Victoria's Destiny

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Victoria's Destiny Page 31

by L. J. Garland


  “What are you doing?” She joined him at his side. Fear for his safety writhed inside her. He meant to chase after the guy who’d kidnapped Becca. Through unfamiliar woods and marsh. In the dark. With a storm threatening on the horizon.

  “Getting this.” He removed a green backpack from a box and hoisted it over his shoulder.

  “What’s that?”

  “A special pack from Lenny.” He closed the trunk and turned toward her. “It’s a demon-hunting kit.”

  Shock jolted through her. “A what?”

  “Please don’t make me say it again.” The timber of his voice was deep and dark, and his gaze hardened.

  “Okay.” A ripple of fear grazed her spine, sent chills down her arms. She peered through the window to where Becca lay unconscious on the backseat and realized the nagging question about her friend’s attack had been answered.

  “When we walked onto the patch of sand, found Becca tied up and surrounded with all those candles….” He wiped his hand over his face and looked toward the trailhead. “Whatever was inside Jamie, that thing calling itself Kent, it found its way into someone else somehow.” He shook his head, his eyes filled with a jumble of worry, fear, and anger. “I don’t know. It’s way beyond my level of understanding. All I know is it’s not over. So, I’m taking the kit Lenny put together, and I’m going to try to end this thing once and for all.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but River grabbed her arms and pulled her into a rough embrace. Dipping his head, he captured her mouth with his. The unexpected contact sent a rush of warm emotions coursing through her body, but concern for his safety eclipsed the sensation.

  The kiss ended, and he set her back, holding her at arm’s length, his large, warm hands heavy on her shoulders. His expression spoke volumes, transcended the verbal language, and told her the truth of their situation. The danger. The risks. His love for her.

  “Look. It is whatever the hell it is.” He reached down, pulled a set of keys from his pocket, the sparse collection jangling against one another. He pressed them into her palm. “Take these and get Becca to the hospital. I’ll go do what I need to do, and I’ll do my damnedest to meet you there.”

  He kissed her once more and walked away.

  Vicki spun around. Trepidation settled on her shoulders, prompting her heart to race. Would he make it to the hospital in one piece? Thunder rumbled in the distance. She couldn’t help but believe it an omen.

  River paused at the trailhead, turned toward her, and pointed at the car. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  Vicki reached for the car door. When she looked back, he’d disappeared. Tears filled her eyes, and she sighed.

  The dome light illuminated the inside of the car. Becca lay in the backseat, her chest rising and falling with an even rhythm. It appeared she’d stabilized. Getting her off the cold, damp sand probably didn’t hurt either.

  Vicki slid into the driver’s seat, the door trapping her purse against her thigh, and started the car. The engine rumbled to life. She veered off the rutted road then put the car into Reverse so the nose would face back the way they’d come. When she tapped the brakes so she could shift into Drive again, a dark leather wallet fell from the visor onto her lap. She picked it up, flipped it open. Inside lay River’s badge and photo credentials, his serious gaze staring back at her.

  The world around her froze, and the windshield seemed to skew then warp. The air in the car thickened. She cringed as excruciating heat pressed against the base of her skull, her pulse banging in her temples. A high-pitched whistle ripped at her eardrums.

  Images flashed in her mind’s eye. A white square, white paper, four red lines, black smoke, and the red pointed capital D.

  The vision released. Reality snapped back into place, a sharp popping sound ending the screeching inside her head.

  She gasped for air. With the backs of her hands, she wiped away the tears that had streaked over her cheeks. What the hell just happened?

  She shook her head and stared at River’s picture. A second vision for the same person? She’d never had more than one vision for a person before.

  And the last sign had been the killer’s symbol. Oh, crap. He was right. The pointed capital D in my vision proves it. Her hands shook. Her lungs squeezed with fear. Somehow, Kent found a way into another body. And he wants another shot at killing River.

  With a final glance at Becca, Vicki left the warmth of the car and stepped out into the cold air. She pushed the door closed and tapped the remote on the key chain, locking the Malibu. She would run down the trail, warn the man she loved then rush back and take her friend to the hospital.

  It appeared the Valentine Killer wasn’t the only one after River. Destiny didn’t appreciate being ignored.

  Chapter Forty

  River paused in the shadows beneath the oak standing on the periphery of the clearing, the same tree Vicki had waited under less than an hour before. The fact she’d taken Becca to the hospital relieved a great deal of worry. Her safety was paramount, and after what happened the night before, she deserved the extra protection.

  A breeze rustled over the marsh then moved through the trees. A heaviness saturated the air that spoke of impending rain…and other things. River steadied his breath, focused on what would transpire when he met up with Dauscher.

  He allowed the heavy canvas backpack strap to slide from his shoulder, down his arm, and hook on his curled fingers. He lowered the pack to the ground a few feet off the trail. In the event he ended up needing it, he could locate it easily enough nestled in the grass.

  Pistol clutched in his hand, he left the harbor of shadows and jogged at a confident gait toward his partner. Apprehension sprouted in his gut, growing each time his foot pounded the earth. Tendrils of doubt clogged his throat and squeezed his mind until he questioned every decision he’d made to this moment.

  All signs pointed to one logical conclusion. Kent had managed to find a way into another body. And while the evidence indicated the truth, the inference rattled every single one of River’s nerves. Everything he’d believed in—his sense of morality, that justice prevailed, that all problems could be solved if approached with sound logic—had crumbled from beneath him over the last few days. And after what he’d seen last night, he’d started to suspect his sanity.

  A self-deprecating chuff of air puffed between his lips. Shit. Who am I kidding? I’m planning to send a demon back to Hell. Doesn’t get any crazier.

  Dauscher stood in the center of the sandy clearing, his service weapon in his hand at his side.

  “Any sign of our guy?” River skirted a clump of overgrown grass as he approached.

  “Not a thing.” The big guy jerked his arm out to the side. “But with all these damned crickets and frogs, an airliner could’ve landed and I wouldn’t have known.”

  River grinned. But when he looked toward his partner, he staggered to a stop. During the time it had taken him to run to the car and back, the moon had shifted in the sky. The immense glowing orb hung behind Dauscher, creating an eerie silhouette.

  “You okay, River?”

  “Yeah.” He jerked, forcing himself to move around the perimeter until Dauscher’s face became visible again. “Tripped over the damned marsh grass.”

  “Didn’t take long for you to get back.” He cut his eyes toward the trail and squinted. “Vicki get out okay with her friend?”

  He tightened his jaw at the mention of Vicki’s name. “Yep.” Striding across the sand, River stopped at his side. “Long gone.”

  “Good.” Dauscher scanned the mix of pines and hardwoods at the far end of the clearing. “Unfortunately, I think our kidnapper is long gone, too.”

  “That’s funny.” River tightened his grip on his gun. “Because I think he’s really close by.”

  Dauscher rounded on him. “What do you—?”

  River jerked his elbow up and back, ramming it into his partner’s face. The crunch of his nose breaking informed River he’d hit his target. Momentar
y uncertainty spiked to the forefront of his consciousness, but he shoved it aside. He’d started the confrontation. He damn well needed to finish it.

  The big guy stumbled back. River pivoted in anticipation and grabbed the top of Dauscher’s weapon. With a quick twitch of his wrist, he wrenched the gun free from his meaty grip and flung it out into the marsh. Not bothering to see where the weapon landed, River took several steps backward and leveled his Glock on his partner—an act he thought he’d never commit.

  Dauscher’s large hands covered his nose. His furrowed brow pressed down on his scrunched eyes. A drop of blood trailed over his chin, spattering on the front of his jacket.

  “Damn, Riv.” The big guy opened his eyes, his gaze darting from River’s face to the gun pointed at him. “That hurt like hell.”

  * * *

  Vicki hurried along the trail, ignoring the wet shoe squishing beneath her foot with each step. The uncomfortable sneaker didn’t matter. She needed to get to River to tell him about her vision—the second set of symbols tying him to the killer.

  When she reached the oak tree, she paused in the shadows. On the sandy beach, River and Dauscher faced one another. Something about their stances, the way they stared at each other, kept her from running headlong into the clearing.

  The moon spotlighted them, the larger detective with his hands held to his nose while River backed away from him. His arms jerked up, aiming the blocky gun at his injured partner. Vicki’s throat tightened. What the hell’s going on?

  “Damn, Riv,” Dauscher growled. “That hurt like hell.”

  “It was supposed to.” His voice crackled with anger and rang out over the glade.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot lately—”

  “Cut the shit.” He tilted his head. Even from where Vicki stood, the contempt radiating from his face shone clear. “Kent.”

  She gasped. Oh my God. River was right. Kent found a way to survive. He’s invaded Dauscher’s body. The second set of symbols she’d seen made sense—the killer was still alive.

  Chuckling, the large man lowered his hands, revealing a nose cocked off to one side. Thick rivulets of blood streamed over his grinning lips and dripped from his chin. “What gave me away?”

  “You were dead, you sonovabitch.” River’s hands twitched, and the gun barrel moved up toward his partner’s head. “Twice.”

  “What can I say?” The guy smirked. “I missed working with you. And this makes some kind of karmic sense, doesn’t it? I mean, here we are, partners again. You, the logical detective. Me, the psychotic serial killer, making sacrifices to a god that your one-dimensional thinking can’t comprehend.” He dragged his jacket sleeve across his mouth. But instead of clearing the blood away, it smeared over his lips and cheek. “So, tell me. How’d you figure it out?”

  “You were sloppy.” River’s shoulders rose and fell. The act appeared nonchalant, except for the fact his index finger stroked the gun’s trigger. “Dauscher doesn’t believe his grandmother can read palms. Doesn’t like her telling other people their fortunes.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That and nobody but his grandmother calls him Theodore.”

  Vicki clutched her purse strap. Was he going to shoot him? She moved farther back into the shadows, her focus locked on the love of her life and his demon-possessed partner.

  “That’s what caused you to break my nose?” Dauscher shook his head. “Pretty flimsy evidence, River. I’m proud of you.”

  “Shut up,” he growled. “You need to go back to Hell where you belong.”

  Vicki tripped on something in the grass, and she lost her balance. Her hand slapped against the oak tree’s rough trunk, keeping her from tumbling to the ground. What the—? At her feet lay the green backpack River had taken from his car.

  “What?” Dauscher took a step forward, his mouth twisted in an arrogant grin. “You going to shoot me, River?”

  “Yep.”

  A sharp crack followed by a thunderous roar filled the air. Fire burst from the end of the gun. Recoil kicked the muzzle up, but River’s tight grip kept the weapon in his hands, the deadly end still aimed true.

  Except, he missed.

  In a blur of motion that Vicki could barely track, Dauscher avoided the bullet and crossed the distance to River in a single leap. The large detective’s hands wrapped around the gun, and his body slammed into River’s. They tumbled to the ground, each grappling for the weapon.

  She took a step toward them and stopped. Fear grabbed her throat, squeezed.

  Dauscher shoved River, knocking him halfway across the clearing. The possessed detective rolled to his knees, the gun in his hands. Manic glee warped his features. The bastard enjoyed fighting with his old partner and ending up the victor.

  It took all of her self-control not to run from the shadows and jump on the asshole’s back. No. If I did, he’d just flick me away like some annoying insect. I’ve got to be smart.

  On his knees, River sat hunched over, his head bowed like a man about to be executed. Yet, when he lifted his gaze and faced his enemy, there was no fear. Anger remained vigilant in his eyes. Blood trickled from his split lower lip, and a bruise darkened his cheek. He spat on the ground next to him.

  Helplessness attempted to wrap its ironclad arms around her, but she fought against it. She couldn’t stand by and watch the man she loved get shot. She needed to do something.

  The gun.

  Hope speared through her. At the restaurant, Matthew had given her a small pistol. Without hesitation, she opened her purse and reached inside. Her fingers met cool metal and wrapped around the handgrip.

  You’ll know when you need to use it. Matthew’s words echoed in her ears.

  Surely, this was what he’d meant.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Didn’t you learn anything from our first go around in Texas?” Dauscher’s lip pulled back in a sneer. “You can’t win. I’ll always outsmart you.”

  River glared at him. It might be the good-natured detective who held the gun, but it was Kent who manipulated the strings. And the puffs of air streaming from the bastard’s mouth indicated the supernatural speed and strength he’d used to overpower River had taken a toll. Perhaps he wasn’t omnipotent after all.

  “So? How do you see this playing out?” He coughed and struggled not to wince or move his hand to his side. Damn ribs hurt like hell. Probably got cracked when the asshole tackled me. Instead, he focused on the demon that possessed the best partner he’d ever had. “You going to shoot me with my own gun?”

  Kent shrugged. “That’s the plan.”

  “Internal Affairs will have more than a few questions.” He clenched his teeth. Shit, I’ll have to come up with a story of my own for IA…after I’ve killed Dauscher. And damn it to hell. How am I supposed to explain to his grandmother I let her grandson get murdered? River shoved the distractive thoughts aside and focused on his partner. That wasn’t Theodore Dauscher holding a gun on him. It was Kent Lee Rowton, his dead ex-partner from Austin. The Valentine Killer.

  “So, I tell IA the truth. Detective Chastain and I were tracking the kidnapper through the marsh. It was dark. We got separated. You must have discovered him, and there was a fight for your gun. The kidnapper came up with it and shot you.” Kent smirked, triumphant arrogance rolling from him in waves. He gestured to the side with his free hand. “Unfortunately, the murders will resume. But as a tribute to your death, I’ll volunteer to hunt the copycat Valentine Killer. He’ll never be captured, of course. Because I’ll just pick up where I left off. Servant to the public by day. Psychotic killer by night. Collecting my girls.”

  River’s gut twisted. Holy shit. Kent plans to live forever. To kill forever.

  A desperate plan formed in his mind. He fell forward, let his hands catch his fall. To hell with not showing weakness. He needed to do something. Now.

  Taking deep breaths, he forced his icy-white exhales to dance in the air between him and the sand. He swiped his hands
across the cool granules, his fingers smoothing the surface in front of him.

  “Oh God.” He forced the words through his lips, injected as much agony as he could muster.

  Kent snorted. “Your god can’t help you.”

  River leaned to his right, dragged his fingertips through the malleable sand. When he leaned to his left to complete the circle, his ribs screamed in misery. He cringed but managed to draw the first line of the star.

  “I have to admit.” Kent tilted his head, assessed River over the end of the Glock. “There’s something different about you. You seem more…I don’t know. Open-minded.”

  “Did I ever tell you how full of shit you are?” River shook his head and pulled another line through the sand.

  The asshole threw his head back and laughed.

  Taking advantage of his distraction, he finished the star. All that remained was the pointed capital D. Would drawing Kent’s symbol alter anything? Who the hell knew? But staring down the barrel of a gun sis things to a man, forced him into strange, inexplicable acts of desperation.

  “But seriously, you know we could change our relationship.” Kent ran a hand across his chin, smudging a thick line of blood. He shifted his stance, and the moon reflected in his eyes, bestowing an eerie appearance. “I could let you live, and we could go back to being partners again. I could teach you the ways of Thurisaz.”

  “I guess we’d pick out the victims to sacrifice together, too.” Bile spewed into River’s throat. The thought of ever partnering with the psychopath again appalled him. The son of a bitch was pure evil.

  “That could work.” Kent grinned. “And just think, we could live forever, watch the world transform, have a hand in history. Damn. Makes a few measly murders seem pretty trivial compared to immortality. And Thurisaz can give it to us.” He jabbed a thick index finger against his broad chest. “I’ve already proved it works. So how about it, partner?”

 

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