Okay, Carla was nuts. It was now official, and Betsy was able to accept the true, up close and personal meaning of crazed stalker.
Even so, even with a loaded gun pressed tightly to her temple, she was still able to focus on Soldier, on the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her, on the way he loved her. No. She was most definitely not going to die today.
She just hadn’t quite figured out how to stop it from happening.
Chapter 24
Soldier’s fingers gripped the dashboard. “As long as Betsy’s driving, Carla won’t shoot her. Even Carla’s not that stupid.”
Behind the wheel, Taylor grunted. “Where do you think they’re headed?”
“That’s what worries me,” Soldier said. “With all exits out of town blocked, she’s either going to use Betsy as a hostage and make some demands, or do something really, really dumb.”
One block ahead of them the black Chevy moved at a steady speed down Eisenhower Avenue, smack into the center of town. Soldier had ordered patrol cars follow at a distance and do nothing to force Carla into any kind of position where she might take the life of her hostage.
Her hostage . . . his future.
“They’re turning left, heading for the ferry,” Taylor said. “What in the hell is she thinking?”
Soldier’s heart and mind raced. Every moment counted. Betsy was caught in the middle and he had to get her out. Alive.
“She’s not thinking. Her plans are toast, she’s been made, and she’s got a hostage. No clean kill, no getaway. It’s all up to Betsy now.”
Without warning, Carla shoved the barrel of the gun against Betsy’s cheek. She wanted to cry out, but bit her lip instead.
“What was that for?” Betsy said, keeping her voice as controlled as she could.
“ ’Cause I felt like it, that’s why,” Carla teased. “How does that song go? ‘I’ve got the power, oh yeah!’ ”
Carla was beginning to unravel. Her eyes were glazed with desperation, her hands and forehead sweaty. Her breathing had turned ragged, harsh. She flicked her gaze between Betsy and the car that had been tailing them for the last two miles.
“Carla,” Betsy said, hoping to distract her, hoping to keep her from taking a potshot at Soldier. “I can’t drive with that gun pressed into my—”
“Tough! Now shut up!” she screamed. “Uh, uh, when we get to Madison, turn left, toward the water. Yeah. Toward the water.”
Betsy swallowed past a thick lump in her throat. “Carla, there is no way you can get away with this. Listen to me. If you stop now, turn yourself in, the police—”
“Fuck the police!” she yelled as she ground the barrel of the gun harder into Betsy’s tender cheek.
Betsy whimpered, the pain almost too fierce to bear. A trickle of hot blood slid down her jaw and neck as she fought to keep from crying out.
They crested a hill, and it was a straight shot down to the docks. In the distance, Betsy could see the ferry pulling out, heading south into the sound. There wouldn’t be another one for hours.
Next to her, Carla was mumbling to herself, but Betsy tried to stay focused on the task at hand. She’d never been brave. Would she wail like a baby when Carla pulled the trigger? Would she plead for her life?
No. She would not. Besides, she’d already decided she wasn’t going to die today.
She slid a quick glance at Carla. No. Not today, sister. She hunkered down and held onto the wheel for all she was worth.
Traffic was sparse as they ambled down Madison. The ferry dock loomed larger in the distance. In a matter of minutes they’d be there.
Betsy’s toe pushed on the accelerator. Still mumbling to herself and panting, Carla didn’t seem to notice.
Glancing quickly to her right, Betsy checked to see whether Carla had fastened her seat belt, and she felt a surge of joy when she saw it dangling behind the door.
She pressed down on the accelerator a little more and the car lurched ahead. In the rearview mirror the car behind them kept pace.
Carla pulled the gun away from Betsy’s cheekbone and waved the weapon in the air. “What the hell are you doing? Slow down!”
In response, Betsy slammed her foot to the floor and the car leaped ahead, nearly causing Carla to lose her balance and drop the gun.
“What the fuck are you doing? Slow down or I’ll shoot you right now!”
Betsy didn’t spare Carla a glance, but checked to see if the car behind them had sped up as well. It had.
Only four blocks now, only three . . .
Keeping her hands tightly on the wheel, Betsy aimed the car toward the docks. As the decline of the hill increased, so did the speed of the car.
Carla screamed and tried to unlock her door. But Betsy had pressed the lock button. They were in to stay.
“Stop!” Carla’s voice was thick with panic. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will!” She swung the gun toward Betsy. The barrel touched her temple.
Betsy swallowed hard and lowered her head. Again pressing the accelerator full to the floor, she closed her eyes and hung on.
I love you, Soldier. I love you. . . .
One block more and they were on the dock, careening over the planking, roaring toward the water.
The explosion near her head nearly caused her to lose control, but the shot aimed at her head had gone through the roof as the car lurched onto the dock.
Betsy’s ears rang, her nostrils burned. She narrowed her eyes and kept her hands welded to the wheel.
The sound of sirens blasted Betsy’s eardrums, and tears slid down her cheeks. Releasing one hand from the wheel, she doubled her fist and swung it hard until it connected with Carla’s nose. Carla screamed and turned the gun back in Betsy’s direction. She felt the cold metal against her temple again and sent one last prayer heavenward.
Take care of my father, and my mother. And send Soldier somebody to love . . .
Betsy jerked her arm up just as Carla pulled the trigger. The blast shattered the front windshield.
Then the car crashed through the guardrail and sailed off the end of the dock.
Carla screamed, losing her voice as she clawed at her door, trying desperately to get it open.
A split second before the car hit the water, Betsy managed to catch Carla’s eye. “Have a nice trip,” she whispered, “you bitch.”
The car slammed into the water, flinging Carla forward and through the windshield. Betsy’s body strained against the seat belts but she stayed firmly in place as the airbag exploded in her face, punching her chin, making her see stars.
The concussion slammed her skull against the head rest and she was afraid she’d lose consciousness.
Immediately, the car began to sink. Icy water covered the floorboards up to her ankles, then her calves, her knees.
Her fingers were numb and shook uncontrollably as she tried to release her seat belt. She was panting, her heart raced, and terror choked her throat until she could barely breathe. Her mind felt thick and unresponsive.
Finally, a grateful snap and she was free. Flipping the door locks, she grabbed the handle and tried to push open her door, but at that moment the car lurched forward, taking Betsy down.
Cold, black water inched up her neck, her chin, into her mouth. Raising her face, she took one last, deep breath just as the water reached her nose.
Ten seconds passed . . . fifteen . . . twenty. How long could she hold her breath? A minute? More? Less?
She felt the weight of the car dragging her down and down into the cold. She couldn’t see anything and her lungs were near bursting. She gulped for air but got none. Her throat hurt, her head spun. She gulped again.
Darkness closed in as she gave one last push against the door.
It opened.
Then she felt him. His hands on her. His fingers prying hers from the door handle.
He grabbed her hair, her clothes, wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her through the opening, shooting for the surface. Feeling his hands on her, kn
owing he had come, she thought her heart would shatter.
He shoved her ahead of him, and her face broke the surface. She gulped for fresh air and began to cough violently, choking on cold salty water and hot salty tears.
She took another deep breath and choked again. And cried again. She cried because life was just so damned good, and she wasn’t through living it yet.
Beside her, Soldier coughed and stammered, and called her name. But her eyes were pinched tightly shut and she couldn’t see him.
Voices shouted and sirens sang, competing with the shriek of anxious gulls. Hands were on her, pulling her up, covering her with warm blankets, carrying her from the water to the safety of the dock.
She tried to breathe. Beside her, she heard him panting, calling her name over and over. But she was too tired to answer, too sleepy. Cold ate away her flesh. Lack of oxygen left her muscles and bones like jelly.
She heard him speaking, but it was so far away, and fading. The sound of his voice was low, urgent, and thick with tears.
His hands clasped her shoulders. She felt his warm breath against her face. He pinched her nose and blew into her mouth, and suddenly water erupted up her throat. She choked. More water came, and she gagged and choked again.
“Wake up,” he whispered harshly. “Betsy . . . I love you. Marry me and I’ll give you a baby with blue, blue eyes. But you’ve got to breathe. Please . . . wake up!”
She wanted to, she really did, but her chest burned and she just couldn’t get enough air. Turning her head, she coughed again and her lungs began to work, and she could breathe.
Around her, she heard a cheer go up. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he sobbed. “That’s my girl!”
Betsy lay on the dock and smiled. She’d known she wasn’t going to die today. She just hadn’t realized how much effort it was going to take to stay alive.
Opening her eyes a squint at a time, she saw Soldier’s face, wet, worried, gloriously alive. His hair hung over his forehead and she wanted to smooth it away.
“Hi,” he said. “Welcome back.”
“I’m going to hold you to it, you know,” she rasped.
Soldier laughed and tears filled his blue, blue eyes as he pushed a wet lock of hair off her face. “God, I hope so.”
She smiled up into his eyes. “You love me?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He lowered his head and kissed her. His mouth was warm and held every promise she’d ever dreamed of.
When he pulled back, she choked, “And you want to marry me?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Get me a hankie, I’m gonna cry,” came the bored voice of the paramedic crouched next to Betsy. “Now, will you kindly get your ass out of the way, Detective, so we can get this lady to the ER?”
Soldier quickly kissed her again, and took her hand in his, clasping it tightly, as though he would never let it go.
As the paramedics lifted her onto the stretcher, Betsy breathed softly, “And they all lived happily ever after.”
Then she sneezed.
Epilogue
Six months later
Hold on while I get out my thesaurus; this review is going to require more words than my paltry vocabulary contains. Ah, here we go: marvelous, extraordinary, splendid, meritorious (oh, that’s a good one), bravo, spectacular, superlative . . .
To continue would require more space than this column allows, so let me simply conclude by saying that Four Men and a Corpse, J. Soldier McKennitt’s latest crime drama, is well worth your time and money.
Not!
The plot is silly, the characters dumb, the writing so-so. What less could you ask for? This is the fourth installment in the Crimes of the Northwest series, and while each entry has defied common sense and literary style, Four Men and a Corpse is the worst to date . . .
“There’s more. Wanna hear it?”
“Betsy, darling,” Soldier said as he pulled his wife into his arms. “Do you think you can wait to castrate me until we’ve conceived at least one child?”
She giggled and tossed the newspaper aside. Slipping her arms around his waist, she said, “Not a problem. At least, not as of a few minutes ago when I tinkled on the stick. And the stick turned blue.”
He raised his brows. “Really? A baby? You and me? All right! When?”
“The end of September.” She gazed up into his eyes. “I love you.”
He bent his head and whispered wonderful things in her ear while she ran her fingers through his soft hair and smiled. Then he kissed her. Then he kissed her again. And again. Soon, his light kisses turned urgent and hot.
Guiding her to the bed, he murmured against her mouth, “Take off your nightgown. I want to look at your tummy.”
“It’s too early to see any difference.”
“That’s not why I want to see your tummy,” he growled.
“Wait,” she said, touching her fingertips to his lips. “I have more good news. Daddy got a job!”
Soldier peered down at her. “Well, that’s great, honey. He must be really thrilled. But, well, given his, uh, condition and everything . . . I mean, he’s brilliant, but he doesn’t seem to have any fashion sense, his social skills are pretty bad, he has trouble getting projects done on time, and when he does, sometimes they don’t work.” He shrugged. “What kind of job could he do where he would fit in? Who hired him?”
“Microsoft. He starts tomorrow.”
She grinned up at him, and he got lost in her all over again. He just had to be the luckiest man alive.
As he held her close, he remembered for the thousandth time watching that car sail off the end of the dock and disappear under the surface of the water. The impact had killed Carla, and might have killed Betsy, too, if she hadn’t made sure to strap herself in.
He’d been out of the car, running like hell toward the water, and was in mid-dive before the car even broke the surface. Kicking off his shoes and thrashing out of his jacket, he’d fought the waves to reach her door with a single-minded strength he didn’t know he possessed. When the car’s rooftop disappeared beneath the water, he was nearly certain she was lost.
That first breath of air she’d taken on the dock as he’d hovered over her was like his own first breath, and his life had begun all over again.
He loved her so damn much that sometimes, when she looked up at him with a gleam in her eye or a sexy little smirk on her lips, he just wanted to bust out laughing. He was a lucky son of a bitch to have found a woman like her.
And now she was pregnant with their first child. A baby, their baby. It was almost too wonderful to grasp.
As she slipped out of her nightgown and snuggled back down into their warm bed, she said, “We don’t have a lot of time. Claire will be here at ten with my mother and Piddle the Valiant.”
Soldier grunted. “Piddle, the Dog Who Lived.”
“Oh, stop it!” she giggled. “I’m just glad he was only knocked unconscious and not killed.” She snuggled closer. “And Taylor’s coming by later, too, so we can all have dinner and celebrate!”
Betsy nudged her leg over Soldier’s thigh and inched her body closer to his. “Mmm,” she hummed. “You want to take that T-shirt off, get naked, and have our own little celebration?”
Reaching for the hem, he pulled the shirt up and off and tossed it in a corner of their bedroom, which had been just her room before they’d begun remodeling the Victorian.
“Does that answer your question?” he said as he pulled her on top of him and raised his head to kiss her.
“Well,” she purred as she slid her hand down his belly, and down and down and, oh, baby. “Let me put this in terms you’ll understand . . .”
About the Author
Long ago and far away in a fairytale land called California, MARIANNE STILLINGS’s mother read her the Little Golden Book of The Ugly Duckling. She cried so hard at how badly the duckling was treated her mother frantically skipped ahead to calm her and prov
e all would end well. The book has been lost over the years, but Marianne’s love of reading and happy endings has remained. Now a resident of Washington State, when not writing happy endings of her own, she works as a tech writer for The Boeing Company, and spends time with her husband Mike, daughters Rebecca and Katie, and Dorothy the Wonder Dog. Please visit Marianne at www.mariannestillings.com.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Marianne Stillings
ISBN: 0-06-057533-6
EPub Edition © June 2011 ISBN: 9780062105813
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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