by Paula Graves
“I considered marrying you instead of Carrie. Did you know that? But when I thought about having to sleep with a frigid little fishwife like you, I just couldn’t do it.”
“You didn’t go after me because you know I find you repulsive,” Natalie countered with a sharp smile. “Carrie always saw the good in people, even when it didn’t exist. And you swept her off her romantic little feet, just as I’m sure you planned. But I’m not a romantic. Neither was Brenda Cooper, was she?”
“Brenda Teague,” Hamilton corrected. “She only married that brainless ox because her parents had poisoned her mind against me and made her feel afraid.”
Natalie saw Mike’s face crease with fury a split second before he moved, giving her no time to warn him off. The boy jabbed his elbow hard into Hamilton’s groin, catching the man completely off guard.
Hamilton doubled over with a howl of pain, his gun hand dropping enough to free Mike from his grasp.
“Run!” Natalie yelled at the boy, though her warning was unnecessary. Mike was already halfway to the door before Hamilton could react. He started running after the boy, raising his gun.
Natalie hit Hamilton at a run, slamming him to the ground. She went for the Ruger but he backhanded her with the butt of the gun, knocking her flying. He aimed wildly in her direction.
She scrambled backward toward the kitchen, making it through the swinging door as a gunshot split the air. The round hit the door with a splintering thunk.
She gazed around, spotting an old freestanding dishwasher tucked against the wall nearby. It wasn’t as heavy as she’d like, but she shoved it in front of the swinging door, ducking behind the unit as another round splintered the door.
Scrambling toward the back of the kitchen through a maze of old appliances, she realized she’d never reach the back door before Hamilton pushed past the obstacle she’d put in his path. There was a quicker path to the window to her left, and it was already open—was that how Mike had ended up in Hamilton’s grasp?
The door behind her started to bang against the dishwasher, scraping it forward slowly but surely.
She couldn’t make it to the window in time. Even if she could reach it before he made it into the kitchen, she’d be a sitting duck going over the sill. Instead, she took cover behind a massive old double stove, panic rising in smothering waves. She forced herself to keep her breathing low and soft as Hamilton’s footsteps entered the kitchen. He moved slowly. Deliberately.
His low chuckle filled the thick silence. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he called in a singsong voice.
Stay calm, Becker. You’re still alive. There’s still hope. Mike was safely out of the restaurant, right? He’d go get help.
But how could anyone reach her in time?
J.D. PARKED THE TRUCK a few yards down the road from Annabelle’s, hidden from view of the restaurant, and circled around through the woods behind the building. He had almost made it to the edge of the woods when he heard a low, urgent whisper nearby. “Dad!”
He turned his head and found himself staring into the terrified brown eyes of his son, who was crouched nearby behind a scrubby, wild hydrangea bush.
J.D. hurried to his son’s side, his heart hammering against his ribs. “What are you doing here, Mike?”
“Get down! He’s inside!”
J.D. crouched by his son. “Who?”
“He says his name is Hamilton, but Natalie called him Alex, and he said he knew Mom and I think maybe he killed her. He has a gun, and I heard shots—”
J.D.’s breath froze. “How many?”
“Two, I think. Maybe three—I’m not sure about one of them.”
“Where were they coming from?”
“I think I heard it coming from the kitchen.”
“What happened, Mike?”
His son told him about falling right into Hamilton Gray’s grasp the second he went through the back window, then about Natalie’s arrival and what had transpired next. “He was talking about you and Mom and said she didn’t really want to marry you, that her parents just scared her into it, and it made me really mad, so I jabbed my elbow in his privates and ran away.”
Pride battled with terror as he realized how close he’d come to losing his son. “How did you get here in the first place?”
“I borrowed Derek’s bike,” he confessed, looking miserable.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. My truck is parked just down the road.” J.D. pointed in the direction where he’d left the vehicle. “Take my phone, go lock yourself in the truck and call the last number I dialed on the phone. Ask for Deputy Massey and tell him everything that’s happened. Tell him to get the backup here if he has to fly it in.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Mike whispered desperately.
J.D. caught his son’s face between his hands. “I need you to do this for me, Mike. There’s no more time to wait. I’m trusting you to get the backup here. I know you can do it. Okay?”
Tears welled in Mike’s eyes, but he nodded. “I can do it.”
J.D. kissed Mike’s forehead, his heart breaking. “I love you. Go now.”
“I love you, Daddy.” Mike sniffed back his tears, pushed to his feet and started running through the woods at a sprint.
J.D. wanted to watch his son to safety, but he was running out of time. He had to get to the restaurant and find out what was happening to Natalie. Mike had said Hamilton had kicked Natalie’s gun across the room. Had she had time to reach it after Mike’s diversion? Were some of the gunshots hers?
He couldn’t assume so. He had to assume she was still unarmed, maybe injured. Or worse.
His mind rebelled at the thought, threatening to paralyze him. He forced the worst-case scenario out of his mind. Natalie was still alive. She had to be.
He stayed low, approaching the restaurant at a corner angle, where he wouldn’t be immediately visible through the back windows. Spotting the open window Mike had mentioned, he ran at a crouch, staying below the line of sight.
A man’s voice filtered through the window. “When I find you, I’ll kill you. And it won’t be an easy death. But if you’ll come out now without any fuss, I’ll make it quick and clean.”
Only silence answered Hamilton Gray’s offer. Natalie was too smart to engage with Gray and give him a better idea where she was hiding, J.D. knew. But how long could she hold out before Gray finally tracked down her hiding spot?
J.D. didn’t dare take a peek inside the kitchen. He’d be an easy target if Gray was looking toward the open window.
Think, Cooper.
He glanced down the back wall of the restaurant, counting the windows. Six total—two flanking the door and four a bit farther down. At least two would belong to customer bathrooms. Was there a staff bathroom? That might account for the other windows.
He crept toward the other windows and looked inside. The nearest window past the kitchen was a storeroom. The one after that seemed to be the staff bathroom. He could see a sink and a single toilet, and beyond that a door that probably led into the store room.
He looked up at the latch. It was locked.
He’d have to break the window if he wanted in. Was the store room far enough from the kitchen that the breaking glass wouldn’t draw Hamilton’s attention?
He heard Hamilton Gray’s voice drifting through the open window nearby. “What, no questions, Natalie? Don’t you want to know why I do what I do?”
You do what you do because you like it, you deviant bastard, J.D. thought, an idea forming as he gazed at the window overhead.
He scanned the ground until he found what he was looking for—a large rock, about the size of a baseball. Heaving it as hard as he could, he threw the rock through the employee’s bathroom window. The glass shattered loudly, eliciting a curse from Hamilton Gray in the kitchen.
J.D. crept to the open window and sat, waiting for Gray to respond. One of two things would happen: either he’d go check on the broken window, which would require h
im to go through two doors, leaving the kitchen empty for a crucial few seconds; or he’d look out the open window for who threw the rock.
Either way, J.D. would be ready for him.
He was hoping for the latter option. The second Gray’s face appeared in the window, he’d catch him unaware from below the window. It could be over in seconds.
But, of course, Gray chose the other option.
“Do you think you can reach either door before I can get back here and shoot you?” Gray asked aloud, his voice already moving toward the side of the kitchen where the door to the store room must be. “I rather hope you give it a try. But I’ve blocked the door to the front, and there’s no way to open the back door without a key—and I’ll hear the rattle.”
Natalie didn’t respond, but J.D. could almost feel her, somewhere just inside, weighing her options.
J.D. dared a quick look through the window and saw Hamilton Gray’s back disappear through the store room door.
He had no time to waste. As silently as possible, he hauled himself through the open window and dropped to the floor.
SHE’D HAVE SECONDS, TOPS. Her weapon was behind the cashier’s desk at the front of the restaurant, which made the swinging door the most tempting target. But an obstacle course of old kitchen appliances stood between her and freedom. The back door would require a key—could she get her keys out of her pocket without making a rattle? Unlikely.
That left the open window behind her.
She turned and looked at the window, which was only a few yards away, though a half freezer stood between her and her best hope of escape.
Suddenly, someone rose up over the window sill, filling the entire space for a second, then dropped silently to the ground.
She had to blink a couple of times to be certain she was seeing what she thought. J.D. stared back at her, his eyes full of deadly determination. Then he disappeared again, soundlessly.
She listened for any sounds, but only the faintest scraping noise came from behind the freezer.
J.D. appeared again, rounding the side of the freezer on his hands and knees. He scooted forward until he was right beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked, making almost no sound.
“Fine,” she assured him, equally quiet. “Mike—”
“He’s okay.” He showed her the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “I need you to distract him. Head for the window. Make some noise.” He caught her face between his big hands, making her feel strangely invincible. He bent and kissed her, hard and fast.
“Good luck.” He let her go, shifting to a better position to see the door to the store room.
Natalie scooted toward the window, not bothering to be quiet. She heard Hamilton moving back toward the kitchen, but she didn’t let herself turn and look at his position.
J.D. had her back. He wouldn’t let anything happen.
J.D. PEERED AROUND THE side of the ovens, watching the store room door for Hamilton Gray’s return. He heard the footsteps, moving at a clip, and yet it seemed to take forever for the man to make his way through the door.
In one fluid movement, J.D. rose to his feet and leveled his SIG at Hamilton Gray’s center mass. He opened his mouth to order Gray to drop the Ruger. What came out, however, was, “Make a wrong move. Please. Just one little twitch.”
Natalie’s soft gasp faintly registered, but he kept his focus firmly on Gray, whose wide green eyes stared back at him with complete shock. He froze in place, not moving, though a muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“I’m putting down my gun,” Gray said after a long, tense moment, slowly lifting his free hand and dropping the barrel of his Ruger until it pointed at the floor. “Nice and easy here. No tricks.” He bent to the ground slowly, lowering the gun.
No, J.D. thought. It can’t just end like this. It can’t be this easy for the bastard.
He watched carefully, hoping Gray would make a wrong move, anything to give him an excuse to shoot. An excuse he could live with. But Gray seemed to know exactly what J.D. wanted from him, and he was careful to give him nothing at all. No resistance. No twitchy moves. Not even a mocking retort.
“Kick the gun over here to me.” Natalie rose from her hiding place near the window.
Gray cocked his head slightly, a faint smile on his face as he complied. J.D. found the smile so profane, under the circumstances, that his finger trembled on the trigger. It was all he could do to cling to his dwindling sense of control.
He could picture the outcome so clearly it made his head ache. Hamilton Gray would give himself up. Cop to taking Natalie hostage and pretend he’d snapped out of grief for his dead wife and Natalie’s constant accusations and harassment. If he’d chosen Travis Rayburn wisely, the man would keep his mouth shut, even if the police could somehow connect him to Lydia Randolph’s murder, and there’d be nothing to connect Gray to any of the murders, including Brenda’s.
Eventually, he’d be loose again. He’d kill again.
Natalie took Gray’s Ruger from the floor a foot in front of her. “Facedown on the floor. Legs spread, hands above your head. Now!”
As Gray started to comply, J.D. barked, “No!”
Gray froze again. He and Natalie both turned to look at J.D.
J.D.’s gun leveled with Gray’s heart again. “He’ll walk. You know he will. We can’t prove anything we know.”
Natalie’s eyes widened with alarm. “J.D., he’s surrendered—I can testify—”
“You can tell them he kidnapped you. But everybody knows you wanted to prove he killed your sister. Anything he told you here is your word against his.” J.D. felt as if a cold, black flood had filled his body until he was drowning in it.
Drowning in hate. Sinking into the dark heart of blood vengeance.
This son of a bitch had killed his wife. Took his children’s mother from them. Took his in-laws’ child from them. Took away the woman J.D. had planned to love for a long, happy lifetime.
He’d killed other women. Other daughters, mothers, wives. And J.D. could end it now, so easily. One pull of the trigger. One bullet tearing through Gray’s chest to stop his black heart.
“If you do this, he wins. He’s a destroyer.” Natalie’s voice was low but relentless, buzzing in his head, cutting through the darkness gathering there. “You’re not a destroyer, J.D. You’re a father. You’re a son. You’re a brother. You’ll leave a big damned hole in this world, and he’ll have won. It’ll be his last act, but he’ll have won.”
Gray looked from Natalie back to J.D., his eyes bright with consternation. He wants me to shoot him, J.D. realized. He wants me to be his last big conquest.
He felt Natalie’s hand on his shoulder, her touch careful, gentle. It was as if a band of tension snapped, releasing him from the force of his rage. The blackness drained away, leaving him feeling light-headed.
“On the ground,” he growled at Gray. “Legs spread, hands behind your head.”
Gray almost wilted with disappointment. Slowly, he dropped to the ground, complying with J.D.’s order.
Beside J.D., Natalie exhaled softly. “I hear sirens.”
J.D. nodded, keeping his gun trained on Gray’s back but no longer overwhelmed by the urge to pull the trigger.
Backup had arrived, just in time.
J.D. GRIMACED WITH frustration as the backup officers took his statement, looking around for Massey. He’d tried to tell the responding officers that his son was out there in the woods, probably scared out of his mind waiting to hear word of J.D.’s fate, but other than offering a vague promise to check on him as soon as possible, the deputies seemed far less worried than J.D. about his son’s safety, much less his state of mind. They’d taken Gray into custody, and they seemed a little unsure whether they had enough evidence to keep him there.
Natalie intervened, finally, as if she sensed his growing impatience. “J.D. got here late. He can’t add much. Let him go find his son.”
Giving her a silent look of gratitude, J.D. head
ed out the front door of the restaurant.
He ran into Massey on his way inside. “Did Mike get you?” J.D. asked.
Massey looked confused. “Mike?”
“My son. I sent him to the truck to call you and let you know we’d found Natalie with Gray. Gray had taken him hostage—”
“He took your son hostage?”
J.D.’s chest tightened painfully. “He didn’t call you?”
Massey shook his head.
J.D. didn’t wait to explain. He set off through the woods at a dead run. By the time he made it to his truck, he heard a couple of footsteps pounding through the woods behind him, but there was no time to waste checking which of the deputies had taken chase. He found the sheltered turnoff where he’d left the truck and relaxed for a half second when he saw it was still where he’d parked it. But he faltered to a stop when he went around to the truck cab. It was empty. But the windshield wasn’t.
Five crude red swooshes, loosely forming the shape of a shark’s head, marred the glass. Every drop of blood in J.D.’s veins turned to ice as he stared at the mark.
Please, God, please don’t let it be blood. Please.
As he stepped forward to touch the mark, the people who’d been chasing him through the woods caught up. He heard their rapid breathing, even heard Massey call out, “Don’t touch it!” But he had to know. Now.
He touched the damp mark and drew his fingertip to his nose. The pungent smell of latex paint burned his nose.
He felt his knees begin to wobble and he slumped against the side of the truck, his pulse thundering in his ears.
“J.D., is that—?” Natalie’s voice penetrated the noise in his head, and he turned to look at her. She was staring at the red mark. “Is it blood?”
“Paint,” he rasped.
“But it’s their mark, isn’t it?” She dragged her gaze away from the mark and met his eyes, her face pale and her eyes wide and haunted. “Los Tiburones.”
Behind her, Massey uttered a profanity.
J.D. nodded, as afraid as he could ever remember being. “Eladio Cordero’s thugs have my son.”