by P. A. Wilson
Ivan blinked. Monique pushed aside her nausea to keep speaking, “He loved me and my brother very much. I thought he loved my mother too, but it turned out he didn’t. When I came home one day, I found out what he was capable of. I found out that he could kill my mother without any apparent reason. That he could stick a knife in her over and over again. The coroner said he started with her throat so she couldn’t cry out. Maybe I should do that to you?”
Monique took a breath and noticed Ivan was sweating. So, he was a susceptible to the same tactics as he used on others. She smiled down at him and drew back the hand holding the chisel slightly. There was a line of blood oozing just below his Adam’s apple. Monique experienced no feeling of panic this time. “At least that part I understand. Now, how does it feel to be on the other side of this?”
She pulled the chisel away again, just far enough to let him speak.
“It is interesting. I will take a lesson away from this, if I am allowed to take anything away. But I wonder are you really willing to take a life? It changes you. The first kill is the hardest one. You have no understanding of the pleasure you receive when the life drains out of your victim. After that, you can anticipate it. I remember a man, a boy really, who used to stab women. He was my role model, the one who helped me realize my power.”
“I don’t care.” Monique shifted the chisel again.
Ivan swallowed. “Maybe you should care, but it doesn’t matter. I lost contact with him when he came to this country. More than thirty years ago. He had your eyes.”
Monique felt all her blood sink to her stomach, leaving her head and fingers cold. This man was talking about her father. Was it the truth? Was he trying to rattle her?
Had her father been a killer before… No, she wouldn’t believe Ivan’s lies. “I hope killing for a good reason is different. I think I’ll get away with it legally, and I’ve lived with the emotional fallout of violence long enough that I think I can deal with it. Maybe I need to change, maybe it will be good.”
“Perhaps you will be different from me. I also first killed to protect someone I loved.”
“I find it hard to believe you understand love. I think you tell yourself that, but you like it. I saw it in your eyes. You got off on the fear. You hate it when someone dies because it means you can’t terrorize them any longer.” Whether it was true or not, Monique kept talking.
She moved behind Ivan before reaching for the tape. Using her teeth, Monique pulled off a length, then slapped it over his mouth. She taped him to the chair and picked up the phone.
Flipping it open, Monique dialed 911.
Nothing happened.
She looked at the status. There were no bars.
What the hell kind of night was it? She would have to get outside to make the call and Vincent was in the hall. She’d used up all the energy she had for playing the dangerous killer. A quick glance at the windows showed her the security mesh. There was no other way out of the room. She looked at Ivan. He stared back at her, fury burning in his gaze. She shivered but didn’t respond to the unspoken threat.
Moving to the window, she tried the phone again, only one bar. Ivan was rocking the chair. She knew it would break if he could manage to get enough momentum to fall. Running to stop him, she looked for something that would at least slow him down. The drug was unfamiliar, but she could tell by the way his eyes widened that it wasn’t just a truth serum. She wasn’t going to take a chance on the dosage. She needed to find something that would help her without risking killing him. He was right about that. Despite her earlier confidence, she didn’t want to take the chance that it would change her for the worst.
The only thing that came to her mind was to lower the chair to the floor so he couldn’t break it with a fall. She took the back of the chair in her hands and braced herself. Ivan tried to rock, but she tipped the chair back giving him nothing to push against. His weight made it difficult to handle, but she slowly lowered him to the ground. On his back, he had less ability to move. Monique knew it wouldn’t be long before he was able to change that.
Simply making the phone call wouldn’t protect her life. If he got free, she would be dead before the cops could arrest him. Monique needed to get outside. She tested both windows with no luck. The only way out was past Vincent.
If she could get him to come in, perhaps she could slip out. If she ran fast, there were places she could hide for long enough to be safe. Too many ifs for comfort, but she had no choice.
First, she needed to hide Ivan so that Vincent would be distracted. Then she needed to get Vincent’s attention. The only way that would work is if she broke something, loudly.
It needed to be something fast. If she delayed much longer, Vincent might just come in to find out what was taking so long.
The only thing in the room that would hide Ivan for even a moment was the table. If she pulled it to stand beside him, and placed the bag on the floor, it might work. She lifted the table to his side, and took a moment to tape Ivan’s feet together, further limiting his ability. He was trying to yell at her through the tape and it came out as a grunting wheeze.
“Feeling some sympathy for your victims? Or are you beyond that? Don’t bother trying to answer. I’m sure you don’t want me to demonstrate anything else about their experience.”
She went to the door and looked. Unless Vincent’s height gave him more of an advantage than she imagined, the first glance would show him a table and bag. That’s all she needed, just a few seconds of distraction.
Now she had to figure out how to break something noisily, and do it from her position at the door. She had to be standing in the corner beside the door as soon as Vincent entered. He wouldn’t see her right away – if she were very lucky.
The window was the most likely target, but she didn’t think she could throw hard enough, or accurately enough, to break the glass through the bars. What else would make enough noise? She went back to the bag. Maybe she didn’t have to break anything. Maybe there was another way. There was a hammer. She could use that to bang on the door. The leather rope gave her an idea. She looked at the radiator near the door.
She tied one end of the rope to the radiator about two inches from the floor. Then she trailed the rope across the opening and held onto the other end. Finally, she banged on the door, enjoying the loud crashing as a release of the tension she’d been holding so close.
There was no sound of approach, but she kept her eyes on the door handle.
It turned.
The door opened outward.
She waited until Vincent took his first step inside then pulled the rope tight. It caught him half way up his shin and he pitched forward. She let the rope go and rushed through the doorway as Vincent hit the ground with a thud and groan.
The hall was empty.
It had occurred to her that Vincent might have brought reinforcements while he waited, but no. Behind her, she heard cursing and furniture breaking. Monique kept running.
Taking a left outside the door, she ran toward the end of the street dodging between two cars so she could run behind the parked vehicles as cover. She flipped open the phone and pressed 911.
“Police,” she gasped out to the operator as she glanced at the street signs. “I’m on Arles Avenue and Pandora. I need the police. Someone is trying to kill me. Hurry!”
She heard a shout behind her, but it didn’t seem directed, just frustrated.
“Ma’am stay on the line, the police are on the way.”
Monique hazarded a glance and saw Vincent in the doorway looking up and down the street. She noticed the glow of light from the phone and snapped it shut. It might be too far to give Vincent her location, but she was done taking chances. The 911 operator wouldn’t care. She’d still send the cops.
A Hummer was parked one car in from the corner. It would make a great hiding place as long as neither Vincent nor Ivan came to start it. She crouched by the driver’s door. Losing her line of sight was hard to take, but she was hidde
n and that was important. And, maybe the fact she hung up on the 911 operator would put a bit of speed into the police. She would give anything to hear the wail of sirens right now.
Footsteps approached the vehicle. Monique held her breath. If Ivan found her now, there would be no way she could stay safe long enough for help to arrive. She fought the urge to run that twitched her legs.
She told herself that he didn’t know where she was, or he’d already have her. He wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t want to take the risk of losing her again. If he found her, she would have to do something she wasn’t prepared to do. She didn’t have a weapon on her and nothing was conveniently at hand. But more than that, Ivan was right. She didn’t want to become a killer.
A weapon would make her feel safer, though. Why couldn’t there be a handy tire iron laying in the gutter?
Why hadn’t she kept the chisel?
The footsteps went past her and she carefully turned, trying to be silent. It was Vincent.
Where was Ivan?
Vincent stood on the sidewalk beside the passenger door. Monique leaned closer to the Hummer, her foot shifting a stone. At the sound, she froze. Vincent turned slowly toward her. She felt a tremble start in her gut and take over her body.
If she couldn’t hold herself together, he would see her and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
He was looking straight ahead. If he didn’t look down, she would be fine.
Monique fought an urge to close her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to see him find her, she couldn’t afford to be afraid of the truth. It was going to come down to a fight, and he outweighed her, and probably had a thousand fights under his belt.
“Well, did you find her?” Ivan’s voice came from behind.
Vincent turned to face his boss. Monique breathed again when his attention was taken away. Where were the cops? If this is how they responded to an emergency, the city was in trouble.
“She can’t have gotten far. We’ll find her. Do you want me to kill her when I see her?”
“No. We will take her somewhere we can hide the body. Somewhere you can clean up when we are done. I think we can forget this evidence she claims to have. I don’t think she has anything. Just make sure she’s kept quiet.”
Ivan walked away. At least Monique heard footsteps retreating and she could still see Vincent’s head. She didn’t care that Ivan would get away. She had enough evidence against him for kidnapping to get the police to arrest him, and she had a good idea where they could find him.
Vincent was another matter.
She didn’t think he would give up looking for her. She couldn’t hide forever. Her legs were protesting being crouched in the cold after the time in the room. If he would just go back, or turn the corner, she could move.
Finally, in the distance, she heard sirens. It was only a matter of moments.
“Hello, did you think you could hide from me?”
Vincent was behind her.
How had she taken her attention off him? She spun to face him, rising from her crouch, feeling the pain of cramped muscles as she did. He reached for her and she dodged at the same time. She felt the pain of her shoulder crashing against the Hummer. She told herself to ignore it. Pain could wait.
“Come here, you stupid woman.”
She saw his hand coming toward her and managed to duck at the last second. His hand hit the spinners attached to the hubcaps, and he grunted. Monique rolled to the side while he shook out the pain.
Scrambling to her feet, she tried to run but he grabbed her ankle. The sirens were getting closer, but they would be too late to save her.
She kicked at his hand and heard something snap. He swore and yanked her down to the ground again. Skinning her palms, Monique tried to stop the slide toward what could be her last moments.
“Get her inside.” Ivan’s voice snapped through the air. “We cannot be here when the police arrive.”
Monique squirmed in Vincent’s grasp but he stooped, picked her up, and started for the door. The building was almost a block away.
She opened her mouth to scream. He must have felt her take in a breath, because he covered her mouth. No amount of kicking was going to get her free.
The sirens sounded so close, they could be only a block away. Monique needed to find the energy to slow Vincent down enough to keep the three of them on the street until the cops could see them.
Ivan was determined to get her inside.
She knew he had given up on her handing over the photo. She was going to die, and she could only hope that it would be quick.
Monique did the only thing she could think of, she bit down on Vincent’s fingers.
He dropped his hand and stood her in front of him against the wall of the building. She was only steps away from being hidden from the cops. Monique tried to pull herself free as Vincent raised his hand.
Monique only had one way to stop it. “Wait. Do you know who Ivan is?” The words didn’t stop him. He slapped her sending bright dots of light through her vision.
“I know who he is.”
Through the pain, she saw his hand coming to pick her up again. “No, I don’t think you do. He is Javor Dragic, do you know who that is?” Monique pulled away as the lights of the cruisers turned the corner.
Vincent stayed his hand, staring at her with disbelief blooming on his face. Then he turned to look at Ivan who was holding the door open and watching over his shoulder, obviously, measuring the risk of being caught.
“Look at him, Vincent. You know what Dragic looks like, don’t you? Look at his eyes. He even kept his nickname, The Colonel.” She braced herself to run into the street.
Ivan stepped into the corridor as the cruisers came to a halt.
Things started to happen too quickly for Monique to control.
Vincent pushed her out of his way and ran toward Ivan. She couldn’t tell if it was to protect him, or attack. Ivan reached around the door with a gun in his hand.
He shot in her direction. Monique felt the spray of brick splinters pepper her face as the shot went wide.
Cops boiled out of the cruisers yelling for everyone to freeze.
Vincent kept moving toward Ivan, his hands reaching out.
Ivan tried to slip behind the door, but Vincent got there before he could close it.
Monique rolled to the ground and curled up against the side of the building. This time she would let the cops deal with the situation.
“I said, freeze,” one of the cops shouted.
Monique wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t let the scene unfold without witnessing it.
Vincent had his hand around Ivan’s throat.
Ivan held the gun between them.
The cops were yelling.
She heard a shot.
Then everything went quiet.
She watched as Vincent crumpled at the knees, his arms around Ivan. She didn’t know if he was trying to hold Ivan up, or if he was dragging Ivan down. One of them was mortally wounded.
A cop radioed for an ambulance.
Then someone was standing beside her. “Are you hurt?”
She uncurled and rubbed at the dirt on her sleeves. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
“Are you the one who called us?”
“Yes. Those two guys kidnapped me, and were threatening to kill me. One of them is a Serbian war criminal. The other one killed at least three people. Detectives Adams and Watson know about the murders.”
“We’ll get you checked out at the hospital and then we’ll see about the other stuff.”
Monique looked over her shoulder at the two men lying on the ground. “Are they alive?”
“Barely. Don’t worry you’re safe. What’s your name?”
Monique answered questions until the two ambulances arrived. She watched as Ivan was lifted onto a stretcher, a lot of blood staining the sheet they draped over his stomach.
Vincent was face down on the wet sidewalk, his hands behind him in metal cu
ffs.
CHAPTER 21
The next morning, Monique felt every scrape and strain of the previous days. Ivan was in critical condition. Vincent was in jail. She was finished with the police, forever, she hoped. The doctor in the ER had given her some painkillers. Two pills and a hot bath had soothed her muscles enough to let her sleep in her own bed.
Today she’d visit Rafe. Maybe it was time to talk about their future. The idea of looking forward to that discussion was odd, but the idea of wanting a future with someone was even odder to Monique.
She needed to call Tess and tell her she wasn’t coming in for few days, her voice felt as damaged as the rest of her. Monique looked for her phone, but it wasn’t on the night table.
She was starving so she stumbled to the kitchen before remembering she’d taken all of the groceries to Rafe’s the day before. It seemed like forever since she had walked into his apartment to see the blood and damage. A shower and breakfast at Mitch’s were her new priorities.
The warm water helped to relax some of the strained muscles, and being clean felt like better medicine than the pills. She dried her hair and pulled on jeans and a tee shirt so she could leave. Monique decided she would start making her calls when she had coffee and pancakes in front of her. Grabbing her phone from the counter, she stuffed it and her wallet into her jacket pocket and headed out.
Halfway to Mitch’s, her phone rang. When she looked at the display, it showed Andy’s number. It would be Didi. At least she hoped it would.
“Hi, Nique. What are you up to?”
“Breakfast. Are you out of the hospital?” She hurried her pace.
“Yeah, I’m at Andy’s. I guess he told you about us.” Didi’s tone was whiny and Monique wondered what he really wanted.
“Yeah, I guess I’m happy for you. Why didn’t you tell me?” She didn’t understand the annoyance that started to build in her system. Didi wasn’t the problem. In fact, today no one should be the problem.