that he couldn’t tell Evelyn’s family he had everything under control. He wished he could. But he had no idea how this would end, and he had to be honest about that. He couldn’t set them up, give them false expectations.

  He studied the road ahead, searching for taillights. Every new vehicle he came upon offered him fresh hope, until he drew close enough to see that he hadn’t yet found the van.

  His eyes flicked to the clock on his dashboard. How much longer could it take? He wasn’t getting to Fairbanks fast enough. What if Bishop was already there? What if he was too late?

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Amarok struggled to fight off another wave of exhaustion. He wasn’t at his best. He wasn’t anywhere near his best. He couldn’t even think clearly anymore.

  But he had to keep going. This could be his only chance to recover Evelyn and, God willing, their child—if their child was still alive.

  He picked up his phone to see if he had cellular service.

  He didn’t. That wasn’t unexpected, but he wished he could check in with Fairbanks PD, make sure they had their roadblock in place. Even if he couldn’t catch up with Bishop, maybe they’d stop him and put an end to this nightmare.

  He contemplated the call he’d received from Shorty after hanging up with Brianne. Shorty had been so eager to tell him that Jasper had given up his information and named a particular warehouse in the industrial part of Anchorage as the place where Evelyn would be. But Amarok couldn’t imagine how that related to anything he’d learned himself, so he was glad he hadn’t driven all the way to Hilltop. Had he gone to Hanover House instead of Edna Southwick’s, it would’ve set him back by two or three hours. He would’ve missed finding Edna and receiving the much more valuable information she’d provided.

  For all he knew, she’d passed away since, so those two or three hours could’ve made all the difference. Going to the prison instead might even have cost him the opportunity he had now of catching up with Bishop before Bishop disappeared into the three hundred thousand people who populated the city of Fairbanks.

  Dawn was breaking. Amarok could see the sun rising over the tops of the mountains and was grateful for the light. Not only did it help him stay alert, but also if he did come upon Bishop, at least now he’d be able to see him and anything he might have in his hands.

  That could make all the difference.

  His mother entered his mind, his father’s words regarding his mother, too, but he quickly banished any thought of them. He’d said it before, but what he was going through was bad enough without having to address the resentment he felt toward the woman who’d given him birth—

  He slammed on his brakes.

  Mikita half-slid off the seat, grunting.

  “Sorry, buddy.” He’d been pushing forward so fast, thinking he’d find Bishop on the road ahead and not pulled over on the side, that he almost missed the black van, only the back of which he could see, parked down a dirt road off to one side. It looked as though it had been spray-painted, that this was the van he’d been searching for, but he couldn’t be sure. It was almost hidden by trees. Had the driver pulled any farther off the road, Amarok would’ve missed it. And had this happened any earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to see for the dark.

  As it was, he’d flown past it before the sight registered.

  Had he caught up with them? If so, he had no backup, no help from Fairbanks PD, since any roadblock they put up was still several hours away.

  He had no cell service, so he couldn’t alert anyone, either. And he had no idea what he’d be facing, whether Bishop had a gun or some other weapon.

  But he was used to working alone.

  After pulling into the trees a quarter mile or so beyond the van, he grabbed his rifle, climbed out and waited for Makita to jump down. “Let’s go get Evelyn,” he murmured softly, and motioned for his dog, who knew what to do from the countless times they’d had to creep up on hunters who were spotlighting, to follow him quietly and at a distance.

  28

  Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:33 a.m. AKDT

  The metallic taste of blood filled Evelyn’s mouth.

  She’d dropped the hammer and stopped fighting a split second after Bishop waved a gun in her face, screaming he’d shoot her if she didn’t shut up and hold still. But he was so upset that she’d stabbed him, so enraged that she would try to escape after all he’d done so that they could be together, as he put it, he lost control. Retying her hands and feet wasn’t enough. He’d slapped her several times with his left hand before using the gun in his right to strike a much more savage blow, which was why she had blood running from her nose and her mouth.

  He was bleeding, too, even though she hadn’t been able to stab him very deeply. His shirt was soaked, and the red stain on his pants was growing ever larger. She could see it easily now that it was getting light.

  “If I can’t fix this—if I have to risk capture by going to a hospital, I’m going to kill you before I leave!” he gasped, yanking up his shirt to take a look at his own injury. “I would’ve been so good to you. But you won’t meet me halfway.”

  Seeing the gaping wound in his soft, white belly made him flinch.

  He fixated on it while Evelyn struggled to regain some of her faculties. Whatever drug he’d slipped her last night with dinner had worn off, but her head was still swimming from the aftereffects, what she’d witnessed with Edna, the lack of sleep and the beating.

  “You were … trying to … rape me,” she pointed out, speaking despite her swollen lip. She hoped appealing to logic would get him to see reason, help him to calm down. No matter what, he was far more educated than most of the psychopaths she’d studied. He had to understand what had provoked
her, didn’t he?

  “No. I wasn’t raping you,” he snarled. “I was making love to you. You’ll soon learn that there’s a difference.”

  So that was how he rationalized it. She almost said so out loud but caught herself just in time. She didn’t dare provoke him any further.

  “What do you have to say to that, smarty-pants?” he demanded.

  Apparently, he could tell she had a comeback on the tip of her tongue.

  “You’re not so clever,” he spat when she remained silent.

  As intelligent as he was, he sounded like he was no more than eight years old. But she’d seen that type of thing so often in her studies—grown men and women arrested at an early stage of development because of severe emotional trauma. By being abandoned by his mother, who chose her new husband over her children, Bishop had endured something that would be incredibly hurtful. He’d been left at the mall, of all places, with Beth, who’d been only ten at the time. And when they finally managed to get home via a city bus? They’d found the house empty, completely cleaned out. His mother had left not only the city but also the state, without giving them any way to find her.

  It was no excuse for what he’d become, of course. A lot of people endured abandonment and abuse without becoming serial killers. But given his mother was one of his first victims, Evelyn felt safe in assuming his childhood had, indeed, warped his brain. Without what he’d been through, maybe he wouldn’t have become what he was.

  “Aren’t you going to promise me that you’ll behave from here on out? That you won’t try to escape?” he taunted. “Well, don’t bother. Now I know you’re a liar, just like my mother. You don’t know how to love anyone. I can’t trust you.”

  Evelyn searched for words she could use to placate him. She’d made him no promises; any promise he remembered was a figment of his imagination. But he seemed to rewrite the script however he wanted it to go.

  Still, she had to do something to buy time, didn’t she? She had no more energy, no more strength with which to fight.

  What was the point of continuing to fight, anyway? She’d already given it her best. What good would another hour or two do? Amarok wouldn’t be able to find her that soon. They were out in the middle of nowhere, and Bishop was going to give her a transorbital lobotomy before they got back on the road.

  Part of her wanted to take a bullet instead of allowing him to cut into her brain—except the sudden thought that, no matter what happened to her, by some miracle her baby might survive and be rescued one day, if only she stuck around long enough to finish carrying it, kept her from getting too reckless.

  She could choose death over the life she’d have with Bishop for herself, but she couldn’t make that choice for her child.

  She struggled to speak despite a hoarse throat that hurt when she tried to talk. “Just … get it over with. Maybe if I don’t have my brain, I won’t want to puke every time you touch me.”

  He blinked, obviously shocked by the vitriol in her words. “You’re vile! The worst kind of whore!” he cried, and disappeared for several seconds.

  Evelyn closed her eyes as she heard him rummaging in the glove compartment. She wanted her last thought to be of Amarok, to be the memory of the love and fulfillment he’d provided.

  As Bishop returned with the ice pick, she wished she could touch her belly, try to reassure her unborn child in some small way. Or say good-bye. “Will you promise me one thing?” she asked dully.

  Taken aback by the calm in her voice, he hesitated. “What?”

  “If I don’t make it, will you try to save my child?”

  He scowled at her. “Of course. I want it to live, too,” he replied gruffly.

  The van swayed as he climbed inside, and the terror Evelyn thought she’d vanquished rose inside her again. “Aren’t you going to knock me out?”

  “With what? The hammer you tried to use on me? That could do even more damage—damage I can’t control as well.”

  “What did you give me before?”

  “Some sleeping pills I took from Beacon Point—the ones they gave me every night. But they will take too long to kick in. I only need a few minutes.” He straddled her, taking care to sit on her chest and not on the baby, as if he were doing her a big favor by having that much consideration.

  She considered bucking him off. But he’d only begin to beat her again, and if he got too vicious she wouldn’t survive. That meant the baby wouldn’t, either.

  Tears ran into the hair at her temples as she saw the sharp point of the ice pick coming toward her. And, even though she told herself not to, she couldn’t help screaming.

  Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:43 a.m. AKDT

  Amarok didn’t have time to plan anything that might draw Bishop away from the van or help him recover Evelyn without a dangerous confrontation. He’d barely reached the area where the van was parked when he saw Bishop get into the back of it and heard Evelyn cry out.

  Was he raping her? Killing her? Hurting their baby?

  Making a motion with his hand, he let Makita know to stay back.

  The dog obeyed as Amarok rushed from the trees he’d been using to cover his approach. He didn’t have much of a plan. There wasn’t time to set up anything. He could only bang on the side of the vehicle to startle Bishop and, hopefully, draw his attention away from Evelyn.

  “Come out with your hands up!” he yelled, his rifle raised to his shoulder as he edged around so that he could see inside the open doors in back.

  Sure enough, Evelyn was there. Alive but tied up and bleeding.

  Bishop fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her up and in front of him as he moved to the back bumper. “You come any closer, I’ll blow her brains out,” he warned, holding a gun to her head with his other hand.

  Amarok’s eyes narrowed until all he could see was his target. Could he shoot Bishop before Bishop could pull the trigger?

  He was tempted to try. He was desperate to reach Evelyn, to put her out of danger. She looked crazed with fright. Blood ran from her right eye, her nose and her mouth.

  “It’s all over,” he said to Bishop. “Even if you shoot her, you won’t get away from here, so there’s no point.”

  “Making sure you can’t have her, that she gets what’s coming to her, is all the point I need,” he responded. “She destroyed my life, took away everything I cared about. Now put down the rifle. If you’re lucky, I’ll just shoot you and take off with her.”

  Could he pick Bishop off?

  No. Bishop was prepared for that, was using Evelyn as a shield. And even if he weren’t behind her, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t fire simultaneously.

  Amarok couldn’t take the risk.

  “I won’t ask again,” Bishop threatened.

  Amarok’s mind raced as he slowly lowered his weapon to the ground.

  “No!” Evelyn cried as Bishop turned his gun on Amarok instead. But Amarok hadn’t left himself completely defenseless. He’d just had to be sure that Bishop wouldn’t squeeze the trigger while that gun was aimed at Evelyn.

  With a quick whistle Amarok called his dog, and Makita came leaping out of the trees. His growl was deep and threatening and the blur of his coat caught Bishop’s attention, startling him.

  Bishop reared back—and fired. Amarok felt a burning sensation in his shoulder as the sharp crack echoed through the forest, but Bishop wasn’t going to get the chance to fire again. Makita had already dragged him out of the van and had ahold of his arm as they rolled around in the dirt.

  Trained never to let go, the malamute had clamped on for all he was worth.

  Dropping the gun since he could no longer hold it, Bishop screamed as Amarok gave Makita another command. Then the dog did let go of his arm—and lunged for his throat.

  “That’s it,” Amarok said, encouraging Makita as he managed to retrieve his rifle and drag it over to the van.

  “Call him off!” Bishop whimpered. “Please, he’s going to kill me. Call him off!”r />
  Amarok whistled to get Makita to stand down. But the second the dog pulled back, Bishop reached for the gun that had fallen out of the van when he did.

  No.…

  Putting the muzzle of his rifle right over the place where Bishop’s heart would be, if he had one, Amarok grimaced against the agonizing pain in his shoulder and somehow managed to pull the trigger.

  Between Anchorage and Fairbanks, AK—Thursday, 2:47 a.m. AKDT

  Evelyn couldn’t believe it was over. Amarok had appeared out of nowhere and put a stop to everything. Bishop had barely scratched her eyelid with the ice pick, and that was because he’d jerked when he heard Amarok hit the side of the van. He hadn’t had time to push it through the thin bone of her eye socket to reach her brain.

  She was fine, would recover. She just didn’t know if she could say the same about her baby. She couldn’t feel any movement. Not a kick or a jab. Not so much as a flutter. The trauma she’d been through might’ve been too much for their child.

  “Are you okay?” Amarok used his good hand to untie her.

  She glanced over at Bishop, who was lying on his side, staring sightlessly under the vehicle.

  “Don’t look at him,” Amarok said. “Look at me.”

  She couldn’t hold back the tears as the ropes on her hands and feet came loose. She told herself there was no reason to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Her relief was that profound. “How’d you find me?” she asked, wiping the blood from her nose and mouth.

  He didn’t take the time to explain, just reached out to draw her closer.

  She leaned against his chest, painfully aware that he’d been shot, grateful for the strong hand that cupped the back of her head as she broke down and wept.

  “What’d he do to you?” he asked at length.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” she said. “But not now. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he insisted, but she got the impression he couldn’t move his right arm anymore, and it looked as though he was about to pass out.