by Sharon Sala
His sneer faltered. “Shut up, bitch,” he yelled, and picked up a lamp and threw it at the wall near her head.
Kristie screamed as she dodged and then ran to her left, quickly putting about twenty feet and a sofa between them.
“Stay away from me!” she screamed. “You won’t get away with this, you know! Detective Wade is in the building. You can’t kill me and expect to get away with it. Why don’t you leave now, before he comes back?”
McMartin was furious. He started toward her, pulling a length of rope from his pocket as he ran. Just the thought of wrapping it around her neck and stifling her lies made him hot.
Kristie was screaming for help as she ran, hoping that the dispatcher would get the message, relay it to Scott, and get her some help before it was too late. But just in case it didn’t happen in timely fashion, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
She made it to the kitchen a few yards ahead of him and grabbed a chef’s knife from the knife block on the counter. It was large and awkward, but she figured if she ever connected, it would do the most damage.
McMartin made a dive toward her just as Kristie spun. The knife swiped through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, leaving a good nine inches of skin exposed, along with a wash of fresh blood. He dropped the rope as he jumped back in shock, fingering the cut as the blood seeped through the thin, white fabric of the cotton knit shirt.
“You bitch.”
The surprise in his voice made Kristie smile.
“What? Surely you didn’t think I would just throw up my hands and lay down and die for you?” She waved the knife toward his face and took a small bit of pleasure in watching the pupils of his eyes widen as he stepped back in shock. “If you thought that, then you didn’t know me as well as you thought, because I don’t quit. Not on myself. Not ever.”
He thrust his hand into his pocket, fingering the handle of his switchblade as he considered his options. Time was not on his side. That was a given. But after the way she’d come undone in the elevator, he’d been certain that she was a quitter—a victim who was too afraid to fight back. Lucy McKee had been such a woman. She’d begged for mercy, but hadn’t lifted a finger in her own defense. She’d still been begging when he’d slit her throat.
“You’re going to be sorry,” he said as he pulled out the knife and popped the blade. “I was going to make it easy on you, but not now. Before I’m through with you, you’re going to be praying to die.”
“You don’t have much time,” she said. Then, to his horror, she laughed. “Of course, I’ve never known a man who needed much time for anything. If I was a betting woman, which of course I’m not. But…if I was…since you chose such a unique method of hiding from the police…and…you were so comfortable in a woman’s shoes, then I’d be willing to bet you can’t hold a climax any longer than you can hold that stupid temper of yours.”
She made a tsk-tsking sound and grabbed the back of a kitchen chair, ready to use it as well as the knife to fend him off.
It was the taunt about his sexuality that sent him over the edge. He came toward her with a roar, flinging furniture aside as he ran.
Chapter 7
Scott’s cell phone was ringing as he exited the stairwell at the garage level. He answered it without thinking, his focus still on the missing maintenance man, who’d somehow disappeared, and the whereabouts of Melissa Franks.
“This is Wade.”
It was Tucker. “Kristie’s in trouble,” he said. “Where are you?”
Scott’s heart dropped as he pivoted quickly and started running back up the stairs.
“I’m in the stairwell of her building. What are you talking about? I just left her with a neighbor lady.”
“I don’t understand it, but from what the 911 dispatcher could understand, the person with her is trying to kill her. 911 has dispatched some cars. I’m on my way, but you’re her best bet. You better hurry. The dispatcher said it sounds bad.”
“God help us both,” Scott said, and dropped the phone into his pocket as he bounded up the stairs.
It wasn’t the first time he’d run up several flights of stairs, but he was betting with himself that it was definitely the fastest. Less than a minute after getting the call, he exited the stairwell onto the fifth floor, and even though he was about fifty yards away, he could hear Kristie screaming as he ran. The door to her apartment was locked. Just as he started to try to kick it in, she screamed again. It was a shrill, blood-curdling sound that sent a chill throughout his body. In the next breath he had pulled his gun, shot out the lock, and kicked in the door.
* * *
McMartin was astride Kristie’s legs, trying to stab her, but she had hold of his wrist with both hands and wouldn’t let go. One second Kristie was certain this breath would be her last and the next McMartin was gone. She had a moment’s impression of him flying backward through the air and then realized Scott had pulled him off of her and thrown him against the wall. Overwhelmed by the fact that she was no longer in danger, she started to shake.
Scott reached for his handcuffs and was in the act of cuffing McMartin when he tried to resist. Scott yanked him up by the shirt and stared him straight in the face.
“McMartin.”
Andrew McMartin sneered and then grinned.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Then he lowered his voice to a slow, ugly taunt. “I had her, you know. I had her first.”
“No, I had her first,” Scott said. “When she was sixteen years old and a junior in high school. She’s not yours, you sick bastard. She never was and she never will be, she’s mine.”
McMartin’s expression fell. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
“It doesn’t matter. I—”
Scott shook him harshly. “Just shut up and listen. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney.” His voice slid into a lifeless monotone as he spoke until he’d informed McMartin of his constitutional rights, then ended with the inevitable. “Andrew McMartin, do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know my rights,” McMartin mumbled.
“Good,” Scott said, then doubled his fist and hit him on the chin as hard as he could.
McMartin’s head snapped back as he dropped limply to the floor. It was all Scott could do not to take out his gun and shoot him where he lay. As soon as he had him cuffed, he shoved him out of the way and ran to Kristie. It wasn’t until he knelt beside her that he realized there was blood all over her.
“Oh, God… Oh, honey…don’t move,” he said. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”
“It’s not mine,” she said, and then put her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Scott lifted her up and carried her to the bathroom. She dropped to her knees by the commode just as they heard a commotion in the other room.
“Sounds like help has arrived,” Scott said. “Will you be all right for a minute?”
She nodded.
He started toward the door and then stopped, reluctant to leave her alone.
“Scotty…please,” she begged, and laid her head on the closed lid of the commode. “Just leave me alone. I’ll be all right.”
He hurried back into the living room just as his partner and four uniformed officers were arriving.
“Looks like it’s all over but the shouting,” Tucker said, eyeing the bloody room and the handcuffed man. Then he noticed Kristie was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Kristie? Is she all right?”
“I think so,” Scott said. “But I want an EMT to look at her anyway. She’s covered in blood and I can’t tell what’s hers and what’s his.”
A pair of EMTs came hurrying into the room and then began assessing the seriousness of McMartin’s injuries.
“He doesn’t look so good,” Tucker said, toeing the bottom of the unconscious man’s shoe with his boot.
“I think the cuts are superficial,” Scott said, then added, “He’s alive, wh
ich is more than he deserves.”
When a second pair of EMTs arrived, he waved at them to follow him. “Come with me,” he said, and led them toward the bathroom.
As they entered, Scott saw that Kristie was sitting on the side of the bathtub with her head in her hands. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t stand up. Cursing himself for ever leaving her alone, he rushed to her.
“Honey, the paramedics are here. I want them to check you out, okay?”
She tried to lift her head, but her whole body felt heavy—too heavy to move.
“I told you, I’m okay,” she said, and then slid to the floor in a faint.
Scott scooped her up into his arms and carried her next door to her bedroom where he laid her on the bed. Even after the EMT verified she had no injuries and was probably just in shock, Scott wouldn’t let her out of his sight. The EMT suggested they contact her doctor for a sedative prescription, that after a trauma like this she would probably have trouble sleeping. He also recommended counseling, but it was nothing that Scott didn’t already know. Once he was sure that she had not been physically injured, he actually let himself relax.
Tucker stepped into the bedroom long enough to let Scott know that everyone was finally leaving.
“I’ll do the paperwork,” he said.
Scott turned and looked at his partner, then raised an eyebrow in disgust.
“Hell, Tucker, you weren’t even here. Tell the lieutenant that I’ll be in later to do the report.”
“Okay, but don’t say I never offered to do you a favor.”
“You’ll thank me later,” Scott said.
“For what?”
“For that suspension you didn’t get for faking a report.”
Tucker laughed. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”
“Don’t I always,” Scott said. “So go get the bastard off the premises before Kristie wakes up.”
“He’s already on his way to booking, via a quick visit to the emergency room to get some stitches.” Then Tucker looked at Kristie, who was already showing signs of waking. “For a frail little thing, she’s damned good with a knife.”
“She might look fragile, but you’ve forgotten one thing,” Scott said.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked.
“She’s from Texas. We grow ‘em pretty down there, but we also grow ‘em tough.” Then his voice softened as he looked at her. “Thank God, she didn’t quit on herself or I would have been too late to save her.”
Tucker thumped him on the back. “You got yourself a good woman, there, buddy. Don’t mess it up.”
“There’s no way,” Scott said softly. “I lost her once. It isn’t going to happen again.”
“You have to admit, he had a pretty good disguise,” Tucker said, thinking of McMartin.
Scott grimaced. “Yeah. We were looking for a man.” Then he thought of something else. “I keep thinking about McMartin’s aunt who was supposed to live in the area. I wonder how she ties into this?”
“We got word this morning after you left the office that she’s been dead for the last nine months. Cancer, I think. McMartin was her only living relative. She left him a big chunk of money and all her property.”
“So now we know where he got the wigs and clothes,” Scott said, then added, “And why he could devote all of his time to his sick stunts. He didn’t have to work.”
“It’s a good thing he’s got some money. He’s going to need it to pay for a lawyer.”
“Yeah, right,” Scott said, and then added, “Hey, Tucker, do me a favor on your way out and tell the building super to get someone up here to replace Kristie’s door and lock and tell him to do it today.”
“Will do,” Tucker said. He started to leave when he thought of one other thing he was curious about. “Hey, Scott.”
“Yeah?”
“When I called you…”
“Yes?”
“Why were you in the stairwell?”
Scott groaned and then rolled his eyes. “Oh, hell…Melissa Franks.”
“Who?”
“There was a female officer who was supposed to stay with Kristie. She wasn’t here and I was going to look for her when I saw that maintenance man we’d been looking for. He started to run and I took off after him.”
“Oh, that’s another thing,” Tucker said. “Another bit of info was tied up after you left. We found out that the maintenance man is a Croatian named Johan Blinzer. His green card ran out over a year ago and he’s probably been dodging immigration ever since.”
“No wonder he ran,” Scott said. “But what about Franks?”
“I’ll check it out and give you a call,” Tucker said.
“Kristie says sometimes the elevator gets stuck.”
Tucker grinned. “Then I’ll take the stairs.”
“Just make sure Franks is not trapped in the damned thing,” Scott said.
“I’m on it,” Tucker said, leaving Scott alone in the apartment with Kristie. He sat on the side of the bed and laid his hand on her forehead. Her skin felt clammy. He knew it was from the shock of what she’d experienced.
“Kristie…honey?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Scotty?”
“What, baby?”
“It is over, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s over.”
She looked down at herself and at the blood all over her hands and clothes.
“I need a shower.”
“You’ll take a bath,” he said. “You’re too shaky to stand.”
“Whatever. I just want it off,” she muttered, then sat up on the side of the bed and started peeling off her clothes.
Scott went into the bathroom and started the water, adding a good dose of bath salts, then helped her into the tub.
“Call me when you’re ready to get out,” he said.
Kristie was already scrubbing at herself, desperate to get the blood off of her hands, when she stopped and looked up at him. Her chin started to tremble.
“You saved my life.”
“Damn it, honey, don’t cry,” he begged, and then dropped to his knees, cupped her face in his hands and brushed his mouth across the center of her lips. “Just soak and relax.”
She nodded, leaned back against the tub and let herself slide down until her chin was just above the water. She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes.
Scott stood and had just started out of the bathroom when she called him back.
“Scott.”
“What, honey?”
“My clothes…the ones I had on.”
“Yeah, what about them?”
“I don’t ever want to see them again.”
His shoulders slumped, as if the weight he was carrying was suddenly too heavy.
“I’ll get rid of them for you.”
“Okay,” she said.
He started out of the room once more.
“Scotty?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded and kept on walking because if he stopped and looked at her again, he would cry, too.
Minutes later, his cell phone rang. It was Tucker.
“We found Melissa Franks. She’s got a concussion, but she’s going to be fine.”
“Damn it, what happened?” Scott asked.
“He saw her in the parking garage. Franks said he started acting real weird, but before she could make a move, he’d coldcocked her. She came to, found herself tied and gagged and stuffed inside the trunk of his car. The way we figure it, he was probably going to dump her after doing away with Kristie.”
“At least she’s okay,” Scott said. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Will do. Her husband is on his way to the hospital, so you can give them a call there later if you like.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Scott said, and disconnected. Now all their questions were answered except for why someone like Andrew McMartin felt the need to terrorize innocent women, but he was guessing that was s
omething they’d never find out.
* * *
Two hours later there was a repairman in the living room hanging a new door and locks. The banging and hammering was intermittent, but didn’t seem to be bothering Kristie, who’d fallen asleep soon after getting out of her bath.
Scott was running interference while in the kitchen heating soup when the phone began to ring. Although it wasn’t his phone, he feared the constant ringing would wake Kristie before the answering machine could pick up, so he answered the call.
“Hello? Samuels residence.”
There was a moment of silence and then a woman spoke.
“Is Kristie there? This is her mother, Shelly.”
Scott grinned. “Hi, Mrs. Samuels. This is Scott Wade. Yes, Kristie is here, but she’s asleep.”
“Scotty? Scotty Wade from Midland?”
He grinned again, only wider. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why, Scotty! I can’t tell you how surprised I am to hear your voice. Kristie Ann didn’t tell me she’d seen you again.”
“It’s been pretty recent,” he said. “I ran into her the other day and stopped by to say hello.”
“You live in Chicago?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m a detective with the Chicago Police Department.”
“Land sakes. Blaine will be pleased to know of you. I can’t wait to tell him. I had no idea where you and your family had gotten off to. How are your parents?”
“Dad retired years ago and they moved to Florida. Mom didn’t like the Chicago winters.”
“I can’t say as I blame her,” she said, then got right to the point of her call. “Scotty, why is Kristie in bed? I called her office, but they told me she’d taken a few days off and now you tell me she’s sleeping…and in the middle of the day. Is she ill?”
Scott hesitated. The story was Kristie’s to tell, but he didn’t want to lie.
“Well…no, ma’am, not exactly. When she wakes up, I’ll have her call you herself, okay? Then she can tell you everything, but please know she’s fine. Just worn out.”
“Well…if you say so.”
Scott could hear the worry in her voice. “Look, Mrs. Samuels, I promise you she’s all right. She’s had a hard time, but everything is over. And just for the record, I’ll probably be seeing you soon.”