by Dan Ames
The agent shook his head. “Not yet, no witnesses. No sign of a struggle. The dog was in the bedroom with the door shut.”
Mack felt a momentary surge of relief. She wasn’t dead. They had taken her. He felt that Lance Gilford might be into his end game now.
“I’m going inside,” Mack told the agent, who had already turned away.
He went through the front door of Nicole’s house and tried not to look at the pullout that had remained empty throughout the night.
The guilt crashed in him like waves from the Pacific smashing against rotten pilings.
This was Nicole’s home. This was where she’d put her life back together again. And now, this was where it had all fallen apart. Again.
He had let her down.
Mack walked to the back door of the house and stood, gazing out over the yard. He had been here. He’d gotten her and ripped her from her life like wrenching open a wound that had just healed. He had to-
His cell phone vibrated with a text message.
Mack looked down.
No message.
Just coordinates.
He didn’t see them as a location. Or a map to some kind of final confrontation.
What he saw was a second chance.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
Nicole
THE PAIN WAS EXCRUCIATING. It stabbed the back of her head, then ran over the middle of her brain with sharp claws of pain.
She struggled to stand but the ropes binding her to the tree were tight.
Nicole fought back the tears that came when she thought of Jay Lucerne. One of the kindest, most gentle human beings on Earth. She knew what had happened. He’d been forced to do that, to approach the house, so that the psycho could come in the back and get her. She felt like a fool. How could she have let herself get captured so easily?
Nicole forced herself to breathe. Beating herself up wasn’t going to do anyone any good. She had to figure a way out. She tried not to think back to the Jeffrey Kostner abduction. About her struggle to get out, dislocating her shoulder. The terror and the hopelessness. Back then, she’d had no clue what she was really up against.
This was different.
This time, she knew exactly what lay ahead of her.
Her only hope was that the guy hadn’t searched her too carefully.
Because she had foolishly invested in a belt whose buckle inserted into the body of the belt with a small pointed knife.
She remembered ordering the knife and feeling like an idiot. It was almost some kind of weird James Bond invention dreamed up by Q.
The first time she had slipped it on, though, changed her mind permanently. It had felt great. A little extra security.
And like all her knives, she kept this one razor sharp. The only question was if she could use her hands to slide her belt around, pop the buckle loose and cut through her ropes.
With her hands behind her back, she was able to grasp the belt. The question was, could she get enough leverage to push the buckle backward through the loop, and pull it all the way around her body.
There was only one way to find out. She knew she didn’t have much time.
She had a sick feeling that Mack was on his way.
And she didn’t want to watch him die.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
Mack
MACK’S GPS NAVIGATION told him he was less than two miles from the location The Commissioner had given him.
He pulled off the side of the road. Confident that he had the head start he needed, he forwarded the GPS coordinates onto the FBI agents back at Nicole’s house, as well as the LAPD. Mack shrugged on a Kevlar vest and checked the spare clips for his Glock 45. He cocked and locked the gun, got back in the car and drove up to the coordinates.
He parked, and studied the surrounding forest. Only one trail branched out from the parking area. It ducked into a thick stand of dark trees and disappeared.
Mack took a deep breath and plunged into the trail.
The sun began to sink below the horizon. Gold and violet light permeated the thick air of the woods, and Mack slid his Glock from the holster into his hand.
“Lance!” he called out. He figured the man already knew where he was. Ambushing him was out of the question. The only chance he had was to get in his head.
“Lance Gilford!” Mack needed to throw him off his game, and telling the man he knew who he was might give Mack an advantage.
Silence greeted his calls.
“The fact is, you weren’t good enough for the Bureau,” Mack said. Maybe pissing Gilford off would spur him to make a mistake.
“This contest was bullshit and you know it! Just to try to prove how much smarter you are than me? What a joke!”
Mack stopped. The canopy was thick here, and dark shadows surrounded him.
“Anyone can kill innocent people. Fish in a barrel, Lance. All you’ve proven is that you’re a true psychopath. No regard for human life. Some prize you’ve chosen to award yourself.”
Mack walked deeper into the woods. He could hear pine boughs swaying softly in the slow breeze. Somewhere far away a bird cried out.
He could only hope that Gilford would want him to see Nicole’s death. He would want to see Mack’s reaction. He had to keep him occupied, keep him holding onto that desire.
He tried a totally different tack. “I know you blamed Ellen and I for you getting kicked out of the Bureau. But that was just bullshit politics, you know that,” Mack said. “You’ve proven your Bureau material. If you end this peacefully, I think you could become a consultant for the FBI. Like me. How does that sound?”
It sounded fucking ridiculous to Mack, but he was dealing with someone totally delusional. He had to try to give the man some hope. Tear him down, then build him back up. Maybe somewhere in there Gilford would find a reason to let Nicole go. Or at least exchange her for him.
The trail rounded a corner, and veered toward an open area of the forest. A circle of light spilled from the surrounding pine trees.
In the clearing was a shape.
Mack stopped.
He peered at the form and immediately understood it was a body.
He let out a deep breath of relief.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX
The Commissioner
HE NEARLY BLEW the whole thing by laughing. His breath was coming almost too fast for him to keep up, but holding in the riotous laughter he wanted to let loose was a struggle.
The idea that Wallace Mack could outsmart him! It was so absolutely, mind-blowingly preposterous! The cheap psychological ploy of trashing him, then baiting him with hopes of being in the FBI. Good God. Did he really think anyone was that stupid?
The Commissioner looked down at Nicole Candela. She was conscious, he knew that. But she couldn’t move. She was going to die in a matter of minutes. He wondered if she understood that. If she was savoring these last few breaths of what amounted to her shitty little life. No, she was probably deceiving herself into the belief she could escape, like she’d done before with Kostner.
Yeah, not gonna happen. Kostner was Kostner.
But he was The Commissioner.
She was going to get what she deserved.
And so was Mack.
He took a peek as Mack stepped into the clearing. When the famous FBI profiler saw whose body the Commissioner had placed there, well, he didn’t want to miss it.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVEN
Nicole
SHE KNEW she was in a nightmare. Not the dream kind of nightmare. The real, live, waking nightmare that she had lived in for years before finally pulling herself out, inch by agonizing inch.
Nicole could not believe she was here again. It was like she had never left. The clearing. The woods. The psychotic demon holding her life in his hand.
She heard Mack’s voice. Yelling something about the FBI, and letting her go.
Nicole heard her captor’s breath coming in great ragged gasps.
She pulled on her belt,
tried to get the buckle around to her hands, to where she might be able to cut the rope. Mack was helping. If the asshole here paid more attention to Mack, she could work the knife free.
She gave one especially strong pull and felt the buckle slide into her palm. She managed a glance up and saw his face for the first time.
The image was like a knife in the heart.
She now knew that she had never left the clearing. Never gotten away. Never been free.
Because here she was again.
With him.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
Mack
MACK STUDIED THE GROUND. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He scanned the surrounding trees. No one. Nothing.
He knew it was a trap.
But he had to look.
He approached the body. He could smell the coppery scent of blood.
With his foot, he pushed the body onto its back.
Mack’s breath caught.
Lance Gilford.
Reznor’s ex-husband. The mastermind behind this whole thing. But who-
Mack whirled at the sound of a branch being snapped.
Nothing.
He looked back down at the corpse. Mack immediately knew Gilford had been killed some time ago. If not hours, days.
Which meant-
“Not who you expected, Mack?” a voice said.
He turned to look behind him, where the trail entered the clearing.
What he saw shook him to his core.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINE
Mack
THE SHOCKS WERE IMMEDIATE. Nicole, with a gun to her head. She had dried blood on the side of her pale, drained face. A gag in her mouth.
But her eyes were alive. And wide with expression. Imploring him. Imploring him to…what?
The second shock was the man.
Mack had never seen him before. He looked vaguely familiar, though. Skinny, dark hair. Young. For a moment, Mack was taken back in time. No, it couldn’t be.
“Trying to place me?” the man said.
His voice was calm and assured, if a little excited.
“Okay, you’ve got me here. You fooled me into thinking you were Lance Gilford,” Mack said.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?” the man said. “I used him for his computer expertise. He really hated you and your old partner. But he would only go so far.”
The face was bothering Mack. It almost looked like-
The stunning recognition didn’t go unnoticed.
“Ah, did you put it together?” the man said.
“You look like Jeffrey Kostner,” Mack said.
“Not bad, Mack! But you haven’t gotten to the best part yet,” he said.
Mack saw a strange light in Nicole’s hands. She made short little movements. Mack instantly understood what she was doing.
Mack had to keep him talking.
“What’s the best part?” Mack said.
His Glock was raised, the front sight on the guy’s face.
“We were almost family once,” the man said.
“Family? How so?” Mack tried to judge how much time Nicole needed.
“Well, not to point too fine a point on it, but I used to fuck your sister.”
Mack lowered the gun a hair. His teeth ground.
“You-“
“That’s right. We used to screw, but I got tired of it. So I started feeding her booze left and right. After she passed out, I’d literally pour drinks down her throat.”
Mack tightened his grip on the gun. His hand started shaking.
The man smiled. “Remember me now? I went by ‘Shelby’ back then.”
Mack did remember. Shelby had been the drunk who’d locked himself in an apartment with Janice for months on end, drinking. Mack had been told he had died. Now, he saw that had been part of the plan all along.
“It was when I was doing research on you, right after you and the bitch here killed Jeff. I saw your sister’s brain was going fast from the booze. So I just sped her along a little bit. Course, I think most of the brain damage happened when she was passed out and I just kept pouring it into her. Couple times I’d used smelling salts to bring around. Pour some good old 150 proof grain alcohol down her gullet.”
Mack registered but barely heard most of what the man had just said. His brain had kicked in at the sound of another name.
“You said Jeff,” Mack said. “You were talking about Kostner.”
“My half-brother,” the man said. “You never found Jeff’s Dad, did you? Well, he ran off, found my Mom, knocked her up, then they both died of drugs. I almost did, too. Until I found a reason to live.”
He put the muzzle of his pistol against Nicole’s temple.
“Actually, I found two reasons. You see, I’m a big believer in family. I had nothing, but there you were parading around like a hero, all for killing my brother.
“He was a monster, just like you. Guess it runs in the family,” Mack said.
“Say goodbye to your girlfriend here-“ the man said. His hand tightened around the gun at Nicole’s head.
He never got a chance to finish the sentence.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN
The Commissioner
PAIN ERUPTED from his leg and he screamed before he had a moment to think about it.
He looked down and Nicole Candela was dragging a tiny knife along the inside of his thigh, looking for the femoral artery.
Bitch!
The Commissioner shot Mack. It was a quick snap, but he saw Mack stagger backward. He lowered his gun to shoot Nicole.
He felt a hammer blow to his chest. He staggered back, felt something deep in his body shatter.
He looked back up at Mack, who was now on one knee, lining up another shot.
The Commissioner fired again. The bullet spun Mack just as flame blossomed from the gun in Mack’s hands.
The Commissioner felt something wallop him in the chest again.
He staggered back and sank to his knees. He tried to point the gun at Nicole Candela.
But he couldn’t see her anymore. He couldn’t see anything. Darkness had fallen. Complete, black nighttime.
And that’s when the Commissioner made a stunning realization.
Game Over.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN
Nicole
SHE HADN’T BEEN HARMED. Mack’s last bullet had nailed the asshole in the heart. Nicole was ready to try to stab him in the throat, but he just keeled over, his eyes wide.
Nicole raced to the clearing. Mack was covered in blood. One shot had hit him in the thigh and must have damaged a major artery because blood was soaking his pants.
“Nice shooting, Mack,” she said. “Thank you.”
She saw him try to smile, but his eyes were blank, his pupils enormous. Like giant black saucers, devoid of any form of comprehension.
“That last one was for Janice,” he said. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
“Shhh,” Nicole said. She tore a strip from Mack’s shirt, and fashioned a tourniquet.
She got his vest off him and studied his shoulder. There wasn’t as much blood as the leg, but the wound in back was huge, and the forest floor was dark with Mack’s blood.
She dug a phone from Mack’s pocket and dialed 911. She told the operator she had an FBI agent who’d just been shot and needed a Flight for Life helicopter immediately. Mack still had the GPS coordinates on his display and she read them off to the operator.
Nicole dropped the phone and cradled Mack’s head in her hands. She felt his pulse. It was there, but it seemed faint.
“You saved my life once, Wallace Mack,” she said. “And you let me return the favor or I’ll kick your ass all the way back to Florida,” she said.
Instead of an answer, she heard the sound of a chopper.
POST-GAME
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
Lady of the Evening
SHE DUG her toes into the sand, looked out at the beach. It was the magic hour, when the li
ght was perfect and golden and everything looked like a sepia toned photograph, capturing some perfect moment in history.
Which seemed absolutely fitting and appropriate to her because she herself had made history.
Amanda Dekins was the first ever champion of the Killing League.
It made her smile.
She’d never won anything in her life. Not a single, goddamned thing. Not a spelling bee. Or a free throw contest. Or even a little shitty stuffed animal at a small town carnival.
But fuck if she hadn’t won the contest of all contests. And the last one she’d done? That big black FBI agent she’d cut to holy hell in that fancy hotel in L.A.? That was one helluva piece of work.
She’d been down in Santa Monica when she saw the newspaper reports. A big one about this FBI Director Whidby, all cut up in his hotel room.
And then that long-haired freak killed in the mountains. Finally, the guy the news story said was the mastermind behind the whole thing. He was dead, too.
About the only people who survived were some woman and an FBI agent who had gotten shot up pretty good.
Of course, there was one other survivor most people didn’t know about.
Dekins was a realist, though. She figured the brains behind the contest probably had her name somewhere, some information on her. They would probably come for her.
But that was the great thing about being who she was. She had no fixed address. She changed her look all the time. And her name? Hell, she had so many names she lost track of them all.
So what if she’d been screwed again by this guy who had called himself the Commissioner? After all, what was the prize of winning the contest? Nothing. Not one red cent. She’d won the whole shooting match and her prize was…nothing.
She guessed all she had left was the satisfaction that she’d won.
Dekins glanced up from the beach and looked back toward the streets. Traffic was picking up. Customers were rolling in.