The van moved when the side door was slid open. Her eyes were tightly closed, and she was trying not to cry as she silently prayed.
Help me, God, please help me . . .
She could hear his harsh breathing. He grabbed her by her hair and jerked her toward him. When he bent down to pull her out of the van, she opened her eyes and saw the gun. His fingers dug into her sides as he lifted her over his shoulder.
He was strong, terribly strong. He ran with her draped over his left shoulder as though she weighed no more than a speck of dandruff on his collar. Laurant’s eyes were wide open now, but she didn’t dare lift her head for fear that he’d feel the movement. As long as he thought she was unconscious, he wouldn’t focus on her. She recognized the abbot’s cabin up ahead.
She heard a car coming toward them, then the madman’s obscenity. He ran up the steps and then suddenly stopped.
She heard him jiggling the doorknob, but it was locked. A second later, a gunshot went off next to her ear. She flinched, and she was sure he felt it.
Stark was in such a state to get inside, he kicked the door and tore it from its hinges. He hit the wall switch, and two lamps, one on a credenza by the door and another on a table upstairs on the balcony, lit the cabin. Still holding her on his shoulder, he ran across the front room and into the kitchen. He put the gun down on the countertop and ripped the drawers open, throwing them to the floor.
“There we are,” he cried out gleefully when he found the drawer of knives. He grabbed the biggest one there. A butcher knife. It looked old and dull, but he didn’t care if it was sharp or not. The work he intended to do wasn’t going to be meticulous. There simply wasn’t time. This one would do nicely. Yes, sirree.
He grabbed his gun, then turned around and ran back into the living room, kicking drawers and utensils out of his path. When he reached the center of the room, he stopped and shrugged her off of him. She crashed into the coffee table, then hit the floor, her left side taking the brunt of the impact.
He waited until she was down, then grabbed her by her hair again and jerked her up to her knees.
“Open your eyes, bitch. I want you to look out the door. Look at the mule when he comes running in here to save you.”
As he was speaking, Stark realized he had the butcher knife and the gun in the same hand. He let got of Laurant and switched the knife into his left hand. “There now,” he said. “What was I thinking? Can’t shoot and cut with the same hand, now can I? Look at me, Laurant. See what I have for you?”
She was still up on her knees, and he squatted down behind her. Her body would shield him from Nicholas’s gun. He held the knife out in front of her face. “Now what do you think I’m going to do with this?”
Although he hadn’t expected an answer, he was still disappointed she didn’t cry out when she saw the knife. She would though, once he started working on her. Oh yes, he knew how to get what he wanted. He was still the master. He jabbed her left arm with the knife and then chuckled with delight when she screamed. Blood spurted down her arm, thrilling him. Then he stabbed her again. “That’s my girl. Keep screaming,” he encouraged, his voice eerily high-pitched, manic with excitement. “We want Nicholas to hear you.”
He squatted and waited. He braced her shoulders against his with his arm as he pointed the barrel of the gun at the open doorway. He kept his head down behind hers, but he peeked around her toward the door. He jabbed her again, just for fun, but she didn’t cry out this time. He put the tip of the bloody knife against the side of her neck.
“Trying to be brave, Laurant? When I want you to scream, by God, you will.”
He heard her whimper and smiled. “Don’t you fret. I won’t shoot the mule right away. I want him to watch me kill you. Tit for tat,” he sang. “What’s taking Nicholas so long? What’s that boy up to? Maybe he’s trying to sneak in through the kitchen door. Oops, there isn’t one. He can’t do that, can he?”
Had he not been talking, he would have heard the faint creak above him. Nick had come in through the bedroom window. The tree branch had given way just as he grabbed hold of the window ledge, but the crashing noise he heard from inside covered the sounds he made.
The bedroom door was open, and Nick crept forward. He could see Laurant and Stark below the balcony, halfway across the room, facing the front door. Nick had his gun in his hand, and the Glock tucked into the back of his waistband.
He couldn’t get a clear shot at the bastard. If the bullet went through his body it would hit Laurant. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t go down the stairs either. Stark would see him. What the hell was he going to do?
Laurant looked up and saw the shadow on the ceiling. It moved ever so slightly, and she knew that Nicholas was upstairs. It was only a matter of time before the man behind her saw the shadow too.
“Why are you doing this, Justin?”
“Shut up. I have to listen for the car. I have to hear the mule coming.”
“You were too quick for him. He must not have seen your van, and he turned north instead of south. He’s on the other side of the lake.”
Stark strained to hear footsteps on the gravel outside, but he was smiling. “Yes, I was quick, wasn’t I? A mule can’t outsmart me.”
“Are the mules the FBI?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You’re a very clever girl, aren’t you?”
She had to keep him talking. Keep him focused on what she was saying so he wouldn’t look up. “Not as clever as you. Why did you choose me? Why do you hate me?”
He drew his thumb down the side of her face. The rubber glove was cold. “Hush that talk. I don’t hate you. I love you,” he crooned. “But I’m a heartbreaker. I break hearts.”
“But why me?” she persisted. Her head was down, but her eyes were looking up, watching the shadow slowly creep forward.
“It wasn’t you at all,” he said. “The mule killed my wife, and then he bragged about it in the newspapers. Oh yes, that’s what he did. All that time and energy training her was wasted. She was almost worthy. I sought perfection, and she was getting there. Yes, she was almost perfect. Then Nicholas killed her. They called him a hero. He ruined my life, and they called him a hero. They said he was oh so smart. I couldn’t have that, now could I? I had to prove to the world that I was the master.”
She cringed at the hate in his voice. She didn’t have to ask him another question. He seemed to want to explain himself to her. The words were coming faster now. He wanted to tell her everything, to brag about how he had fooled the mules.
“When I read the newspaper article and knew who had killed my wife, I had to retaliate. Don’t you see? I was forced into it. Your brother was mentioned in that article, and I wanted to know more about good old Father Tom. I read that he and Nicholas had been best friends since they were little boys. At first, I thought I’d kill Tom and then go after the mule’s family, but then I thought, why give Nicholas the home advantage? Holy Oaks was the perfect town for what I had in mind. It’s so nicely isolated. I did my research, found out everything I could about Tommy boy, and imagine my joy when I found out about you.
“It was Nicholas I was after all along,” he said, snickering. “Until I met you. Then I wanted you too. When I met my wife, there was something about her that reminded me of my mother. You remind me of her too. There’s a bit of perfection in you, Laurant. Had the circumstances been different, I would have trained you.
“Mother’s gone now. There wasn’t any reason to keep her alive. She had reached perfection, and I knew I had to act quickly.”
The second he stopped, she blurted, “Who was Millicent? Did she exist?”
“Ah, so you listened to the confession tape, did you?”
Laurant felt him nod against her. She could smell the sweetness of the Calvin Klein cologne mixed with the sourness of his breath.
“Did Millicent exist?” he repeated. “Maybe.”
“How many did you kill?”
“None,” he answered. “Mother doesn’t count. You can’t kill perfection, and whores don’t count either. No, of course not. So you see? You’ll be the first.”
He saw the shadow. He swung Laurant around and shouted, “I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her. Drop the gun, Nicholas. Do it now, now, now, now.”
Nick had reached the center of the balcony. He put his hands up, but he didn’t drop the gun. The dining room table was directly below him. If he could just get over the railing . . .
Stark was still crouched behind Laurant, trying to turn her with him so he could face the steps and be fully protected by the wall behind him.
“Drop the gun,” he shouted again. “And come on down and join the party.”
“You aren’t going to be able to sneak away this time,” Nick said. He could see the terror and pain in Laurant’s eyes. If he could just get Stark to move away from her, just a fraction, he could get a shot before he got hit.
“Of course, I’m going to get away. I’m going to kill Laurant and you, and I’m going to get away. The stupid mules will be looking for the hick farmer, Justin Brady. I’ll cut her throat if you don’t drop the gun.”
Nick let go of the weapon. It barely made a sound as it dropped onto the carpet at his feet.
“Kick it out of reach,” Stark screamed, waving his gun as he gave the order.
Nick did as he was told but slowly lowered his hands until they were level with his shoulders. Every second would count. He wanted his hands close to the railing so he could spring when the time came.
“I’ve got you now, don’t I, mule?” Stark shouted. “Who’s the master? Who’s the hero? They’ll never find me, no sirree,” he gloated. “They don’t even know who I am.”
“Sure they do,” Nick called out. “We’ve always known. You’re Donald Stark, and we know all about you. You’re a sleazy filmmaker. You use prostitutes to simulate amateur death scenes. S and M crap,” he added. “And not at all believable. Homemade stuff. You barely make a living selling the junk on the Internet, and you’ve got a lot of dissatisfied customers.”
“Dissatisfied?” he roared.
Nick deliberately shrugged. “You aren’t any good, Stark. You ought to get in another line of work. Maybe you can learn a new trade in prison.”
Stark’s full attention was riveted on the balcony. He wasn’t aware that he’d lessened his grip on Laurant or that the butcher knife was now pointed at the doorway and not her throat.
“No, no, you’re lying. No one knows who I am. You heard me talking to Laurant, and that’s how you knew—”
“No, we’ve always known who you are, Stark. The article we planted in the papers was just a way to draw you out. Everyone was in on it, even Tommy. We planned it down to the last detail.”
Nick could tell that his lies were working. The bastard’s face was red and blotchy, and his eyes bulged out of his head. He hoped that Stark’s anger would push him into making a mistake. Nick only needed a second.
Come on. Come and get me. Forget about her. Come after me.
Laurant saw the barrel of the gun coming up, felt the madman tense against her. He was trying to lift her up with him as he shot Nicholas. Then she heard the screech of tires on the gravel outside the door. Was it Tommy? Oh, God, no. Whoever came through the doorway was going to get killed.
“No,” she screamed as she twisted in his arms and threw herself backward. Her shoulder knocked the hand grasping the gun. Stark fired wild, hitting the glass picture window, shattering it. The blast was so close to her face she could feel the burning heat. She kept fighting and pushing as she turned, but he was too strong. He wouldn’t let go of her and he wouldn’t be budged.
Stark’s gun was swinging upward again just as Jules Wesson appeared in the doorway. Crouched down in a shooter’s stance, his arms straight out, both hands on his gun, he waited for a clear shot.
Laurant jerked back, twisted again, fighting with all her might until she faced Stark. Then she attacked. Her left hand gripped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin to keep him from aiming his gun. He tried to reach around her to stab her hand with the knife, and that’s when she swung her right hand up and rammed the needle into his eye.
Stark screamed in agony. He dropped the knife and reached for his eye, howling like a crazed animal.
The second Laurant struck Stark, Nick grabbed hold of the railing and swung over. Shouting for her to get down, he reached behind him, grabbed the Glock and started firing.
Stark leapt to his feet, uncontrollably firing his gun. Wesson dove for the floor, narrowly missing a bullet, and then he too fired.
Nick fired in midair, landed on the table and fired again. The first bullet struck Stark in the chest. Wesson blew the gun out of Stark’s hand, and Nick’s second shot got him in the head as he was turning to run. The third shot struck his leg.
Stark was on his back, one leg twisted under him, his eyes wide open. Nick stood over him, his chest heaving as he tried to calm his rage.
He heard a sob and whirled around. Laurant was on the floor, her head in her hands. As Wesson rushed forward, Nick dropped to his knees beside her and put his hand out to touch her. Then he stopped. He was afraid that he would only make her pain worse.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m sorry. I brought this to you and Tommy. It’s all my fault.”
She threw herself into his arms. “Is he dead? Is it over?”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Then he closed his eyes. “Yes, love. It’s over.”
CHAPTER 37
By the time Nick got Laurant to the hospital, Noah was already in surgery. Tommy, still wearing his bloody vestments, came running down to the emergency room when he heard from one of the nurses that his sister had been brought in.
He was in a panic until he saw Laurant. She looked like she’d been through hell, but she was breathing and even managed a smile for him. Nick was sitting on the exam table beside her with an arm around her waist. Tommy thought he looked worse than she did, which was pretty awful. Nick’s face was gray and his eyes had a haunted look.
“What about Noah?” Nick asked. “How’s he doing?”
“They’re working on him now,” Tommy said. “The doctor told me the bullet didn’t hit anything major, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s going to be all right,” he assured them. “It’s just going to take him time to get his strength back.”