Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [153]
Claire was in there.
Mitch heard nothing over the motor. Was Claire still alive? Had he already killed her?
“Claire!” he shouted.
He thought he heard a faint cry from the hole, but it might have been his imagination and hope.
Mitch saw faint movement on the other side of the backhoe. Meg and Hans were circling around. Mitch needed to buy time. But he didn’t know how injured Claire was. She could be dying in that hole. She could be suffocating . . .
“It’s over, Langstrom,” Mitch shouted. “Step down from the backhoe and surrender.”
He laughed. “No, Special Fucking Agent. It’s not over. It’ll never be over until Bridget is dead.”
Bridget? Who—the woman who was strangled. The one Hans suspected had molested the young Bruce Langstrom.
“She hurt you, didn’t she?” Mitch said. He felt uncomfortable in this role. Hans had always been the one to talk to the psychopaths, working through their past and getting them to surrender or make a misstep. What if Mitch screwed this up? What if he said the wrong thing and Claire ended up dead because of him?
“You’re not part of this. Go away.”
“No,” Mitch said. “I know about Bridget. She raped her male students and went to prison. You were one of her victims.”
“Victim? Fuck you, Fed. I’m not a victim. I was never a victim! I loved her. I wanted her.”
“Is that what you told the judge when you testified against her?”
“I never did that! I’d never hurt her. My father—he humiliated me. He did it, not me. He had shrinks come in and interpret what I said and change everything around.”
“Shrinks. I can’t stand them either. Come down, Bruce,” Mitch said, trying to turn the conversation more personal. “Come down and we can talk about the damn shrinks.” Even as he said it, Mitch knew Langstrom wasn’t going to bite.
“You’re transparent, Fed. You’re going to back off, right now. Back off. Go back to your car. Drive away. Then I’ll let Claire live.”
She wasn’t dead. At least, if Mitch could believe this killer, Claire wasn’t yet dead. Mitch held on to the hope.
“You know I can’t do that, Bruce. You’re a cop. You wouldn’t walk away either.”
“Cop.” He laughed. “I’m a hired gun, by both the government and the criminals who run it.” He laughed, then it shut off abruptly. “Get away from me!” He released some of the dirt and Claire’s scream from deep in the grave pierced the night, over the sound of the backhoe.
She was alive.
Mitch took a step backward. “Okay, Bruce. Okay. Look. I’m backing off.”
Meg was in position.
“I’m backing off,” Mitch repeated.
“It’s better like this,” Langstrom said.
In the rapidly fading light, Mitch saw movement in the backhoe. Was that a gun?
He hit the ground and rolled as a bullet whizzed past his head. Mitch had his gun out and aimed, but more gunfire rang through the air and Langstrom fell out of the backhoe.
The dirt in the scoop above Claire cascaded down.
“No!” Mitch jumped up and ran. “Claire!”
Damn motor, he couldn’t hear her.
He ran to the edge of the hole. “Claire!”
He couldn’t see her. Oh God, no, all that talking while she was dying . . . then he saw Claire’s limp hand sticking out of the dirt.
He jumped down and began digging around her hand. Her arm. Her head.
“Claire!”
He pulled her head free of the dirt. She wasn’t conscious. He felt for her pulse. Strong, but rapid. Blood coated her hands. Had she been shot? Where was the blood coming from? He checked for a head wound and found none.
“Hans! Meg! I need help.”
The motor shut off.
“Mitch! Where are you? Mitch!”
“Down here! Call for an ambulance!”
Mitch dug away more dirt from Claire’s body. She was naked. Her body was so cold. There were cuts, now filthy from the dirt, all over her arms and chest.
“I need help getting her out.”
Meg jumped into the half-filled grave and rapidly scooped dirt away from Claire’s body until Mitch could pull her free. He lifted her up and handed her to Hans, who was kneeling at the edge of the hole.
“Her leg’s bleeding,” Mitch said. It also appeared bandaged. What had that bastard