Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [178]
Pescoli was already out the door.
The last look Alvarez caught of Gerald was of the big man seated in his leather recliner near the fire, holding his head in one hand, reaching for his glass of scotch with the other.
“I’ll drive.” Pescoli was already out the door and Alvarez was only a couple of steps behind. As she climbed into the passenger seat, Pescoli engaged the engine and threw the rig into gear. The Jeep lurched forward. Alvarez pulled the door shut as they reached the end of the circular drive and she’d barely gotten her seat belt connected when they were heading onto the slippery road winding down the hillside.
“What the hell happened?” Pescoli asked.
“Something going on at the O’Halleran place,” Alvarez said, thinking of the man whom she was now certain was the killer. “Looks like Cameron Johnson is escalating. And he’s starting with the people there.”
“And killing his sperm bank sisters?”
“Or anyone who’s in his path.” Alvarez repeated what she’d heard on voice mail.
In the dark car, her face pale, Pescoli muttered, “The bastard’s a raving lunatic!” She drove as fast as she dared, past the lodge and gatehouse, then cast Alvarez a glance as they reached the main road. “Don’t suppose you have a cigarette on you?”
Alvarez sent her partner a “dream-on” look, then punched in Kacey Lambert’s cell phone number again and waited.
The call went directly to voice mail once more.
Trace’s fingers tightened on the shovel’s handle.
“I wondered if you’d show up,” the killer said, and there in the doorway, silhouetted against the white drifts, Kacey stood, feet wide, a gun in her hands. But she couldn’t see into the darkness. Couldn’t guess where they could be.
Click. The bastard cocked his gun.
What was Kacey thinking?
“Get back!” Trace screamed. Frantic, he yanked the shovel from the nails that held it to the wall. Twisting the blade of the shovel in front of him, he started scrambling backward to the door to save her, push her away, use his body as a shield, any damned thing to protect her!
“Too late.” A brittle, hollow laugh echoed behind him.
“Watch out!” Dragging his useless leg, sensing the streak of blood he was leaving on the floorboards, he forced himself to the doorway. “He’s got a gun!”
“So do I,” she said calmly. Too calmly. “Stay down!”
Blam!
Her gun’s nose sprayed fire, her silhouette slipping away, behind the exterior wall.
Trace had flattened to the floor even before she pulled the trigger, the room spinning around him, his neck twisted as he stared at the doorway.
Craaack! Click! Craaack! Click! Craaack!
The killer fired in rapid succession, sending the timbers of the stable shaking and the horses squealing and snorting, rearing in sheer terror. Steel-shot hooves pounded the walls of the stalls.
The dogs, too, were barking madly.
Over it all, he heard a single heart-stopping cry.
Kacey!
He rolled over and tried to get to his feet, to stumble forward, but his leg wouldn’t work. The best he could do was drag himself through the smoke and fear that rose to the rafters.
Another horrifying moan. As if her soul was being ripped from her body.
“NO!” He screamed. “NO!”
A satisfied chuckle crackled from behind him; the killer’s sick pleasure oozing through the aftermath.
You sick cocksucker, I’m going to get you.
“Trace!”
What?
“Trace!” Kacey’s terrified voice reached him, a distant weak cry diluted by the rush of the wind. As if she were truly exiting this world and he was truly losing her.
But she’s alive! There’s still time!
“Hang on!” he ordered brokenly. “Hang the hell on!”
Using the shovel to drag himself forward, he pulled himself closer toward the doorway, to the frigid air blowing snow into the stable. Somewhere behind him, he heard the uneven footsteps