by LENA DIAZ,
He tried to sit up but his head banged against something directly above him. He cursed and fell back, throwing his hands out, surprised to find something hard and flat blocking him. He jerked his legs, same thing, blocked by walls all around. Beneath him, beside him, above him. Like a...coffin. Confusion was swept away and he realized with agonizing certainty exactly what had happened. He was inside one of those boxes that Kaylee had described, probably just below the ground.
The devil had him.
The hell with that. He had to get out of here, find Kaylee. He shoved against the smooth lid of the box, his muscles straining. A creak. Did something give? If this was one of the same Plexiglas boxes the killer had been using all along, maybe the seals were beginning to weaken from age and the elements. If Zack could just get the right leverage, maybe he could use the metal stem of his belt buckle to jam into the seam, score it, so he could break the lid off the box.
He drew a deep breath, grimacing at the hot, musty quality of the air, and then strained against the lid again. He tried lifting his knees against it, too, but the box was too small; he couldn’t lift his legs enough to get leverage. Instead, he continued to push his forearms against the lid, his arms shaking from the prolonged effort. Another creak.
The darkness suddenly gave way to light. Zack squinted against the sun as it poured down through overhead branches. But he didn’t see anyone above him, just the Plexiglas top of the box and trees. He was buried in the ground, just below the surface. Spindly moss-covered oaks formed the canopy above, along with the twisted branches of cypress trees. The cypress, that musty smell...he was in the Everglades. Which meant Kaylee must be here, too, thrust back into her worst nightmare. Was she in another box? Was their captor nearby? He must be, to have removed whatever had covered the top of Zack’s box.
A footstep, another, then the sun was blocked out again, this time by the silhouette of a man bending over him. Zack blinked as his eyes refocused without the sun in them. The man was wearing a leather mask, the same one from back at the van. It covered his head so that Zack couldn’t see the man’s hair or any part of his face except his mouth, and a small patch of skin visible just above where the mask tied at his throat. Caucasian—he was white, like Kaylee’s attacker. And large, about Zack’s size. He wore a black T-shirt, black pants, gloves.
“Trying to memorize me in case you ever get me into a lineup?” the man’s voice rasped above him.
“Where’s Kaylee?” Zack demanded, still searching for details, anything that he could use to identify the man. Was that a mole on his throat, barely visible above the leather tie that secured the mask? Yes. But there was nothing else distinctive in that small patch of skin.
“Worried about your girlfriend?” Laughter wheezed above him. “Don’t worry. I’m going to give her some very special attention.” He stroked the top of the box like a lover, his hands smoothing over the thick plastic, his fingers poking at the holes that allowed air inside. Then his smile faded and he leaned down within a few inches of the box, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “You and your nonstop persistence have ruined my fun. I’m going to have to find a new playground.” His lips curved again. “But not before one last hurrah.”
He rolled away from the opening, leaving the sunlight blinding Zack again. Zack raised a hand to shade his eyes then pounded against the top of the box. “Come back here,” he yelled. “Face me like a man instead of slinking away like a coward.”
Footsteps sounded, going away this time, followed by laughter.
“Come back. Do you hear me, you animal?” Zack slammed his forearm against the lid.
Sounds, from close by. Someone scrabbling in the dirt?
“Well, hello there, dear,” the masked man’s voice taunted, but Zack couldn’t see him. “It’s been far too long, my little escape artist.” His voice turned menacing at that last part, and angry.
Another scrabbling sound, a click and then a terrified scream.
Kaylee.
* * *
KAYLEE BIT HER lip to keep from crying out again. Her shoulder throbbed from the devil grabbing her by one arm and yanking her up out of the box. That was when she’d screamed, and now her left arm hung at an awkward angle at her side, useless—dislocated probably. Every time her arm moved, pain radiated outward like a knife cutting into her. She tried to hold it tight against her body but there was no way to keep it completely immobile, not with the devil tugging her other arm, forcing her to stumble through the woods after him.
She glanced back once, looking for Zack, hoping, praying he was still alive. But she didn’t see him anywhere, hadn’t seen him since the devil had staged that car accident and ripped her door open, plunging a needle deep into her neck.
“Hurry up,” he ordered, his voice raspy as he yanked her good arm.
Pain lanced through her shoulder. She bit down harder and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. In all of her nightmares at home, she’d always remembered what had already happened, thinking nothing could be that bad again. But she’d never, not once, considered that she’d ever be back in this man’s clutches. She’d never seen a future where this could happen.
A whimper escaped between her clenched teeth before she could stop it.
The devil glanced back, his mouth tilting into a cruel smile. And beyond him, she could see a scarred, twisted tree much like the ones from before, at the other camps where he’d held her, and chained her and...hurt her.
He was going to do it again, hurt her, beat her...cut her.
No!
She couldn’t do this, not again. She’d rather die than let him hurt her, humiliate her, brutalize her and reduce her to the level of an abused animal, whimpering, crying, curling into herself and giving him the satisfaction of breaking her. No one had the right to hurt her like that. One way or another, this was going to end now. No matter what.
She picked her feet up and fell to the ground. The unexpected movement sent a sharp, agonizing pain shooting through her shoulder. But it also knocked her captor off balance, tearing her hand free from his grasp and making him stumble and fall against a tree.
Grabbing her bad arm with her good, Kaylee launched herself to her feet and took off running.
* * *
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! Zack pounded the pin of his belt buckle against the seam where the two corners of the Plexiglas box met near his head. He’d been urged on by the scream that he’d heard a few minutes ago and the answering maniacal laughter coming from the man who’d abducted Kaylee and him. And then, just a few minutes after that, a guttural shout of rage followed by the sound of someone running, two people running, their feet pounding against the ground, heading away from him. That could only mean one thing. Kaylee had gotten away, and her abductor was chasing her.
Which meant Zack needed to get out of this box, now, before Kaylee’s pursuer caught her. There was no way she could outrun him, not if she was barefoot, like Zack, an old trick their abductor had obviously used again to ensure that it would be difficult for them to run if they did manage to escape. Plus, that man was just as tall as Zack. His stride was much longer than Kaylee’s. In a flat-out race, she didn’t stand a chance.
Hide, Kaylee. Find a place to burrow down until he runs past you. Don’t try to outrun him. Outthink him.
Crack. The glue holding the corner split about six inches down. He could see daylight and dirt from between the two pieces. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He pushed and strained every muscle of his body against the sides of the box and continued to pound the belt buckle against the corner seam.
* * *
QUIET. DON’T MAKE a sound, Kaylee. Breathe in, out, in, out, through your mouth. Quiet. Don’t make a sound.
Kaylee’s whole body shook as she huddled inside the hollowed-out, rotten tree trunk. She’d done it. Somehow, she’d managed to evade her captor. He’d run right pas
t her after she’d ducked into this spot, tucking herself in, her knees against her chest, her hurt arm contorted and sending sharp bursts of pain through her entire body. The only pain she could remember worse than this was when the devil had cut her. So she’d just have to somehow endure, without screaming or giving voice to her agony that would give away her hiding place. Her bottom lip was practically shredded from clamping her teeth down so much to keep from crying out.
Click.
She blinked, staring out into the heavily shadowed woods around her. What was that? She held so still that her lungs started to burn, reminding her she had to take a breath. She drew air in as quietly as possible, listening intently, searching for signs of movement.
Thump, thump.
Oh, God. Was that...was that a footstep? There, twenty feet away, a shadow moved. She looked left, the bushes were too thick. Right, she’d have to go to the right. She gritted her teeth and hauled herself up from her hiding place, all the while keeping an eye on those shadows. A dark form scurried out. She let out a squeak of alarm and then realized it was just a raccoon. Footsteps sounded not far away, pounding on the ground. No, no, no. He must have heard her. He was coming back.
She threw herself to the right and took off again.
Laughter floated to her on the warm breeze.
“I...seeeeeee...yoooooou,” he taunted in a singsong voice.
“Leave me alone, you sick pervert,” she yelled back, without turning. Faster, faster. Run!
His roar of rage told her he didn’t appreciate her insult. A smile curved her lips for the briefest moment. But just as quickly, as his footsteps pounded closer, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Taking potshots at him and making him angry only gave her satisfaction that lasted a few seconds. What he might do to her in retaliation, on the other hand, would last far longer and would, without a doubt, be excruciatingly painful.
If she even survived.
The pseudo-path she was following abruptly ended at a thick ring of trees too close together for her to pass. She whirled around, a whimper escaping as her shoulder protested the quick movement.
The devil was there, no more than ten feet in front of her. He stopped and straightened from his crouch, his cruel lips curving in delight beneath the mask, above where it tied at his throat.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, as she inched toward her left, and the break in the trees she could sense more than see.
In answer, he slowly pulled a knife from the top of his boot, its serrated edges winking in what little fading sunlight filtered in through the branches above. He held it up, his mouth turning down at the corners into a sneer.
“Let’s see just what a pervert can do with a knife, shall we, little Kaylee?” he rasped, his voice sending shivers of dread down her spine. “I went easy on you before, because I thought we had more time together. But your time has run out.”
A scream caught in her throat, but she forced it back. Don’t give him the pleasure of hearing you scream, Kaylee. Think. Lie. Convince him, somehow, to let you go.
“I... I know who you are,” she yelled, as she edged farther left. “Sandy gave you up, told the police everything.”
He stopped his forward advance, as if startled. Then he clucked his tongue, shook his head and started forward again, moving the knife back and forth, back and forth. Eight feet now, seven.
Kaylee stepped through the break in the trees, putting an extra couple of feet between them. But thick bushes scraped her back through her shirt, cutting into her skin, stopping her from going any farther. She looked around, desperate for something to use as a weapon.
“Your name is Mulcahy... Hutch Mulcahy,” she said. “The police have a BOLO out on you. And they’re looking for your camps, searching the swamp. They will find you, unless you go, now. Escape while you still can.”
He laughed. “Trying to get rid of me, sweet Kaylee?”
“You kidnapped a cop,” she continued, her gaze still darting around. “Every cop within a hundred miles of this place is searching for Jasper, and you.”
He cocked his head, clucking his tongue. “It’s too late to save Jasper. Far, far too late.” He laughed, as if at some inside joke, and started forward again. “Come on, now. Come face your punishment.” He kept inching forward, slowly bridging the distance between them. She was trapped and he knew it, and he was enjoying her fear, stringing it out, reveling in it.
Five feet. Four. He lifted the knife above his head, and she saw her death in his dark, soulless eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he taunted. “I’m not going to kill you. Yet. I’m going to punish you first. Slowly. And then...then, I’ll kill you.”
The knife came down in a slashing motion toward her good shoulder. She dodged left at the last second then dove to the ground as he whirled around, arcing the knife toward her again. She landed, hard, letting out a scream when her bad arm flung out, tearing at her shoulder. He laughed and jumped on top of her, pinning her to the ground.
And once again, he had her. Just like before, his greater weight anchoring her down, making it impossible for her to move. She stared up into his cold, dark eyes, hoping to see something, anything, of the human being that existed behind the mask. But she saw no empathy, no flicker of guilt or regret, only cold determination, and sickening triumph as he once again raised his knife above his head.
She closed her eyes. His body jerked against hers and she waited, expecting the slashing burn of the knife any second. A guttural roar of rage sounded above her and he rolled off her.
Her eyes flew open and she stared in stunned amazement to see Zack holding the devil’s wrist, both men rolling on the ground, grappling for control of the knife.
“Run, Kaylee!” Zack yelled without looking at her. “Get out of here.”
She braced her good hand on the tree beside her, shoving herself to her knees. She looked over her shoulder at Zack, on his back now, with the devil above him, trying to stab the knife down into Zack’s throat. They were locked in a life-and-death struggle, both men seemingly equally matched, except that her captor had managed to pin Zack and was using his position on top to his advantage.
There must be something she could do. She took a wobbly step toward them.
“Run,” Zack ordered again, and his gaze flitted her way, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “For God’s sakes, Kaylee, get out of here.”
She took off running, past the struggling men, back the other way. When she found a break in the thick trees, she headed between them.
A shout sounded behind her in the distance, followed by cursing. Then another shout, this one sounding like someone in terrible pain. Zack? Had he been hurt? Stabbed? Worse? She stumbled to a halt, clutching her bad arm against her middle. She turned around, took one step then stopped. Zack needed help. She had to help him.
Can’t do it. Can’t go back. Can’t.
But how could she not? Somehow Zack had managed to untie himself, or perhaps get out of one of those horrible boxes, if that was where he’d been. But instead of running, escaping, saving himself, he’d run toward the devil...to save her. She couldn’t leave him alone to fight, to possibly die, because of her. Hadn’t she done that once before? Convincing herself she’d come back with help? Instead, by the time she’d managed to send help, it was too late. Mary had paid the price for Kaylee’s poor decision, her cowardice. She couldn’t let that happen again. She couldn’t leave Zack.
But she was practically useless with her arm slowing her down as it was, with the pain blinding her, making mush of her thoughts. She had to do something about it. She reached up with her good hand and yanked, hard, at the row of buttons on her shirt. They popped off, flying through the air to land in the slightly damp soil. Clenching her teeth against the pain, she pulled her shirt off her good side then raked it down her bad arm in one, swift movement. A g
roan of agony wheezed from her, but the worst was over. Clad now only in her bra and jeans, she strung the shirt around her neck, using one hand and her teeth to put a knot in the end. Then she slid her injured hand through the loop her shirt made.
Immediately, the pressure eased and the pain cut dramatically as her arm relaxed in the makeshift sling. Now, without the pain fogging her mind, she just might be more help than hindrance. She searched the path as she started forward again. There, a short, almost straight length of branch that had broken off a tree. It was about the thickness and length of a baseball bat. With her hand around the end, letting the stick hang down by her side, she took off running toward where she’d last seen Zack, and prayed she wasn’t too late.
Chapter Fifteen
Kaylee stumbled to a halt, hoisting her bat up to her shoulder when she saw the devil and Zack. They were both on their feet now, circling each other like two wrestlers, looking for an opening. Physically, they looked about evenly matched—except for the wicked-looking, eight-inch blade in the devil’s hand. There was a smear of blood on Zack’s right forearm, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding. Kaylee looked for the source of the blood then saw it—a three-inch slash in the denim covering Zack’s right thigh. Blood was oozing out, darkening his jeans.
She gasped in dismay and took a step forward.
Zack’s gaze darted to her and he shouted something. Too late, she realized her mistake. The devil whirled around toward her, slashing his knife down. She swung instinctively with her makeshift bat. The knife’s blade bit into the wood and glanced off.
Zack dove toward the devil just as he snatched the knife from the wood. The man yanked it up and out, catching Zack in the shoulder. Zack cursed and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it viciously. Kaylee stumbled back, out of the way, searching for her tree branch. A pained shout sounded behind her. She turned around to see the knife go flying off into the woods. Both men grappled against each other, rolling on the path.
Kaylee found the tree branch and ran forward. As soon as the devil rolled on top of Zack, she hauled back and swung as hard as she could. He screamed in pain as it slammed into the side of his rib cage. He kicked out with both feet, shoving Zack away from him. And then he was on his feet, sprinting down the path.