The Last Kiss Goodbye: A Charlotte Stone Novel

by Karen Robards

  Charlie could hear it in his tone: time was growing short. The objectification, the coldness, the distancing—he’d lumped her in with “them”—necessary for him to kill her was coalescing.

  Kaminsky’s eyes were wide open. Charlie could hear the controlled quality of her breathing. One of the girls made a sound, a whimper. She glanced that way: the girl’s eyelids were moving. She was one of the blondes, the second one down. If she woke up, what would David do? If the girl got agitated, started moving around, maybe cried or screamed, that might be all the trigger he needed. Kaminsky was looking at the girl, too: Charlie’s eyes met Kaminsky’s, held. “Keep her quiet,” she mouthed. Kaminsky nodded. The other woman was frightened, she could see, but had herself in hand. Charlie’s gaze was drawn to Michael, who was cursing a blue streak as he tried, and failed, to grab hold of the padlock.

  Another of the girls stirred.

  The sense that the situation was getting ready to spiral out of control was strong.

  Dread wrapped around Charlie like a pall. Putting a hand on the arm of the moving girl in hopes of keeping her down and calm if she should awaken, Charlie did the only thing she could think of to do: she talked.

  “David, you’re overlooking something.” She kept her tone very even, very sure. “Special Agent Bartoli and Special Agent Crane know your identity. And they’ll be looking for Special Agent Kaminsky and me. Every law enforcement agent in the state will be looking for us. If you harm us, every law enforcement agent in the country will be looking for you. You can’t possibly get away.”

  David laughed. “Oh, Charlie. Do you think I didn’t consider the possibility that this day might come? I have a second identity, a second life that I can go to. David Myers is going to disappear tonight.” He laughed again. “Trust me, I’ve thought of everything. No one will find me.”

  “Bartoli and Crane already will have missed us.” Charlie fought to keep her growing desperation out of her voice. “They probably have every police officer in the area looking for us right now. They’ll put up roadblocks. They’ll send up helicopters. They’ll watch the airports. They are going to catch you. Your only chance is to let me help you.”

  “Your FBI special agents aren’t doing anything right now.” David sounded almost gleeful. “I heard your friend back there screaming about them being in an explosion into her phone right before I zapped her. That explosion was my house going up. I disconnected the hose from the gas stove, and as I was leaving, gas was already filling the house. All it took was a spark to set it off. I knew it would happen soon, although I have to say I didn’t expect it to happen that soon. I was thinking pilot light from the water heater, but I doubt it was that.” He paused a second. “I’m guessing your special agents set it off. Yes, I bet that’s what happened. In that case, they’re most likely already dead. So I don’t have to worry about them.”

  The garage door opener. Horror widened Charlie’s eyes. An indrawn breath from Kaminsky told Charlie she was thinking the same thing.

  Please let Tony and Buzz still be alive.

  “If that’s the case, I really did clean up after myself.” David sounded highly pleased.

  “Oh.” One of the girls was definitely waking up. It was the brunette: she rolled free of the others and, before either Charlie or Kaminsky could do anything to prevent her, sat up. She was plump, with a snub nose.

  “Oh,” she said again, looking around. Then she began to scream like her fingernails were being pulled out.

  The hair stood up on the back of Charlie’s neck.

  “Holy shit, shut her up,” Michael barked. “He’s got another can of gas back here.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Charlie cried to the girl at the same time as, moving almost simultaneously and with Charlie resolutely ignoring the shooting pain in her head, she and Kaminsky scrambled to crouch beside her.

  “Hush, hush, you’re all right,” Charlie babbled at the girl, grabbing one arm, while Kaminsky grabbed the other, shook it, and snapped, “Shut up, you little idiot.”

  When the girl didn’t, Kaminsky hauled off and slapped her across the face.

  Charlie felt as shocked as the girl looked, but at least the screaming stopped. Eyes wide and tear-filled, her breath coming in gasping sobs, the girl stared at Kaminsky. Charlie slid an arm around her, and the girl collapsed against her shoulder and, more quietly this time, wept.

  Across her shaking shoulders, Charlie and Kaminsky exchanged speaking looks.

  “That didn’t suit me, that didn’t suit me at all,” David said. “I think I’m going to have to give you ladies another little dose of gas.” Charlie could feel him looking at her, and she glanced up to meet his eyes in the mirror. “It’ll make things easier for you,” he told her comfortingly. “I won’t wake you up.”

  Charlie’s blood ran cold. Then, when he reached behind him to slide the plastic door closed, her heart shot into her throat.

  “What’s he doing?” The girl jerked upright in Charlie’s arms. Her voice shook with fear. Her head swiveled so that she was looking at Charlie. “I want to go home! I want my mom!”

  “Shut up,” Kaminsky and Michael roared at the same time, and when the girl did, burying her face in Charlie’s shoulder and shaking silently in her arms, Charlie could hear the soft, sibilant hiss of gas.

  “It’s coming through the vents.” Michael was making valiant attempts to close them, but Charlie could see his hands passing right through the black plastic slots. She could feel his frustration, his terror for her. Realizing that he was helpless to help her, helpless to save her, Charlie felt cold sweat wash over her in a wave. “Babe, you’ve got to get out of that cage. It’s weakest in the corners. You and Sugar Buns are going to have to try to kick your way through. Try the one on the back left, near the door.”

  At instant vision of her kitten-heeled sandals and Kaminsky’s towering pumps flashed through Charlie’s mind, along with the conclusion, At least it’s better than bare feet. Charlie looked at Kaminsky. “We’ve got to try to kick through one of the corners of the cage.” She pointed at the one Michael had indicated. “That one there.”

  Kaminsky scrambled toward it. Charlie said “It’s going to be okay” to the girl, released her—she crumpled into a sobbing ball—and scrambled after Kaminsky. The other woman was already slamming her foot in its high, stiletto heel against the wire when Charlie reached her.

  “We need to do it together,” Charlie cried, and Kaminsky nodded. “One, two, three.”

  They were just slamming their feet against the wire strut in unison when, so loud it made them jump, they heard the wail of a police siren. Revolving red lights flashed through the van.

  “Thank God,” Kaminsky breathed, and she and Charlie stopped kicking the cage and looked at each other.

  “Thank God,” Charlie echoed. She was already starting to feel a little dizzy from the gas.

  “Did I ever say I don’t believe in miracles? I take it back. Two cop cars are right behind us.” Michael, jubilant, came to crouch in front of them. “It’s going to be okay, babe.”

  With a screech of tires, the van sped up like it had been shot from a gun. Charlie was thrown back onto her butt. Kaminsky was spared the same fate only because she grabbed hold of the wire grid. The van rocketed down the road; Charlie could hear the spray of gravel hitting the sides.

  “He’s making a run for it,” Michael groaned as the wail of the sirens seemed to fall behind. He rushed toward the cab, for what purpose Charlie didn’t know. The gas was starting to make itself felt: everything Charlie could see was starting to spin. Kaminsky coughed; the girl whimpered, a high, keening sound that grated on Charlie’s nerves.

  “It’s a bridge.” Michael was back, roaring. “He’s driving us off a fucking bridge into the lake! Hold on!”

  Even as he said it, there was a tremendous jolt, and the van seemed to jump forward.

  For a moment, Charlie got the terrifying impression that they were suspended in space. Then the front o
f the van tilted down, and with a tremendous splash and enough force to send all of them flying, it plunged into the lake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Charlie tumbled head over heels, crashing into bodies, bouncing off the sides of the cage, which had broken loose from its moorings and was tumbling around, too. When the violent motion stopped, water was already pouring inside the van. It was gushing in through the cab, and from the angle she realized they were going into the water front end first. Unsecured now, the cage lay snugly against the plastic doors that divided the driver’s compartment from the cargo area. A glimpse of night sky at the rear told her that one of the cargo doors had flown open on impact. The strip of starry sky she could see provided the only illumination.

  What had become of David she had no idea. She, Kaminsky, and the girls were tangled together in a barely moving heap on what was now the bottom of the cage.

  We’re still locked in the cage.

  As Charlie realized that, panic sent a rush of adrenaline shooting through her veins.

  Cop cars had been close behind them. Rescue had to be on its way.

  Charlie felt cold water gushing over her ankles, and knew they dare not wait.

  “Get up! You got to get out! Now!” Michael bent over them, yelling, and Charlie, dazed and hurting as she was, still knew he was right. Water was already rising around her, rising around all of them as it filled the cargo area from front to back. It was cold, fishy-smelling, and shiny black as oil.

  Dark water. Her heart lurched.

  Even as Charlie had the thought, she was scrambling upright, grabbing at the wire grid. She couldn’t see much, only the pale shapes that were Kaminsky and the girls. Pain stabbed her behind her eyes; her head swam. She ignored all of it. The van was sinking into the water; if they didn’t get out, they would die.

  “Help! Help!” One of the girls shrieked as she struggled to her feet. “Somebody, help us!”

  “What’s happening?” another cried. “Diane, where are you?”

  Two of them were on their feet now, screaming and clutching each other as they tried to keep their balance in the rising water. As water edged up around her knees, Charlie ignored them, frantically rattling the grid, seeking an area of weakness. There just wasn’t any give—

  “Charlie, do you see any way out?” The cry came from Kaminsky, who was sloshing around to her left. Charlie saw that she was hauling the third girl’s head clear of the water, and thrusting her into the arms of one of her friends with the admonition, “Hang on to her.”

  “Babe, there’s a hole in the wire where the bottom of the cage was fastened to the floor of the van. Right here.”

  With the water swirling around her thighs now, Charlie followed Michael to the hole. It was small, with jagged edges, but she thought they could fit through it.

  “Here,” she called to Kaminsky, holding on to the grid as the van tilted forward a little more and water rose almost to her waist. “Give me one of the girls.”

  An instant later, a small cold hand clutched hers.

  “This is Kim,” Kaminsky said. “Get her out of here.”

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Kim—she was one of the blondes—gasped over and over again as Charlie helped her wiggle through the hole.

  “Go out the door back there, and swim,” Charlie ordered when Kim was free. She watched the girl scramble on all fours up the slippery floor toward the open cargo door, and realized that the van was tilting more.

  “Come on, Diane,” Kim cried, stopping to look back as she teetered at the edge of the open door.

  “Jump!” Charlie yelled at her. With one last look over her shoulder at the girl Kaminsky was thrusting toward Charlie, Kim did. The sound of the splash told Charlie that the rear of the van was still a good distance above the water.

  The problem was, it was sinking fast.

  “Hurry,” Michael said urgently.

  “Hurry,” Charlie repeated to Kaminsky as she thrust the second girl—the brunette, who had regained consciousness first—through the hole.

  “I’m not a very good swimmer,” the girl—Diane?—cried, looking back.

  “Go! We’ll be up there to help you soon,” Kaminsky yelled. She was struggling with the third girl, a delicately built blonde, who, although her eyes were open and she seemed responsive, was still clearly under the influence of the gas.

  “You go through and I’ll hand her up to you,” Charlie said, ignoring her pounding heart in favor of holding on to the girl as the water swirled ever higher around them. The angle of the van was increasingly precarious, and keeping her footing was growing ever more difficult.

  Nodding, Kaminsky pulled herself through the hole, then reached down for the girl.

  “Hold your hands up,” Charlie ordered, then when the girl looked at her blankly she snapped, “Natalie! You’re Natalie, right?” The girl nodded. “Hold up your hands!”

  Natalie did, Kaminsky grabbed them—“I’ve got her!”—and despite the girl’s apparent inability to help much, with Charlie pushing from beneath they managed to get her through.

  “Take her on out.” Charlie was already working her way through the hole. “I can manage.”

  Kaminsky nodded and started half helping, half pushing Natalie toward the door, where Diane, poised in the opening like a swimmer on the block, hesitated, looking back at them.

  “Jump!” Kaminsky yelled at her.

  Diane did. Seconds later, Kaminsky and Natalie reached the door.

  “I’m out,” Charlie called to Kaminsky as, having made it through the hole, she knelt on top of the cage preparatory to standing up. “Go!”

  With a glance back to make sure Charlie really was through, Kaminsky locked a hand in the back of Natalie’s shirt and they both disappeared. A splash an instant later told Charlie they were in the lake.

  “Goddamn it, babe, move your ass,” Michael snarled at her.

  With a terrifying slurping sound, water reached the top of the cage as Charlie scrambled to her feet. Her heart thudded when the van tilted, and she almost lost her balance.

  “Go,” Michael roared, and Charlie pushed off from the top of the cage, meaning to follow the others to the door and jump into the lake.

  But something cold and hard latched on to her ankle, snatched her back. A hand! David! Circumstances—like, say, a short in the electrical system caused by the water which prevented him from operating the doors or windows—must have left him with no choice but to exit the cab through the plastic doors, and force his way into the cage, which he had to pass through to reach the open cargo door. Charlie looked down to see the pale circle of his face glaring up at her through the water as he pushed his way through the hole after her, and her heart gave a great leap.

  “Let go!” she cried, kicking at his imprisoning hand. The water rose around her ankles even as David’s head burst through the hole. He only had one arm through. His shoulders, she saw, were too big to fit. “Michael, help!

  David’s head cleared the surface of the water, and Michael saw what was happening. “Fuck!”

  Even as Charlie fought to yank her ankle free, Michael was at her side, throwing punches, stomping at David’s head, but David never felt a thing. Realizing that Michael really, truly couldn’t materialize, Charlie felt her stomach drop clear to her toes. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced.

  “Help me get out of here,” David groaned. His eyes were wild as they fixed on her, and Charlie fought the urge to scream. She was afraid that if she did, it would incite him, push him into the kind of frenzy that serial killers were typically capable of. Already he was horrifying to look at: his expression made his face a grotesque parody of his usual good looks. His hair was plastered to his skull. Water streamed down his face, running dark on one side, and Charlie realized that his head was bleeding: he must have been injured in the crash. But his hand gripping her ankle felt stronger than it had any right to be, and she remembered that serial killers, when in the zone, often had far greater than normal stre
ngth.

  “Let me go and I’ll help you!” she promised, tamping down on the hysteria that bubbled into her throat, fighting to stay calm in the face of burgeoning terror, but he laughed. The van swayed, and as he struggled to force himself through the hole the water rose to lap at his chin.

  “You better get me out of here! If I go down, you’re going with me,” he threatened her, and she could tell he meant every word. His fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her. Water inched up her calves, the van rocked, and panic surged in an icy tide through her veins. Talking him into letting her go might work, given enough time. But time was what she didn’t have. If she didn’t get free, soon, she was going to drown. To hell with inciting him into a frenzy: she screamed—please God, let Kaminsky hear and come to her aid—and kicked at his face

  Yanking her ankle hard, he knocked her off her feet. Charlie landed on her back with a splash. Surprise widened her eyes, made her suck in air. The water slurped around her. The van swayed.

  “No!” Charlie screamed as David started pulling her toward him, and she realized that he meant to drag her back down through the hole. Holding on to the grid for dear life, kicking and struggling with every ounce of strength she possessed, she fought to get free even as he inexorably dragged her closer, inch by desperate inch.

  “Babe! Behind you!” Michael yelled. Charlie glanced frantically around to see moonlight glinting on a metal canister the size of an oxygen tank that had floated—with Michael’s help?—within her reach. “Grab it and bash him in the head! Now! Quick!”

  To do it she had to let go of the grid. She did, snatching the canister up with both hands. It was heavy, solid.

  “Got you!” David screeched, jerking her toward him. The lubrication of the water beneath her caused her slide to be terrifyingly fast.