Such a Pretty Girl

by Tess Diamond

  One of Paul’s tactical team members pointed to the theater on the left.

  Grace plunged into the darkness, drawing her Glock as she galloped down the center aisle. Gavin began clearing out the rows of people in the back as the Omega Team surged down the aisle.

  Light from the film—some French thing in black and white with subtitles—flickered across the theater, casting gaping shadows.

  She caught sight of two figures in the middle of one of the center rows. Neither of them had turned their heads as Omega Team entered and people began to flee.

  “Paul, I need lights,” she said into her radio, aiming her pistol at the two figures.

  She moved swiftly as the man on the screen whispered sweet nothings in French into his lover’s ear and they embraced. She was almost there . . .

  The lights flicked on, flooding the theater, now nearly empty. Grace blinked, her eyes tearing up a little bit at the sudden glare.

  Carthage was sitting next to Zooey, one arm around her shoulders—the other holding a gun to her head.

  “Hello, pretty girl,” he said, looking up at Grace with a wide smile. “Miss me?”

  Grace’s hand tightened on her Glock. “Drop the gun, Carthage,” she said. “And back away from the girl.”

  His fingers dug into Zooey’s shoulder. She bit her lip, trying to muffle a gasp of pain.

  “Grace, I’m sorry. He got my radio—” she started, breaking off with a swift breath as he jabbed the gun roughly against her temple. Her eyes got big, tears pooling, her entire body rigid with fear.

  “Silence,” Carthage hissed. “The grown-ups are talking.”

  Grace met Zooey’s eyes, trying to beg her silently to stay calm. Oh, God, what had she gotten her into? This was a stupid plan. Desperate. Reckless.

  Damn him.

  Gavin came swiftly down the aisle, his gun pointed at the back of Carthage’s head. Grace widened her eyes at him, and he came to a halt three rows behind them, his gaze never leaving Carthage.

  “Where is Dorothy O’Brian?” she demanded.

  Carthage laughed. “Have you already forgotten all I taught you, Grace? You have to work for knowledge.”

  Her hands tightened around her gun as fury built inside her.

  Carthage looked over his shoulder at Omega Team, their guns trained on him, ready to take him out. “You think your precious snipers will be fast enough, Grace?” he asked. “Think you can shoot me before I shoot her?” The barrel of the gun skated across Zooey’s temple.

  “No,” Grace gritted out, trying not to let emotion leak into her voice. She had to present a calm front. If he knew how much he was affecting her, how damn scared she was right now, he would be halfway to winning this sick game.

  “I think you should tell your friends to leave us alone,” Carthage said, drawing Zooey closer to him.

  Grace jerked her head at Carter, the head of Omega Team. He glared at her, obviously not wanting to go.

  “Now, Carter,” she said.

  The tac team retreated, the theater doors swinging shut behind them.

  It was just Gavin and her now. She wanted to look at him, but she couldn’t chance it.

  Her gun was still on Carthage. His gun was still on Zooey.

  Tears slid down Zooey’s face, her Cleopatra eyeliner smeared down her cheekbones. She was breathing too fast—from the looks of it, on the edge of a panic attack.

  “It’s okay, Zooey,” Grace said.

  Carthage laughed. “It’s most certainly not all right, Zooey,” he said, and then he did something that made Grace’s gut clench and her body shudder. He leaned over, his eyes still on Grace, and kissed Zooey on the forehead, the muzzle of the gun still pressing punishingly tight against her skull. She heard, rather than saw, Gavin let out a harsh breath. “Sweet girl, I bet you wish you hadn’t blindly followed this one now, don’t you?”

  “Screw. You,” Zooey said, through her gritted teeth. She was trying to stave off the panic attack with sheer bravado.

  Smart girl. They had to get her out of here.

  “You’re surrounded, Carthage,” Gavin said. “There’s nowhere to run. Let her go.”

  “Now, why would I do that?” he asked. “We’re having such a nice time, aren’t we, Zooey?”

  Zooey let out a hysterical sound, part whimper, part incredulous giggle. “Yeah, you sure know how to treat a girl,” she said sarcastically.

  “I do,” Carthage said, and the way he said it made Grace’s stomach heave. She just knew from the look on his face that he was thinking about her, eighteen-year-old Grace, who had been stupid and starved for affection from any father figure she could find. God, how she hated him. She wanted to put a bullet right between his eyes. But she couldn’t. Zooey was at risk. Dorothy was God knows where.

  She had to protect them both. Which meant keeping him alive but getting him the hell away from Zooey.

  “What are you going to do, Grace?” Carthage asked. “If you kill me, poor Dorothy will never be found. I can guarantee it. You could spend the rest of your life looking for her, and you won’t find her. She’ll just waste away, chained up, crying, starving to death, waiting for you. She’s a tough one, that Dorothy. It took quite a while for her to start screaming when I cut into her.”

  Grace couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as she imagined what horrors Dorothy was enduring. “I am going to kill you,” she hissed.

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “And neither is Agent Walker, over there.” It made Grace go cold as he smiled mockingly and said, “How’s the eye, Walker?”

  “Barely needed stitches,” Gavin growled. “You’re gonna need a lot more than I did.”

  With an exaggerated shudder, Carthage turned to Grace, his eyes shining. “So macho. So coarse. You’ve truly debased yourself, Grace.”

  Grace didn’t look at Gavin; she kept her gaze on Carthage, her pistol level, her hand steady. He didn’t really think she was sleeping with Gavin, that much she knew. He was just trying to slut-shame her. If he truly thought she and Gavin had an intimate connection . . .

  It might shake him enough to make him careless. She needed something to get him to let go of Zooey. To give her some sort of window to grab her so Gavin could wound him.

  “Sleeping with you was debasing myself,” she sneered. She raised her eyes—just for a split, deliberate second—to meet Gavin’s, before zeroing back in on Carthage, who was turning a mottled red. She smiled, the kind of pleased smile that only the most sated woman would know how to give. “But sleeping with him? It was like finding myself.” The truth in her words was there, raw and honest for all to hear.

  And just like she suspected, it was his trigger. Rage filled his face, his body tensing all over as her words hit him.

  “Slut!” he hissed, leaping to his feet, dragging Zooey in front of him. She was better than a bulletproof vest, and he knew it. He had her angled against him so that she blocked him from Grace’s shot and made it impossible for Gavin to shoot him in the back without risking a kill shot—with the bullet going through Zooey too.

  It would be Carthage’s ultimate dream if one of them accidentally shot Zooey in a bid to stop him and he managed to escape. That kind of victory would unhinge him. It would unleash a murderous rampage the likes of which they’d never seen. Dorothy would be dead within minutes of him arriving wherever he was keeping her.

  “Oh, you’re going to regret this,” he spat. “You’re mine. I’m going to make you pay.”

  “This isn’t a game, you sick bastard,” Grace said, advancing slowly toward them, Gavin following her lead. Carthage had backed up through the aisle, so now both she and Gavin were facing Zooey and him, their guns still trained on them, still unable to get a clear shot. Zooey was trying her best to be a deadweight, but Carthage picked her up, clutching her to him with little difficulty as her feet dangled in the air. Zooey was blocking any good shot, and Grace could see in her eyes that she knew it. Sweat slicked down her face, mixing with the mascara and
tears.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Carthage said. For a second, as he shifted toward the exit near the screen, Grace thought she’d find an angle, a shot that would wound him and leave Zooey unharmed—but no joy. Gavin shook his head when she glanced at him, telling her he was having the same problem.

  “It’s too early,” Carthage went on. “I have plans, Grace. The circle isn’t complete.”

  “Yet here we are,” Grace said.

  “She outsmarted you,” Gavin said. “You can’t run. We’ll find you.”

  The we seemed to enrage him further. “This isn’t about you!” he shrieked at Gavin.

  He was almost to the exit. Grace tensed. This was the moment. Either he was going to drop Zooey and run, giving her just seconds to make a shot . . .

  Or he was going to take her with him.

  “Fool me once,” Carthage muttered, “shame on me. Fool me twice . . .”

  He shoved Zooey toward Gavin, and a gunshot echoed through the theater. The girl cried out in pain and Gavin caught her in his arms, lowering her to the ground while Carthage dashed through the exit.

  “I got her!” Gavin yelled. “Go!”

  Grace ran, hitting the theater doors with bruising force. They opened onto a long, dark alley. Her heart in her throat, her Glock at the ready, Grace frantically looked to the right, then the left.

  There! She could see a shadowy figure ahead, just as he disappeared around the corner into another alley.

  “Carthage!” she shouted, sprinting after him. She turned the corner, leading with her pistol. He was thirty yards away, obscured by the night and the shadows of the buildings looming above them. It was a risky shot—but it was her only shot.

  She planted her feet, raising her gun, slowing her breath.

  One.

  Two.

  Bang.

  He let out a muffled grunt but kept moving, disappearing between the buildings.

  Grace raced forward, questions flooding her mind as she splashed through a puddle, soaking her legs up to the knee. Had she hit him? Grazed him? Or was that too much to hope?

  She rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt.

  It was a dead end, but there was no one in the narrow alleyway.

  He’d disappeared.

  Then she heard footsteps behind her. Her senses on high alert, she whirled, aiming her .45.

  “It’s us, Agent Sinclair!”

  She lowered it slightly, squinting in the glare of the tac team’s flashlights.

  “He turned here,” Grace said, stepping back to let Agent Carter lead, following right behind him. He moved slowly, sweeping the area back and forth with his semiautomatic, the light attached to it illuminating the space.

  They got halfway down the alley when she saw it: a sewer grate.

  When Carter shone his light on it, they saw that the cover was askew. Someone had hastily pulled it back in place.

  Fury filled Grace. She had had him. Right in her hands. Right where she wanted him! She wasn’t going to get another chance.

  And now he was gone. Hidden underground, in the labyrinth of sewer tunnels.

  They’d never find him. Not unless he wanted them to.

  “Should we follow, Agent Sinclair?” Carter asked.

  Grace shook her head.

  Gavin came running up, blood smeared on his hands. Grace’s stomach sank.

  “Zooey?” she asked immediately.

  “She’s fine,” he assured her. “Flesh wound to the arm. Through and through. Very clean. EMTs are taking her to the hospital now. Carthage?”

  Grace looked down the alley. “He got away,” she said, feeling so small. The exhaustion and adrenaline made her feel like a match burned down to the end. There was nothing left of her.

  He’d taken everything.

  She kicked the dumpster in the alley, ignoring the pain howling through her toes, ignoring the fact that she was definitely not wearing the right shoes for it. She kicked it again for good measure.

  “Son of a bitch,” she growled.

  She let herself have one moment. One moment when the anger and guilt flooded her, rushing through her body like a dam had broken. One moment when she let the doubt take hold of her.

  And then she squared her shoulders and holstered her Glock.

  “Let’s go find a way to catch this bastard and save Dorothy,” she said.

  She would bring him down.

  Even if it killed her.

  Chapter 31

  You fucking bitch,

  You shot me. How dare you?

  I couldn’t see your trickery, just like when I first met you and was helpless against your allure.

  I’m lucky to be alive. I could be lying in a pool of blood in that alley behind the theater, or in cuffs right now, marched in front of all those cameras.

  A few inches to the right . . . and you could have won.

  This is unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.

  The blue-haired girl was too easy; I see it now. She was practically handed to me on a silver platter, and I overlooked it because I wanted so badly to make you pay—to break through those walls and crack the facade you show the world.

  It isn’t enough to humiliate you. It isn’t enough to expose you.

  You haven’t learned your lesson. You’re still pushing, still trying to outsmart me. You got close this time, you even put a bullet in me, but next time you won’t.

  I should’ve realized it before now.

  The only way to teach you is to kill you.

  Chapter 32

  “Grace?”

  Grace looked away from the hospital room window, where she was watching Zooey, fast asleep after the doctors had stitched her wound closed.

  Paul was standing there, looking somber. Dread filled her, because she knew that look. That was his time-to-break-bad-news look.

  “What did he do now?” she asked, bracing herself for news that Dorothy was dead.

  “I sent agents to Joann Taylor’s residence like you asked,” Paul said.

  Her heart tightened along with her fists. “He got her,” she said. It wasn’t even a question. She was too tired to make it one. Because she knew.

  He was completing the circle. He’d killed surrogates for her one female ally when she was in college, for her parents, for the TA who had brought them together. He’d killed Nancy because she represented Joann in the divorce and he’d killed Joann because she left him.

  Grace was all that was left. The circle would be complete.

  It began with her and it would end with her.

  “There were no earrings found this time,” Paul said. “But I guess that’s beside the point at this stage.”

  “He doesn’t need trinkets anymore,” Grace said, staring at the ground. “The game is almost done.”

  “I’m worried, Grace,” Paul said.

  She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Don’t be,” she said. “I’m going to win.”

  “I’m worried because you’re talking like that,” Paul said, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “He’s in your head.”

  “I know,” Grace said. “That’s how I’m going to find him.”

  Without another word, she turned and walked down the hallway, to the lobby, where Gavin was waiting for her. He fell into step next to her as they walked out of the hospital and through the parking lot toward the SUV. Daylight was breaking across the sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept. But it didn’t matter.

  Today it would end. She could feel it. It was the day of reckoning—and she wasn’t sure if it’d be Carthage’s or hers.

  Once they got inside, Gavin finally spoke.

  “What’s the plan?”

  She looked across the car at him, something sweet and good and impossible to deny filling the parts in her heart she thought she’d long shut down. His easy acceptance, his stalwart bravery, the balance of steadiness and humor he approached everything in his life with warmed every part of her. It
made her want to be better, to be brave enough to let herself fit in the place next to him.

  “I don’t know,” she said. A quiet admission that she could give only to him, because she knew there’d be no judgment, just solutions.

  “Hey, now,” he said, reaching out to wipe away a tear trickling down her cheek. She realized, for the first time, she was crying. She blinked furiously, trying to hold it in.

  “It’s okay to cry,” he told her. “It’s been a really bad week.”

  She let out a watery half laugh, wiping at her eyes. “That’s an understatement.” She sniffed. “I don’t know if she’s still alive, Gavin.”

  She couldn’t even bear to think of Dorothy, who was just getting started. Who had things so hard already. And was now enduring this hell because of Grace. Because she slept with the wrong man as a grieving teenager.

  “She is,” Gavin said. “I know it.”

  “How?” She didn’t understand the unshakeable faith in his voice, but she saw in his face he believed it.

  “Because she’s a fighter,” Gavin said. “Just like you. She’ll survive this. And so will you.”

  “You don’t know that, though,” she said, feeling small and helpless.

  “I do, though,” he said. “Heart. Gut. Brain. They all agree.” He reached over, taking Grace’s hands in his. “You’re the most amazing woman I have ever met,” he said. “And it’s not because you’re beautiful,” he added when she started to roll her eyes. “And it’s not even because you’re brilliant, even though you are. It’s because no matter what happens, you keep going. No matter how many times he hits you, you pick yourself back up. You’re stronger than he is, Grace. He knows it. That’s why he took Dorothy.”

  “He wants to kill her in front of me,” Grace said, realizing with a jolt what Carthage’s plan was. “The circle,” she said, looking up at Gavin with wide eyes. “He said ‘the circle isn’t complete.’ Dorothy represents me. Younger me. The me he met all those years ago. She’s almost the same age as I was. We don’t look anything alike, but that doesn’t matter, because of her personal connection to me. She’s the perfect surrogate. In his mind, if he kills younger me in front of adult me . . .”