Under the Knife

by Tess Gerritsen

  “Move out of the way, Guy,” Susan ordered softly.

  Guy was too stunned to move or speak; he could only stare mutely at his wife.

  “It was you,” Kate murmured in astonishment. “All the time you were the one. Not Decker.”

  Slowly, Susan turned her unfocused gaze on Kate. Through the veil of mist drifting between them, her face was as vague and formless as a ghost’s. “You don’t understand, do you? But you’ve never had a baby, Kate. You’ve never been afraid of someone hurting it or taking it away. That’s all a mother ever thinks about. Worries about. It’s all I ever worried about.”

  A low groan escaped Guy’s throat. “My God, Susan. Do you understand what you’ve done?”

  “You wouldn’t do it. So I had to. All those years, I never knew about William. You should have told me, Guy. You should have told me. I had to hear it from Tanaka.”

  “You killed four people, Susan!”

  “Not four. Only three. I didn’t kill Ellen.” Susan looked at Kate. “She did.”

  Kate stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “That wasn’t succinylcholine in the vial. It was potassium chloride. You gave Ellen a lethal dose.” Her gaze shifted back to her husband. “I didn’t want you to be blamed, darling. I couldn’t stand to see you hurt, the way you were hurt by the last lawsuit. So I changed the EKG. I put her initials on it.”

  “And I got the blame,” finished Kate.

  Nodding, Susan raised the gun. “Yes, Kate. You got the blame. I’m sorry. Now please, Guy. Move away. It has to be done, for William’s sake.”

  “No, Susan.”

  She frowned at him in disbelief. “They’ll take him away from me. Don’t you see? They’ll take my baby away.”

  “I won’t let them. I promise.”

  Susan shook her head. “It’s too late, Guy. I’ve killed the others. She’s the only one who knows.”

  “But I know!” Guy blurted out. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

  “You won’t tell. You’re my husband.”

  “Susan, give me the gun.” Guy moved slowly forward, his hand held out to her. His voice dropped, became gentle, intimate. “Please, darling. Nothing will happen. I’ll take care of everything. Just give it to me.”

  She retreated a step and almost lost her balance on the uneven terrain. Guy froze as the barrel of the gun swayed for an instant in his direction.

  “You’re not going to hurt me, Susan.”

  “Please, Guy…”

  He took a step forward. “Are you?”

  “I love you,” she moaned.

  “Then give me the gun. Yes, darling. Give it to me….”

  The distance between them slowly evaporated. Guy’s hand stretched out to her, coaxing her with the promise of warmth and safety. She stared at it with longing, as though knowing in some deep part of her mind that it was forever beyond her reach. The gun was only inches from Guy’s fingers and still she didn’t move; she was paralyzed by the inevitability of defeat.

  Guy, at last sensing he had won, quickly closed the gap between them. Seizing the gun by the barrel, he tried to tug it from her hands.

  But she didn’t surrender it. At that instant, something inside her, some last spark of resistance, seemed to flare up and she tried to wrench it back.

  “Let go!” she screamed.

  “Give it to me,” Guy demanded, wrestling for control of the weapon. “Susan, give it to me!”

  The gun’s blast seemed to trap them in freeze-frame. They stared at each other in astonishment, neither of them willing to believe what had just happened. Then Guy stumbled backward, clutching his leg.

  “No!” Susan’s wail rose up and drifted, ghostlike, through the mist. Slowly she turned toward Kate. The glow of desperation was in her eyes. And she was still clutching the gun.

  That’s when Kate ran. Blindly, desperately, into the mist. She heard a pistol shot. A bullet whistled past and thudded into the dirt near her feet. There was no time to get her bearings, to circle back toward the road. She just kept running and prayed that the fog would shroud her from Susan.

  The ground suddenly rose upward. Through fingers of mist, she saw the sheer face of the ridge, sparsely stubbled with brush. She spun around and realized instantly that the way back to the main road was blocked by Susan’s approach. Her only escape route lay to the left, down the crumbling remains of the old Pali road. It was the original cliff pass. The road had long ago been abandoned to the elements. She had no idea how far it would take her; parts of it, she knew, had collapsed down the sheer slope.

  The sound of footsteps closing in left her no choice. She scrambled over a low concrete wall and at once found herself sliding helplessly down a muddy bank. Clawing at branches and vines, she managed to break her fall until she landed, scratched and breathless, on a slab of pavement. The old Pali road.

  Somewhere above, hidden among the clouds, bushes rustled. “There’s nowhere to run, Kate!” Susan’s disembodied voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “The old road doesn’t go very far. One wrong step and you’ll be over the cliff. So you’d better be careful….”

  Careful…careful… The shouted warning echoed off the ridge and shattered into terrifying fragments of sound. The rustling of bushes moved closer. Susan was closing in. She was taking her time, advancing slowly, steadily. Her victim was trapped. And she knew it.

  But trapped wasn’t the same as helpless.

  Kate leaped to her feet and began to run. The old road was full of cracks and potholes. In places it had crumbled away entirely and young trees poked through, their roots rippling the asphalt. She strained to see through the fog but could make out no more than a few feet ahead. Darkness was falling fast; it would cut off the last of her visibility. But it would also be a cloak in which to hide.

  But where could she hide? On her right, the ridge loomed steeply upward; on her left, the pavement broke off sharply at the cliff’s edge. She had no choice; she had to keep running.

  She stumbled over a loose boulder and sprawled onto the brutal asphalt. At once she was back on her feet, mindless of the pain searing her knees. Even as she ran, she forced herself to think ahead. Would there be a barrier at the road’s end? Or would there simply be a straight drop to oblivion? In either case, there’d be no escape. There would only be a bullet, and then a plunge over the cliff. How long would it be before they found her body?

  A gust of wind swept the road. For an instant, the mist cleared. She saw looming to her right the face of the ridge, covered by dense brush. Halfway up, almost hidden by the overgrowth, was the mouth of a cave. If she could reach it, if she could scramble up those bushes before Susan passed this way, she could hide until help arrived. If it arrived.

  She threaded her way into the shrubbery and began clambering up the mountainside. Rain had muddied the slope; she had to claw for roots and branches to pull herself up. All the time, there was the danger of dislodging a boulder, of sending it thundering to the road. The crash would certainly alert Susan. And here she’d be, poised like a fly on the wall. One well-placed bullet would end it all.

  The sound of footsteps made her freeze. Susan was approaching. Desperately, Kate hugged the mountain, willing herself to blend into the bushes.

  The footsteps slowed, stopped. At that instant, the wind nudged the clouds against the ridge, draping Kate in silvery mist. The footsteps moved on, slowly clipping across the pavement. Only when the sound had faded did Kate dare continue her climb.

  By the time she reached the cave’s mouth, her hands had cramped into claws. In took her last ounce of strength to drag herself up into the muddy hollow. There she collapsed, fighting to catch her breath. Dampness trickled from the tree roots above and dripped onto her face. She heard, deep in the shadows, the rustle of movement and something scuttled across her arm. A beetle. She didn’t have the energy to brush it off. Exhausted and shivering, she curled up like a tired puppy in the mud. The wind rose, sweeping the clouds from the pass. Alre
ady the mist was fading. If she could just hold out until nightfall. That was the most she could hope for: darkness.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on a mental image of David. If only he could hear her silent plea for help. But he couldn’t help her. No one could. She wondered how he’d react to her death. Would he feel any grief? Or would he simply shrug it off as a tragic end to a fading love affair? That was what hurt most—the thought of his indifference.

  She cradled her face in her arms, and warm tears mingled with the icy water on her cheeks. She’d never felt so alone, so abandoned. Suddenly it didn’t matter whether she lived or died; only that someone cared.

  But I’m the only one who really cares.

  A desperate new strength stirred inside her. Slowly she unfolded her limbs and looked out at the thin wisps of fog drifting past the cave. And she felt a new sense of fury that her life might be stolen from her and that the man she loved wasn’t even here to help.

  If I want to be saved, I have to do it myself.

  It was the footsteps, moving slowly back along the road, that told her darkness would come too late to save her. Through the tangle of branches fringing the cave mouth, she saw against the sky’s fading light the velvety green of a distant ridge. The mist had vanished; so had her invisibility.

  “You’re up there, aren’t you?” Susan’s voice floated up from the road, a sound so chilling Kate trembled. “I almost missed it. But there’s one unfortunate thing about caves. Something I’m sure you’ve realized by now. They’re dead ends.”

  Rocks rattled down the slope and slammed onto the road, their impact echoing like gunshot. She’s climbing the ridge, Kate thought frantically. She’s coming for me….

  Her only escape route was back out through the cave mouth. Right into Susan’s line of fire.

  A twig snapped and more rocks slithered down the mountain. Susan was closing in. Kate had no choice left; either she bolted now or she’d be trapped like a rat.

  Swiftly she groped around in the mud and came up with a fist-size rock. It wasn’t much against a gun, but it was all she had. Cautiously, she eased her head out. To her horror, she saw that Susan was already halfway up the slope.

  Their eyes met. In that instant, each recognized the other’s desperation. One was fighting for her life, the other for her child. There could be no compromise, no surrender, except in death.

  Susan took aim; the barrel swung up toward her prey’s head.

  Kate hurled the rock.

  It skimmed the bushes and thudded against Susan’s shoulder. Crying out, Susan slid a few feet down the mountainside before she managed to grab hold of a branch. There she clung for a moment, stunned.

  Kate scrambled out of the cave and began clawing her way up the ridge. Even as she pulled herself up, branch by branch, some rational part of her brain was screaming that the ascent was impossible, that the cliff face was too steep, the bushes too straggly to support her weight. But her arms and legs seemed to move on their own, guided not by logic but by the instinct to survive. Her sleeves were shredded by thorns and her hands and arms were already scraped raw but she was too numbed by terror to feel pain.

  A bullet ricocheted off a boulder. Kate cringed as shattered rock and earth spat out and stung her face. Susan’s aim was wide; she couldn’t cling to the mountain and shoot accurately at the same time.

  Kate looked up to find herself staring at an overhanging rock, laced with vines. Was she strong enough to drag herself over the top? Would the vines hold her weight? The surface was impossibly steep and she was so tired, so very tired….

  Another shot rang out; the bullet came so close she could feel it whistle past her cheek. Kate frantically grabbed a vine and began to drag herself up the rock face. Her shoes slid uselessly downward, then found a toehold. She shimmied up a few precious inches, then a few more, her knees scraping the harsh volcanic boulder. High above, clouds raced across the sky, taunting her with the promise of freedom. How many bullets were left?

  It only takes one….

  Every inch became an agony. Her muscles screamed for rest. Even if a bullet found its mark, she doubted she’d feel the pain.

  When at last she cleared the overhang, she was too exhausted to feel any sense of triumph. She hauled herself over the top and rolled onto a narrow ledge. It was nothing more than a flat boulder, turned slick with rain and lichen, but no bed had ever felt so wonderful. If only she could lie here forever. If she could close her eyes and sleep! But there was no time to rest, no time to allow the agony to ease from her body; Susan was right behind her.

  She staggered to her feet, her legs trembling with exhaustion, her body buffeted by the whistling wind. One of her shoes had dropped off during the climb and with every step, thorns bit into her bare foot. But here the ascent was easier and she had only a few yards to go until she reached the top of the ridge.

  She never made it.

  A final gunshot rang out. What she felt wasn’t pain, but surprise. There was the dull punch of the bullet slamming into her shoulder. The sky spun above her. For a moment she swayed, as unsteady as a reed in the wind. Then she felt herself fall backward. She was rolling, over and over, tumbling toward oblivion.

  It was a halekoa bush—one of those tough stubborn weeds that clamp their roots deep into Hawaiian soil— that saved her life. It snagged her by the legs, slowing her fall just enough to keep her from plunging over the edge of the boulder. As she lay there, fighting to make sense of where she was, she became aware of a strange shrieking in the distance; to her confused brain, it sounded like an infant’s wail, and it grew steadily louder.

  The hallucination dragged her into consciousness. Groggily she opened her eyes to the dull monochrome of a cloudy sky. The infant’s cry suddenly turned into the rhythmic wail of police sirens. The sound of help. Of salvation.

  Then, across her field of vision, a shadow moved. She struggled to make out the figure standing over her. Against the sky’s fading light, Susan Santini’s face was nothing more than a black cutout with wind-lashed hair.

  Susan said nothing as she slowly pointed her gun at Kate’s head. For a moment she stood there, her skirt flapping in the wind, the pistol clutched in both hands. A gust whipped the narrow ledge, making her sway uneasily on the slippery rock.

  The siren’s cry suddenly cut off; men’s shouts rose up from the valley.

  Kate struggled to sit up. The barrel was staring her in the face. She managed to say, quietly, “There’s no reason to kill me now, Susan. Is there?”

  “You know about William.”

  “So will they.” Kate nodded feebly toward the distant voices, which were already moving closer.

  “They won’t. Not unless you tell them.”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  The gun wavered. “No!” Susan cried, her voice tinged with the first trace of panic. “You couldn’t have told them! You weren’t certain—”

  “You need help, Susan. I’ll see you get it. All the help you need.”

  The barrel still hovered at her head. It would take only a twitch of the finger, the clap of the pistol hammer, to make Kate’s whole world disintegrate. She gazed up into that black circle, wondering if she would feel the bullet. How strange, that she could face her own death with such calmness. She had fought to stay alive and she had lost. Now all she could do was wait for the end.

  Then, through the wind’s scream, she heard a voice calling her name. Another hallucination, she thought. It must be….

  But there it was again: David’s voice, shouting her name, over and over.

  Suddenly she wanted to live! She wanted to tell him all the things she’d been too proud to say. That life was too precious to waste on hurts of the past. That if he just gave her the chance, she could help him forget all the pain he’d ever suffered.

  “Please, Susan,” she whispered. “Put it down.”

  Susan shifted but her hands were still gripping the pistol. She seemed to be listening to the voices, moving cl
oser along the old Pali road.

  “Can’t you see?” cried Kate. “If you kill me, you’ll destroy your only chance of keeping your son!”

  Her words seemed to drain all the strength from Susan’s arms. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she let the gun drop. For a moment she stood motionless, her head bent in a silent gesture of mourning. Then she turned and gazed over the ledge, at the road far below. “It’s too late now,” she said in a voice so soft it was almost drowned in the wind. “I’ve already lost him.”

  A chorus of shouts from below told them they’d been spotted.

  Susan, her hair whipping like flames, stared down at the gathering of men. “It’s better this way,” she insisted. “He’ll have only good memories of me. That’s the way childhood should be, you know. Only good memories…”

  Perhaps it was a sudden gust that threw Susan off balance; Kate could never be certain. All she knew was that one instant Susan was poised on the edge of the rock and then, in the next instant, she was gone.

  She fell soundlessly, without uttering a cry.

  It was Kate who sobbed. She collapsed back against the cold and unforgiving bed of stone. As the world spun around her she cried, silently, for the woman who had just died, and for the four others who had lost their lives. So many deaths, so much suffering. And all in the name of love.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DAVID WAS THE first to reach her.

  He found her seventy-five feet up the mountainside, unconscious and shivering on a bloodstained boulder. What he did next had nothing to do with logic; it was pure panic. He ripped off his jacket and threw it over her body, only one thought in his mind. You can’t die. I won’t let you. Do you hear me, Kate? You can’t die!

  He cradled her in his arms and as the warmth of her blood seeped through his shirt, he said her name over and over, as though he could somehow keep her soul from drifting forever beyond his reach. He scarcely heard the shouts of the rescue workers or the ambulance sirens; his attention was focused on the rhythm of her breathing and the beating of her heart against his chest.