The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [138]
J.T., I’m so sorry.
With her last sane thought she fired the gun again, alerting the world to her position. Then she clawed at Beckett’s shoulder, searching for his old gunshot wound.
It didn’t matter.
Beckett counted off eight more seconds, then her body went limp.
He let her slip to the ground, stepping back and staggering drunkenly for a moment. The back of his head continued to throb from her blows. When he tried to focus on her, he saw double.
He didn’t have time for such weaknesses. Discipline is the key.
He raised his baton and got it over with. One two three. After a bit of practice a man became efficient about these things.
He ran, stripping off his guard’s uniform as he raced through the trees. Act one was over. On to act two.
J.T. HEARD THE gunshots as he raced down Main Street. He veered onto Hoxsey, rushing through students, who were suddenly stopping, eyes wide.
“Move, dammit!” he cried. “Outta my way!”
He knew the minute he’d found her, because people mingled around the entrance to the shadowed footpath, not quite sure what Bad Thing had happened and not quite willing to step forward and find out. They craned their necks from the relative safety of the lit sidewalks.
J.T. swung his cast-covered arm like a bat, forcing his way through.
“Cop!” He lied baldly. “Someone dial 911!”
“Some guy went crashing through the trees,” a kid volunteered.
“He looked like a campus guard.”
“Stupid campus guards,” another student murmured. “Probably shooting at a rat.”
“Or his big toe.”
J.T. raced forward. Passing the fifth tree he saw her, her long, golden hair spilling out from behind the tree trunk. Darker red strands were slowly mingling with the gold.
“No! No no no no no!” He fell to his knees. He grabbed her hand. Then he grabbed her shoulders and clutched her against his chest. Her head rolled lifelessly forward, her lashes still against her cheek, pine needles tangled in her hair.
So much blood. Her skull fell apart in his hands. He tried to hold it together. To put her back together again. And he willed her to survive as he’d willed her to survive every day when they were children.
Pillow forts and GI comic books.
Live, live, live.
Horseback riding and swimming suicides.
Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me.
Standing at the foot of his bed, begging him to save her.
Don’t let me fail you a second time.
“Damn you!”
BECKETT MOVED FAST through the shadows. He came at last to a thick hedge and stopped to regroup. His breath was coming out in sharp gasps, forming puffs of steam in the cold night air. He could feel blood on his cheeks, and the back of his skull was swollen and tender.
These things were not supposed to happen to him.
The euphoria was dimming. Beneath, exhaustion threatened to crash his system. He shook his head, fighting it.
He had the letter H. He was fulfilling his plan.
Some adjustments would have to be made. Edith knew his true identity and had Samantha. He’d debated giving chase, but couldn’t possibly kill an old woman in front of his daughter, so he’d let them go for now. Later he would show Edith what happened to women who crossed him. Then he would simply reclaim his daughter from the police. He’d done it before, he could do it again.
Theresa was still in the area, and that’s what mattered. They’d buzzed about her enough on the police scanner and he understood that he was invited to join them.
He was looking forward to seeing her again.
He smoothed a hand over the navy blue suit he’d worn beneath the guard’s uniform. From the pocket he produced four towelettes and used them to wipe the thick makeup from his face, wincing a little as the soap stung the scratches along his jawline. Next he pulled out a pair of glasses and a short dark wig.
Then he unbuckled the sawed-off shotgun he’d strapped beneath his arm. Difford’s gun cabinet had been a gold mine.
He was ready.
TESS TURNED TO Quincy. “Ten o’clock,” she whispered. “Where is he?”
“Any sign?” Quincy asked over the walkie-talkie.