The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [135]
The brake lights suddenly glowed bright red. The beat-up car halted in the middle of the street.
And she knew that Jim Beckett knew that she knew.
She grabbed Samantha’s hand tightly.
“Run, child, run,” she commanded, and yanked her off the patio. “Run with me!”
TESS PULLED AWAY from the window. She turned toward J.T., who sat in the reclining chair, twirling his hunting knife around his fingers.
“You all right?” he asked.
She said simply, “Nightfall.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
MARION WALKED DOWN the streets of Williamstown without fear. She’d scouted them out earlier, matching buildings to the street map she’d burned into her mind. Houlihan hadn’t lied—Williamstown was small. Settled in 1753 as West Hoosuck, the town was nestled in the Berkshires with a 450-acre campus. Land sprawled around the town, undulating green fields broken up by impressive gothic churches built from stone. White-trimmed brick buildings added prestigious touches. The mountains towered in the horizon.
The heart of Williamstown, however, contained no more than a few square miles. From Marion’s location off central Hoxsey Street, she could walk to Tess’s house on Elm in twelve minutes. She could run there in six. The centralized collection of shops, dormitories, and houses made it the ideal setting for a hit and run. And the steady traffic of bundled-up college students and tourists made it easy to blend in.
She could understand why Jim Beckett would allow himself to be lured back to this town.
She lingered on Hoxsey Street. The science compound loomed to one side, a dark mass of shadowed buildings where old pine trees sheltered a zigzagging maze of walking paths. The other side of the street began with the beautiful redbricked Spencer House, one of the many fraternities lining Main Street. The rest of the street was occupied by old, traditional homes that had been subdivided into apartments for the Williams students. The student infirmary marked the end.
It was only nine-thirty, and the street witnessed steady traffic flow. Students traced the walking paths that began one block over on pulsing Spring Street and carried them through the science compound, across Hoxsey Street, and down the row of fraternities. Tonight students walked briskly and in groups. Obviously they’d paid attention to warnings of a possible escaped murderer in the area.
Marion urged them on mentally. Run and run fast. You don’t want to meet Jim Beckett tonight.
Jim Beckett was here.
She turned the phrase over in her mind again and again, and that was the only one that made sense. “Jim Beckett was the best” was pejorative; he’d say “Jim Beckett is the best.” Same with “Jim Beckett was number one.”
Jim Beckett was here. The statement was as arrogant and childish as the man. It fit him.
Tonight—or maybe tomorrow night, or the one after it—he would come after Tess. But he would also finish his pattern. He always finished what he started. He didn’t have time to do it anymore with city names. But he could use street names.
Tess lived on Elm Street. That supplied one of the Es in here.
But to start he would need the letter H.
Marion pivoted and walked down the other side of Hoxsey. It would end here.
She veered away from the main street, following one of the footpaths through the science compound. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she walked.
A group of four students passed by her and faded away.
A blue-suited security guard approached, gray hair protruding from beneath his cap. His generous middle jiggled like Jell-O.
She shook her head, tucking her chin against her chest for warmth as she trudged on. Another retired policeman who’d become a rent-a-cop. Slow, out of shape, and absolutely no match for a man like Jim Beckett.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guard’s head come up. His face was lined heavily. He had jowls.
Less than twelve inches away from him, she finally noticed his eyes.
Bright blue eyes.
Ice.
She reached for her gun. And he lunged forward.
“WHERE’S MARION?” J.T. grumbled. He paced back and forth in the kitchen, where Tess was