“Yes.” He told him.
“Okay, we’ll put out an alert. Copeland’s place is real close to the Beltway, and my guess is they’re on it and trying to get out of the area.”
“Right.”
“Sorry, Hunter.”
He cut off the call. Downshifted and braked hard, pulling off the road.
Annie’s car.
He popped the trunk, ran back there and grabbed his bug-out bag and a laptop computer. Slammed it and jumped back inside. Opened the laptop on the passenger seat, hit the “on” button.
While it was powering up, he popped the stick into gear and hit the gas, kicking a spray of slush behind him as he fishtailed back onto the highway.
He wished he kept a gun in this car.
12:24 a.m.
“Goddammit, I’ve never seen so many red lights,” he thundered. “Isn’t there a better way?”
“This is the way I always go home from Susie’s. It’s the most direct—almost straight to my door. You can see it on the GPS. Everything else takes you out of the way.”
The light changed, and she moved forward, staying in the speed limit.
“Two lanes. Twenty-five, thirty-five miles per hour, the whole way. Couldn’t we get on a thruway?”
“You know he called the cops. The big highways are the first places they’ll be looking.”
She cast a quick look in the mirror. His face now looked strained. She noticed the red streak on his cheek where she grazed him with her elbow.
She glanced again at the digital clock.
I’m trying to buy you time, Dylan.
But how could he possibly know where they were going? It was the last place anyone would dream to look.
She gripped the wheel tightly. Saw a sign for a curve in the road ahead, marked for twenty-five miles per hour.
Took her foot off the gas.
12:25 a.m.
He was doing over one twenty-five, zig-zagging through the rare vehicles he overtook, passing them as if they were parked.
He couldn’t bring in the cops, not now. If they got involved, Wulfe would use the women as hostages, then kill them if things went south.
He had to do this his way.
His eyes darted from the highway to the laptop as the program loaded. Then, using his forefinger, he tapped in the numerical code for the device. Hit “Enter.”
On the screen, a flashing red dot appeared on the map.
There you are....
He watched the dot heading southeast on 694. But to where? His eyes tracked ahead, moving down the line on the map.
Why, you devious son of a bitch.
He estimated the distance, did a quick mental calculation of comparative speeds.
He accelerated even more, heading south toward the Dulles Toll Road. A four-lane highway, with no traffic lights, running parallel to 694.
He glanced at the dashboard clock.
It was going to be close....
12:34 a.m.
“All right. Pull the car into the garage.”
She reached for the button on the visor that opened her garage door. It rose slowly and the inner lights came on. She looked up the expanse of the driveway. In her headlights, the snow on the ground was unmarked by any tire or footprints.
She began to tremble again.
You’ll have to find a way out of this yourself.
She eased the car into the garage.
“Now, lower the garage door.”
She did as she was told.
“Shut off the car, and toss the keys to me. Gently, please. Remember that this knife is right on her pretty neck.... Put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them, and keep them there.”
In the mirror, she saw him lift Susie to a sitting position on his lap. Her eyes were vacant. She was like a rag doll in his arms. He hauled her out of the passenger side.
“Now, get out of the car.... Put your hands on your head and walk to the house door.”
Her legs were wobbly and she stumbled as she approached the door. Her eyes searched for anything nearby that she could grab and use as a weapon.
“Stop there. Now, understand something, my dear,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You surprised me back at Susie’s. I won’t be surprised again. I see that you’ve trained in martial arts. But don’t even dream of it. I have fourth- and fifth-degree black belts in several of them and competed as a mixed martial artist for a while. Retired undefeated.”
She knew she was trembling visibly now, and hated herself for it. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. But she couldn’t help it.
“Do you keep this door locked?”
She shook her head.
“Silly girl. All right, you’re going to disarm your home alarm when we go inside. Open the door, then stand right there.”
She did. He shoved her unexpectedly, causing her to stumble and fall to her knees. He dumped Susie on the floor next to her, then grabbed her by the hair, putting the knife to her throat.
“Get up.... Now where is the alarm?”
“Over there.”
He marched her to the keypad on the wall. Her legs were like rubber, her arms like lead. She’d never be able to move fast enough to disarm him now.
“Key in the code.”
She raised her eyes and hand to the alarm box. And stopped.
The alarm was already off.
Her pulse began to pound.
“What’s the matter?”
“I must have forgotten to set it,” she said, her voice quavering.
He laughed. “You really are stupid. Don’t you know there are dangerous men prowling the neighborhood?”
*
Flipping lights on as they went, he nudged them along from behind with his body, his knife never leaving Annie’s throat. Their perfume excited him almost as much as their fear. Still, as he passed the kitchen, he was suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten all day.
“All this running around has worked up my appetite,” he murmured in the redhead’s ear. “So before we celebrate the holiday, let’s grab a bite, shall we?”
He pushed them inside. It was bright, modern, spacious. White cabinets with small-paned glass doors hung over marble countertops. Bowls, a carving set, and a container of large kitchen utensils sat on an island with a butcher block top. On the opposite end of the kitchen was a breakfast area with a small rectangular table and high-backed chairs.
“All right, let’s seat you ladies here at the table. Annie, please help Susie into her chair.... Now, pull her arms behind it, like before, and tie this around her wrists.” He reached into his pocket and tossed her one of Arthur’s ties that he had brought with him.
When she finished, he pushed her to the facing chair at the table. From behind, he dropped another tie onto her lap. “Put one end around your left wrist, and tie it tightly.... Okay, now put both hands behind the back of the chair.”
Still behind her, the knife at her throat, he used his free hand to tie her wrists together. It was hard, but he managed. Then stepped around in front of her.
“There. You’re not going anywhere.” He looked at the other one. “Oh dear, it looks as if Susie has passed out again. Poor thing must be as starved as I am. Well, time to see what’s in the fridge.”
He crossed the room toward the refrigerator, dropping his knife on the island. It landed beside a newspaper resting there. He glanced at it in passing, then did a double-take and stopped.
The Hunter article about the MacLean Foundation.
Annoyed, he picked it up and shook it at the brunette bitch.
“A big fan of Mr. Hunter, aren’t you?”
She smiled. “Want to know why?” Her eyes turned toward the hallway.
*
He stepped into the kitchen, quiet as a panther.
Stopped between Wulfe and the women.
“You want me to autograph that for you, Wulfe?”
It stunned him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly.
“You are,” Hunter
said.
The cocky bastard seemed to be unarmed, too. Incredible.
Wulfe snatched up his knife from the counter. Then grabbed a carving knife.
I’ll skin that smirk right off his face.
“I’m going to enjoy this, Mr. Hunter.”
“No you’re not.”
*
She knew that he was in the house, from the instant she saw that the alarm was off. She’d shown him how to do that when he had stayed here, weeks before. And she knew then that he would lie in wait for the right moment, when Wulfe no longer hovered near them with the knife.
She saw him make his move when the monster went toward the fridge: saw first his spectral shadow slide across the wall and floor of the hallway, then watched how he glided in noiselessly, like some dark ghost—a ghost loosed years ago to haunt and hunt faraway enemies in stinking alleys and high-mountain deserts.
She saw him wink at her, then turn to face this new enemy: a malignant Goliath who had shattered lives here, in the homeland he’d so deeply loved and gallantly defended. She saw him for what he always had been: a shadow soldier, performing unsung a sacred duty that had been abdicated by those hired and sworn to perform it.
She knew then that, whatever happened now, he had always deserved her trust and loyalty. And she was honored to have lived to have his love, if only for weeks—and if only for a few minutes more.
“I love you, Dylan Hunter,” she said.
He did not turn; he continued to face the monster across the room; but he seemed to stand taller, and she heard him reply:
“I love you, Annie Woods.”
*
He watched the slow sneer form on the Target’s face across the kitchen.
“Oh—silly me! I should have known,” the Target said. He swung out his gorilla arms in wide circles, loosening his shoulders, the blades glinting beneath the lights. “So you’ve come to rescue your lady love. Mr. Hunter, you’ve just doubled my pleasure.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
He was no longer distracted by fear or fury. He had climbed to that cold Olympian summit, the place where he always went at these moments, where he could look down at the Target with chill, clinical detachment.
The Target stood beside the island, grinning arrogantly, whirling the knives before him in a blinding fog of motion, trying to reduce him to cringing, terrified paralysis.
But he had analyzed this Target’s vulnerabilities, and he knew how to strike them. For his apparent strengths—his menacing size, his intimidating bravado, his lust to overpower—masked the pathetic reality. Like all sociopaths, this one had an eggshell ego. Like those bullies so long ago, on the playground of his childhood, this Target’s unquenchable craving for power over others was a measure of his utter sense of impotence. His desperate quest to demonstrate his power to himself and others was proof that he didn’t have it.
Hunter had that knowledge. And it was his first weapon.
“Are you having fun way over there, Mr. Wulfe?” he mocked.
He watched the arrogant grin erode into an angry grimace. Wulfe stepped out in front of the island, moving the knives around more deliberately, his feet sliding into patterns and then setting into a stance that revealed martial arts training.
Good to know.
Time to employ his other weapon. A weapon he had mastered.
Deception.
Don’t reveal your own martial arts expertise. Let him think you’re no threat.
Hunter took a step forward. Stood casually, hands down at his sides.
He saw the Target’s faint smile in response. He’s thinking, This will be too easy.
Now goad him some more.
“You’re boring me, Mr. Wulfe.”
Saw the anger blaze in his eyes.
Now, combine mockery with deception.
Hunter turned to the side, swinging his right arm behind him.
“See? I’ll fight you with one arm behind my back.”
Watched the anger in the eyes boil over into rage, uncontrollable—and uncontrolled.
The Target lunged toward him, technique forgotten, one knife drawn back to deliver a spear thrust, the other raised to slash down on him.
Deception.
In one motion, Hunter drew the combat knife from its sheath on the belt at his back, leaped to the right to avoid the onrushing Target, and slashed down on the spearing forearm.
That knife fell from the Target’s nerveless fingers.
Hunter turned to press the attack from behind, but the Target’s own combat reflexes took over, and he spun to face him again.
Now positioned between Hunter and the women.
Not good.
Deception.
Hunter feinted his own lunge, forcing the surprised Target to recoil a step, but instead he leaped to his side, then two quick steps past him toward the women, then pivoting to face him.
Again between them and the Target.
Mock him. Goad him. Use details from his file....
“What’s the matter, Addie,” he said. “Did I give you a boo-boo?”
The Target glanced at his left sleeve, shock in his eyes. A slash across the red flannel was turning a deeper shade, and crimson drops fell from the tips of fingers that now dangled uselessly.
Then his eyes narrowed. He danced back into the center of the room, retreating.
“Again, Mr. Hunter, well played. I believe I underestimated you. As I did your little whore there,” he said, nodding toward Annie. “But you will find that I never make the same mistake twice.”
Hunter knew that he’d lost the initial advantage of surprise. But now the Target was injured and his confidence rattled.
Time to finish this.
He danced out to meet him.
They moved from side to side, warily now, jockeying for position and advantage, looking for openings and mistakes to exploit.
Goad him some more.
“Does Addie want Mommy to come kiss his boo-boo and make it better?”
Watched the anger flare.
But then die. Saw the Target’s eyes grow cold.
Sociopath or not, he had been well-trained. That training was now in control.
He realized he’d lost a psychological weapon, too.
Now it was just a matter of skill. And determination.
He flipped his knife from his right hand to his left, feinted a thrust and snapped it back.
The Target slashed at it, hitting empty air.
He’d hoped for that, and lunged in again, stabbing the tip toward the Target’s exposed chest.
Then everything went wrong.
The Target had anticipated too. Astonishingly quick, he hopped back onto his left foot and leaned away from the blade while snapping a cobra-fast kick with his right, into his left forearm.
Into the still-healing tendons from the dog bite.
The combat knife sailed across the room, clattering off the wall and onto the floor.
He was now exposed, wide open to the Target’s blade.
“Dylan!”
The natural impulse was to jump back. But in an instant calculation born of years of combat training and experience—and before the Target could straighten and recover his two-footed balance, then move in for the kill—he continued his forward momentum instead, rushing into him, seizing him and propelling him backward into a crashing impact against the island. Their bodies fell onto its top, spilling everything onto the floor.
His body was now pressed down upon the Target’s atop the island, their faces inches apart, eye to eye. He looked down into the blank gray depths, sensing fear.
Then something else.
Suddenly he felt searing pain in his left thigh. His breath left him as the agony coursed through him. A look of triumph blazed in the Target’s eyes.
He had to stop a second thrust.
He snapped his forehead down hard, a stunning blow against the bridge of the the Target’s nose. Then again, a crunching smash against his mouth.
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