Blake Pierce - The Making of Riley Paige - 4 - Taking

by Blake Pierce

  If she picked it up right now, would he have the will to wrest it from her

  grasp?

  Might she smile that glittering smile of hers and take his hand and lead

  him to the kill room that he had prepared for her? Might he surrender to her

  passively, as he always had back then? Might he wind up in the dark again,

  feeling his life ebbing away into the floor—only this time forever?

  Nonsense, he thought.

  He reminded himself that this was all about power. She had no power over

  him unless he granted it to her. To do so would defeat his treasured purpose.

  Slowly she turned her eyes toward him again. A strange expression

  crossed her dimly lit face and she said, “There are a few things I ought to tell you.”

  She fell silent again, and the man swallowed hard in anticipation of what

  she might say next.

  Then she said …

  “I’m not exactly who you think I am.”

  The man gasped aloud. It was purely a reflexive response, and he couldn’t

  help it.

  The woman even sounded like Aunt Florence now.

  That voice from his childhood echoed cruelly through his head.

  “Out of sight, out of mind.”

  Then the woman said, “When we met before … earlier today … I told you

  some things …”

  Her voice trailed off. The man struggled to control his breathing.

  Then the woman said in a faltering voice …

  “I think I should go.”

  As she started to scoot her way from behind the table, the man was

  completely overcome by panic.

  I can’t let her get away, he thought.

  He was on his feet in a flash,

  He snatched the knife from off the tray. Before the woman could get up,

  he had the knife at her throat.

  She stared at him wide-eyed. Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t seem

  to force any words out.

  The candlelight was falling on her face differently now. She didn’t look so

  much like Aunt Florence anymore. She looked like just another terrified

  victim …

  Which is exactly what she’s going to be.

  His own terror vanished in an instant, replaced by fierce anger at how

  she’d thwarted his self-control. His hope of savoring a long and exquisite

  killing had fled, and he felt bitterly cheated.

  He was shaking all over with fury.

  He yanked the woman to her feet. Holding her from behind with the knife

  at her throat, he dragged her toward the kill room.

  It was ready for her. He’d already wheeled out the fake interior shelves

  and put them into the alternate space he’d designed for them.

  He pushed down the latch with his free hand and pulled the door open.

  Then he tried to shove the woman inside the narrow space. But he hadn’t

  reckoned on her being stronger than the others. She seemed suddenly to

  sprout extra arms as she thrashed away at him.

  He finally managed to give her a violent push that sent her hurtling back

  into the closet. But as the heavy door swung shut, she thrust one arm out and

  blocked it from closing. He slammed the door against the crook of her elbow.

  Then he slashed back and forth across her wrist with his knife, drawing

  blood.

  The woman let out a screech of pain, then pulled her hand back inside.

  At last he was able to shut the door and lock it.

  She was screaming wildly now, sounding as angry as she was terrified,

  demanding that he let her go. He stood standing there panting from exertion

  as he stared at the door trying to reassure himself …

  I cut her good.

  I saw the blood.

  He hadn’t delivered his usual multiple wounds, and she might be able to

  stanch the flow from that one wrist. Even so, she was sure to bleed out. It

  would just take longer.

  But even through the well-insulated closet walls, her screams were loud.

  He’d committed his other killings where nobody was within earshot and

  his victims had faded quickly. He’d enjoyed listening to the final scratching

  and moaning as they’d died.

  But now, if anybody happened to be nearby outside, they’d surely hear this. It was even possible that someone awake in the neighboring motor

  homes might pick up those sounds of fury and agony.

  His anger was turning inward now.

  I should have planned better.

  But now he had no choice but to make the best of a terrible situation.

  He groped his way to the driver’s seat and started the engine. A thin layer

  of snow now coated the windshield. He turned on the wipers, but the glass

  was fogged up inside from the cold. He turned on the defroster and wiped the

  glass hastily with his sleeve.

  Then he put the vehicle in gear and raced out of his camping space,

  smashing down a bush on the way.

  He had no idea where he was going next, but one thing was certain …

  I can’t stay here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Riley craned forward in the driver’s seat as she peered through the

  windshield into the night. Falling snowflakes flickered brightly in her

  headlights. She’d expected to be completely free of snow after they left the

  higher elevations near Bryce Canyon. There was none on the ground here,

  but these light flurries had started up just moments ago,

  Fortunately she could still make out the highway pavement and its

  shoulder to the right of her vehicle. If she could keep her eye on that, at least she felt reasonably confident that she wouldn’t go off the highway.

  She had other worries, though.

  Did I miss my turn? she wondered.

  She hadn’t seen any signs for the Delphi RV Resort for quite a while now.

  She was annoyed with herself for not being sure she could find her way.

  But why wasn’t Crivaro here and helping instead of in his bed at the back of

  the camper, apparently fast asleep?

  She knew he was tired, and he’d seemed to be in a terrible mood. But

  couldn’t he at least have stayed awake awhile and been a second pair of eyes

  to help her find her way through this unfamiliar territory in the snow?

  She thought about giving him a sharp yell to tell him to get up.

  But right then she saw the sign with an arrow …

  DELPHI RV RESORT

  “At last!” she murmured aloud.

  She braked and tried to take the turn as cautiously as she could, but even

  so the vehicle fishtailed a little as she steered onto the private road that led the rest of the way to the campground.

  She growled under her breath and thought …

  At least Crivaro’s not awake to complain about my driving.

  And the road was well paved and wide enough for much wider vehicles

  than hers to travel comfortably. Still, her mind started to fill up with new

  worries. What exactly did she plan to do when she arrived at the

  campground? Sure, she’d had a strong hunch, but a hunch wasn’t much good

  if she didn’t know how to act on it.

  Would she charge into main office and start demanding answers from whoever was on duty?

  Would she even find anybody on duty?

  It was late, and for all she knew the office would be closed for the night.

  Then what would she do?

  At times like now, she felt sharply aware of her greenness as an agent. She

  simply didn’t k
now what to do in every instance. Maybe someday she would,

  but right now that time seemed like a long way off.

  She sighed as she thought …

  I’m going to have to wake up Crivaro when I get there.

  And he wasn’t going to be happy about it.

  After a short drive, she arrived at the entrance to the campground. The

  entryway was marked by two big white brick pillars with lights atop of them.

  She was on a slight hill, looking down on vast well-tended grounds with

  lighted walkways. She pulled through the entryway and came to a stop just

  beyond it to take a better look. She saw an impressive cluster of buildings off to one side, and a few large motor homes spaced well apart on the other side.

  The snow added to the strangeness of the view, making it all resemble a

  snow globe paperweight scene. With its trees and gardens placed between the

  campsites, the Delphi Campground looked like some kind of upscale

  neighborhood with RVs instead of houses. The campground seemed to Riley

  even more like a fairytale setting than the Spring View Campground back in

  Arizona, with all of its New Age trappings.

  She remembered again how those women back at Spring View had

  described this campground …

  “… a very blessed place …”

  And she had to admit, it did cast quite a charming spell as the snow

  danced among the streetlights.

  Then she realized that something was moving out there. A big white motor

  home had pulled out of its space and was turning toward the entrance where

  she had stopped. That struck her as odd. She wondered why someone would

  be pulling out of here at this late hour, especially now that it was snowing.

  But there it was—an enormous vehicle driving none too slowly in her

  direction. As it drew nearer, Riley could see that it was a Winnebago with a

  stripe along its side.

  A red stripe? she wondered, remembering Sergeant Gray’s description of

  the RV with the lone driver.

  She thought maybe so, but it was hard to tell the color for sure in this light

  and the snowfall.

  She wondered—had her hunch been right after all?

  Might this be the killer?

  If so, why would he be leaving this elegant setting? Where might he be

  headed? And most importantly—was he alone?

  She warned herself not to jump to conclusions. She really had no idea who

  might actually be behind that wheel. But how was she supposed to find out?

  She was again about to yell for Crivaro to wake up and help her but there

  was no time for that now. The other vehicle was speeding up.

  She flashed her headlights as a signal, hoping the driver would at least

  slow down.

  He didn’t.

  Riley felt a tingle all over. She knew one thing for sure—she couldn’t just

  let the vehicle go on its way without personally confronting the driver. She

  fleetingly considered rolling down her window to try to flag him down. But

  she felt sure that he wouldn’t stop on account of that either.

  He’d be on his way out of the campground in a matter of seconds if she

  didn’t take action immediately.

  She backed up her vehicle slightly, then turned the steering wheel hard as

  she pulled forward again. With her RV turned sideways on the pavement, she

  figured she was effectively blocking the other vehicle’s approach.

  But the oncoming Winnebago veered sharply to its left. The driver was

  obviously trying to make an end run around her in order to charge on through

  the space between her RV and the entryway pillars.

  I can’t let him do that, Riley thought.

  She backed up again, fully aware that the driver had no intention of

  stopping, and braced herself for impact.

  The larger motor home slammed into hers, and Riley struggled with the

  steering wheel to keep her vehicle from spinning around.

  But it was hopeless.

  The RV she was driving tottered violently.

  The whole world seemed to lurch around her.

  Riley’s head cracked against something hard as her vehicle rolled over on

  its side.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Riley struggled to grasp what had just happened. Everything around her

  had been spinning, crashing … then the chaos had abruptly stopped.

  The RV engine was still running, the headlights still shone into the falling

  snow, and the windshield wipers were still moving monotonously back and

  forth.

  It all seemed perfectly surreal.

  Then she remembered. She’d just been rammed by the approaching RV,

  and her own vehicle was now lying on its side. She had been slammed

  against the driver’s side door and the blow had dazed her for a moment.

  She heard a shout behind her.

  “Riley!”

  Crivaro! She felt a jolt of panic. Had he been hurt?

  She unlatched her shoulder harness and shifted around until she could look

  between the front seats.

  In the back of the RV, her partner was sprawled against the side wall that

  was now flat on the ground. The crash had thrown him out of his bed.

  Crivaro yelled again, “Did you hear me, goddamn it? What the hell just

  happened?”

  “We’ve had … an accident,” Riley called back to him. “Are you all

  right?”

  She saw Crivaro try to pull himself upright. Then he let out a yelp of pain

  and sat down again, clutching his ankle.

  “Ow,” he snarled. “Hell, no, I’m not all right. I’ve sprained my ankle.”

  Riley was relieved that his injury wasn’t worse. He sounded more angry

  than anything else.

  She touched the side of her own head and felt a little bit of sticky blood

  there, but she wasn’t bleeding badly, and otherwise she thought she was all

  right.

  Then she wondered—where was the RV that had hit them?

  She peered out through the badly cracked front windshield.

  The Winnebago was right there, and it wasn’t even overturned. The big

  motor home was standing upright facing her, but its headlights were off, and

  its engine didn’t seem to be running. The collision must have disabled the

  vehicle.

  But no one was seated behind the wheel and she saw no sign of motion

  inside.

  Where was the driver?

  Had he already gotten away on foot? Could he still be somewhere nearby?

  Or could he actually still be inside his motor home?

  She knew she mustn’t let him get away.

  Trying awkwardly to find her footing in the sideways RV cab, she yelled

  back at Crivaro …

  “I think the killer’s out there. It was his vehicle that rammed us. I’ve got to stop him.”

  “Wait for me, goddamn it,” Crivaro roared back. Then he shouted with

  pain again and said, “This ankle’s hurt pretty bad. Give me a couple of

  minutes to get myself moving.”

  We may not have a couple of minutes, Riley thought.

  She reached for her hip holster to make sure her gun was there. She

  managed to get to her feet and then climbed across the cab and pushed the

  passenger door open. She hoisted herself up through the door and onto the

  high side of the camper.

  Looking around, Reilly saw that just down the hill lights had come on both

  in the resort c
lubhouse and in some of the parked motor homes. She hoped

  that civilians wouldn’t start showing up to get involved in a dangerous

  situation. But it might help of some security people would arrive.

  She jumped down to the ground and turned around slowly, checking her

  surroundings. She thought the killer must be on foot, but she didn’t see

  anyone outside. Could he have gotten completely out of the visible areas

  while she was still in a state of confusion? One of his options would be to go

  down into the campground and force the staff or campers to help him.

  Another would be to slip past her overturned RV and out the private road to

  the highway.

  Either of those was possible, but to Riley neither seemed very likely. She

  thought the wealthy sociopath she was tracking would hesitate to reveal

  himself to these people as a monster. Although he might do that as a last

  resort, it didn’t fit his self-image. And she really couldn’t picture him taking off across wilderness territory on foot.

  Riley thought it was just as possible that the killer was still in the

  Winnebago.

  As she approached the big motor home, she touched her 22-caliber Glock.

  She’d been given the gun just last Saturday and hadn’t expected to need it

  anytime soon. She hoped she wouldn’t need it now.

  After all, she’d never shot anyone before.

  *

  The man pushed a window curtain aside and peeked out at the woman

  who was approaching the side entrance to his vehicle.

  Who is she? he wondered.

  Everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t had time to think. All he knew

  was that she had deliberately used her vehicle to try to block him from

  leaving the campground. When he had tried to evade her, she had

  maneuvered to keep her RV directly in his path. Rather than slow down to

  prevent a collision, he had sped up, hoping to shove the smaller vehicle aside

  and keep right on going.

  But the collision had killed his engine, and he hadn’t been able to start it

  up again. He was stranded right here.

  As he wondered who the woman was and what she was doing here, he

  heard a whimpering cry. It came from the kill room. He’d almost forgotten

  that he’d left a victim in that converted closet.

  He knew he’d slashed his victim’s wrist, and he’d assumed that the wound