by Cynthia Eden
“What did you do?”
“I made her talk . . . she said . . . The bitch told you all. Everything . . . no use hiding anymore.” Now his words were coming out in hard pants. “Something . . . something just gave way in me when I saw Charlotte’s body, all broken like that. She wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t my girl. You, Elroy, and Ricker, you’d made Charlotte into something else.”
“You’re the one who’s been killing!” Elroy shouted.
Oh, yeah, now he’d get on the Keven-Cormack-is-guilty boat. Once he saw the agent actually holding a gun to Emma’s head.
“How many people did you kill down here in New Orleans?” Elroy asked. “How many more bodies are out in this swamp?”
“Guess you won’t ever know,” Kevin said, sounding damn pleased with himself. “You guys were all so fucking blind!” His laughter boomed again. “As blind as the victims. I changed my clothes, put on a wig, got contacts, used some of that costume makeup they sell on every corner in New Orleans and—just like that—I was someone new. I was someone who could get close to the victims. A homeless man who wasn’t a threat. A man who could walk into an NOPD station and not have even one cop give me a second glance!”
“You were always good at undercover work,” Dean said, trying to keep the guy talking. And the words were true. He remembered that Kevin had joined the FBI after working undercover vice down in Florida. The guy had even done a few undercover cases once he’d become an agent. He’d been able to easily adopt or lose an accent, change his posture, been able to slide almost seamlessly into any role.
I should have suspected him. How did we all miss this?
How had an FBI agent become such a brutal killer?
“When I saw you in The Mask that first night, I wanted to see if you’d recognize me . . . or if you’d be as blind as everyone fucking else.” Kevin’s voice boomed in the night. “You were—you only saw what I wanted you to . . . you were like a damn puppet on my string. You all were! I was in control! Me!”
Emma was holding her body so still as Kevin raged.
“I could come down here on the weekends,” Kevin blasted, seemingly smug on his own power and wanting them to appreciate all the sick damn things he’d done. “Pick out my prey . . . become someone new while I hunted. Because if there’s one thing the Bureau taught me, it’s not to kill in your own backyard. That shit would have just brought attention. I didn’t want the FBI seeing me, not until I was ready to take all you bastards down. Ready to make you pay!”
How many bodies? It was obvious to Dean that Kevin had been escalating with his attacks. He’d been driven more and more to the edge of reason with every kill.
“Are you watching, Dean?” Kevin asked him.
Dean still had his light on Emma.
“Because I need you to watch this next part very carefully.”
“Dean,” Sarah whispered. She’d angled closer to him. “Dean, he’s not planning on going to jail. Not an FBI agent. He knows what they’d do to him in there.”
Are you watching?
Dean turned off his flashlight. “Turn off all your fucking lights!” he yelled.
And . . . they did. One at a time, flickering off.
“No!” Kevin shouted.
Because the bastard had wanted Dean to watch him kill Emma. That was to be his punishment. To lose her, to break, just the way that Kevin had when Charlotte died.
Dean took off running, aiming straight for where Kevin and Emma had been just before those lights shut off. Every second, he was afraid he’d hear the blast of a gun. Every second—
He plowed into them. Their bodies crashed to the ground, and he grabbed out, desperately trying to find Emma. He caught her delicate wrist and tried to roll and pull her with him.
“You don’t get to win.”
Kevin fired his gun. The bullet burned across Dean’s arm and he heard Emma gasp.
“You’ll see what it’s like!” Kevin screamed. “To lose what you value most! To have nothing! Nothing! When there’s only a void left. Only the rage eating at you, making you hurt . . . hurt yourself, hurt anyone who gets close . . . hurt . . .”
Kevin fired again, but the shot was aimed behind Dean. A seemingly wild shot in the dark.
Dean caught Kevin’s wrist in his grip. He slammed Kevin’s hand back against the ground.
“Loved her,” Kevin gasped out. “Loved her . . . after Charlotte, gone . . . gone . . .”
Dean felt the bones snap in Kevin’s wrist. A light hit them again, shining down as the gun fell from Kevin’s fingers. Dean looked up, and Gabe was there. Gabe and the cops hauled Kevin to his feet, but the guy wasn’t fighting, not anymore. Sarah had said the guy wouldn’t go willingly to prison, but he was just standing there, seemingly triumphant.
And that was when the terror nearly choked Dean.
He lunged for Emma. He’d felt the bullet slice over his arm, and that bullet—he’d pushed Emma away. She had to be okay, she had to be—
Emma was on the ground. He felt the blood soaking her shirt. “No . . .”
Lights were suddenly blinding him, and he heard the shout of “Medic! Get ambulances out here!”
But he didn’t look up. He couldn’t look away from Emma. There was so much blood on her shirt, and he couldn’t even tell where the bullet had gone in.
“I’m . . . okay,” she whispered. Her eyes were open. He couldn’t see the bright blue, not right then, but her lips were trying to smile for him. “Okay . . .”
“No, she isn’t,” Kevin shouted. And he laughed. “You know I’m a good shot, so much better than you. So much! You wrecked my world, and I wrecked yours!”
“Get pressure on the wound!” That was Sarah’s voice shouting, but . . . Sarah wasn’t there. Her voice had come from a distance. She was talking about someone else. Someone else’s wound? Who else had the bastard shot?
Dean remembered that last bullet, the one that had seemed to be a wild shot in the dark.
But Kevin never took wild shots. He was always the best at target practice.
“Say your good-byes,” Kevin advised gleefully, as Gabe held him fast. “Because you’re going to watch her die.”
The hell he was.
He grabbed her shirt. Ripped the thing open. Blood. Her blood. It was on his fingers. Terrifying him.
“What will you do when she dies?” Kevin taunted.
“Shut him the fuck up!” Dean blasted. Then . . . “Emma, baby, just keep your eyes on me.” Because her eyes were starting to sag closed. “You’re all right, I’ve got you.”
“Die in his arms!” Kevin was still shouting. “Go ahead . . . bleed out right there!”
“Shut him the fuck up!” Dean demanded once more.
He heard the thud of flesh hitting flesh, and Kevin finally stopped his yelling. Good. Dean could see the spot where the bullet had gone into her. Because he’d been pushing Emma at the time, the bullet had gone in at an angle. It hadn’t gone straight into her heart. It looked like it had sliced into her chest, but, thank Christ, it had missed her heart.
Dean lifted her into his arms and started running.
“Where is Victoria?” he heard Gabe snarl behind him.
But there was no answer.
He rushed ahead . . . and saw that Sarah was on her knees, beside Elroy. Fuck. Sarah had her hands wrapped tightly around Elroy’s neck. Because Kevin had shot him in the throat. And he remembered Kevin’s words . . .
You’ll be choking to death on your own blood.
It looked like Elroy was.
“Life flight is coming in!” one of the cops shouted. “We got them en route for Agent Elroy and your victim.”
He wanted to jump in the car and drive as far and as fast as he could. But the chopper would be quicker, he knew that. The medics on the helicopter would be able to help her.
He put her on the backseat of the car, tried to make her comfortable. Until that scene was secured, the last thing he wanted was for her to be out in the open with K
evin. Dean curled his body over Emma’s, and he kept his hand on her wound, applying pressure even as her blood soaked him. “Emma . . .” Her name was full of pain. “I love you.”
He thought he heard her whisper . . . I love you, too . . .
But he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was just hoping too much. Because he needed her to stay alive. Needed her to stay with him.
He didn’t want to think of a world without her.
VICTORIA DIDN’T WANT to die. She studied the dead. She didn’t plan to be dead for a very, very long time.
So she crawled out of the body bag. Her hands sank into the earth, and she hauled herself forward. He’d slashed her, cut her with his knife, but he hadn’t given her a killing blow. When the sound of approaching engines had reached them, he’d run fast, leaving her to the darkness.
She thought of Julia Finney. Of how the girl had crawled through this same swamp. Every sound she heard made her shudder. Snakes, alligators . . . they were out there, but she didn’t fear them as much as she feared Kevin Cormack.
Because if he found her before she discovered help, Victoria would be a dead woman.
She’d heard the sound of gunfire. Hard, sharp blasts, and she was trying to crawl that way. If only she could stand, but whatever drug he’d pumped into her back at the morgue still had her too weak, and she hadn’t even been able to untie the ropes that bound her.
Footsteps thudded, close . . . so close.
She started to cry out, but terror held her silent. What if that was Kevin, coming back to finish her off? She couldn’t give away her location. She couldn’t.
So she inched forward. Barely breathing.
“Victoria!” That bellow was familiar. Not Kevin. Not Kevin at all. Wade!
She opened her mouth to cry out but could only manage a weak gasp.
“Victoria!” It sounded as if he was moving farther away from her.
No! She swallowed frantically and tried again. “H-help!” It was like a frog’s croak. But it was a cry. “Help!” This time, her voice was louder.
And his pounding footsteps were rushing toward her.
The beam of his flashlight fell on her. “Viki!” He scrambled toward her. Rolled her over. “Oh, Christ, Viki . . .”
“N-nothing vital . . .” she whispered, and caught his hand, holding him as tightly as she could. “He’s . . . going to k-kill . . . Dean . . .”
“Gabe has him. He’s not going to hurt anyone else.” He hefted her into his arms. “And I’m going to take care of you.”
Her head slid down against his shoulder. She couldn’t even put her arms up around his neck. “S-scared . . .” That whisper was a stark confession.
“So was I. So scared I wouldn’t find you in time.” He pulled her closer. There was a different note in his voice, one she hadn’t heard before. “Sometimes, you don’t know what you’ve got . . .”
What?
“Until it’s too late.” Then he was moving with her, running fast through the darkness, and Victoria knew there was something else she’d meant to tell him . . . She’d heard the sound of gunshots, but Kevin . . . Kevin liked to use his . . . “Kn-knife . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DEAN COULD HEAR THE WHOOP-WHOOP OF THE approaching helicopter. It was a damn beautiful sound. “Help is here,” Dean told Emma softly. “It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.”
Her eyes were closed, and her pulse was thready. Dean feared that Emma might be going into shock. “It’s all right,” Dean said again as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
He glanced out of the car’s back window and saw the helicopter landing. He pulled Emma into his arms, holding her carefully, and started running toward the chopper and the medics who’d just jumped from it.
They secured Emma quickly. Strapped her down. Checked her vitals. Went to work on her wound.
Elroy was loaded on board, but the guy wasn’t moving at all.
“Wait!” Wade’s voice cut through the night. “Victoria!”
Dean whirled and saw his friend running toward the chopper, with Victoria in his arms. “Can you fit three?” Dean demanded of the crew.
They hesitated.
“You’re fitting three,” Dean snapped at them. Then he was pulling Victoria from Wade’s arms.
“Kn-knife . . .” she whispered to him.
Yes, that SOB had used his knife on her, and the sight of her injuries tore into Dean. She’d been pulled into his battle. Another innocent caught in the cross fire.
The crew secured her in the chopper. The blades started to whirl again. With so many victims loaded in, there wasn’t room for Dean to go with them.
Emma’s head turned. Her eyes were open. On him.
“I love you,” he told her once more. It seemed like he couldn’t say those words enough.
Then Sarah pulled him back. Dust and dirt swirled around him as the chopper rose, and all Dean could do was watch Emma leave.
I love you. He would tell her that a hundred times, a thousand times, every day for the rest of their lives. Just don’t leave me.
For a time, all he could hear was the sound of the airborne chopper, the whir of the blades, then—
Laughter.
He turned. Uniformed cops had taken Kevin Cormack toward a patrol car. They’d put cuffs on the guy, they had their weapons trained on him, but Kevin was still laughing. Like the dead and wounded were just part of some sick game.
Dean surged toward him.
“Don’t.” Gabe caught him. Held him back. “He’s trying to incite you. He wants you to attack. Hell, I think he may even want you to kill him.”
Dean’s gaze cut to a silent Sarah. She nodded.
And he remembered Victoria’s whisper. Knife.
“Stop!” he yelled to the cops.
They froze. He broke free of Gabe’s hold and ran to the man who’d once been his partner.
“Did your Emma die before they loaded her onto the chopper?” Kevin asked. “Because I think Elroy did. I know I hit his carotid. He was bleeding like a—”
“Did you search him?” Dean demanded of the uniformed officers.
The cops quickly nodded. “We patted him down, sir. No weapons.”
“You checked in his boots?”
“He doesn’t have any other weapons, sir,” the cop on the right assured him.
But Dean wasn’t convinced. “You were always good at having backups, weren’t you, Kevin? Like the FBI gun you used to kill Ricker.” Because back when they’d been partners, Kevin had always kept a second gun handy. The gun we found at the crypt.
And Kevin was still too triumphant for a man headed to jail. Dean bent and reached for Kevin’s boots.
Kevin tried to kick out at him, but Wade and Gabe were there, too, helping to hold the guy down. At first, Dean didn’t find anything in his search, and it looked as if the cops were right, no weapons, no—
Then he found the hidden lining in the interior of the boot. Tricky sonofabitch. He pulled out a knife from the right boot.
Then the left.
In the light, he could still see the blood on the knife that he’d taken from the left boot. Victoria’s blood. He handed the weapons to the cop who rushed forward with an evidence bag.
“It’s not going to be that easy for you,” Dean told Kevin as he rose and faced off against his old partner. “You don’t get to escape into death. You have to stay here and pay for your crimes.”
“No!” Kevin screamed, and he was fighting those who held him, fighting furiously.
“Lock him down,” Dean advised the cops. “Keep your eyes on him at all times.” Other FBI agents were joining them at the scene then—agents who’d have to deal with the fact that one of their own was a killer, and the K-9 unit had arrived. “Put him on suicide watch.”
Then Dean headed for the line of cars. The bastard didn’t matter any longer. He could rot in jail for the rest of his life. The person who mattered to Dean—Emma—he had to get to her.
“Yo
u’ll turn out like me!” Kevin yelled after him. “You’ll lose her, and you’ll have nothing! Nothing! The darkness will eat you alive! You’ll—”
Dean spun around. Once, that man had been his best friend. “I won’t kill innocents. I won’t hurt men and women just because I’ve been hurt, and I want to strike back at the world. How the fuck did you become like this? You used to be a good agent. You used to care about people.”
Kevin didn’t speak. He also stopped struggling.
“The badge you carried meant something. It should have, anyway. Or were you always like this?” And maybe that had been the case. “Were there signs I missed? Was the evil always rotting you from the inside, or were you something more once?”
Kevin didn’t have an answer.
And Dean didn’t care anymore.
He jumped into his car and raced away.
SURGERY WAS A bitch. Emma put it on her mental list of things that she never, ever wanted to do again.
Her eyes squinted as she stared at the white room around her. “I’m so . . .” Her voice came out hoarse. “Sick of hospitals.”
Soft laughter. From the right. She turned her head, slowly, and Dean was there. His face was pale, his eyes were lined by dark shadows, but he had the biggest grin on his face that she’d ever seen.
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Then how about”—his voice was almost as hoarse as her own had been—“we stay out of them for a while?”
“I-I like the sound of that.” Why did her throat hurt so much? Oh, jeez, had they used a breathing tube on her?
Frantic now, she tried to look down at her chest.
“Only a little scar will be there. The bullet didn’t hit your heart. You’re going to be fine, soon. Better than ever.”
Was he saying all that to convince her or himself?
Her gaze lifted to his face once more. “You don’t . . . look so good.” Had he been hit, too?
“That’s because I thought”—he eased closer to her—“that I was losing my life.”
Emma blinked.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Emma. I just found you, and I want you to stay with me—always. To lose you—”