Chapter 29
“I aimed straight up.” Tess demonstrates by leaning back in her hospital bed, both bandaged hands clasped. “I waited for him
to expose himself over the edge.”
It was far from a sure thing.
She had one bullet. She couldn’t afford to miss. And she’d already admitted that she hadn’t fired a gun since she was a teenager,
long enough to forget the very fundamentals of how a semiautomatic firearm operates.
The pit was over forty feet deep. Hitting a man-sized target at such a distance was reasonable enough for an amateur—back
in her deputy days, Washington used to drill grapefruit-sized groups into the x-ring at nearly twice that distance, before
her vision went to hell—but other factors would have made the shot exponentially more challenging. The angle was steep. The
lighting was poor. The gunshot would be eardrum rupturing.
It would be a difficult shot. But not impossible.
“I scooped up mud and stuffed it in my ears to plug them. I tried to remember the basics Allie’s dad taught us all those years
ago. Focusing on the front sight. Squeezing the trigger gently, letting the shot surprise you so you won’t flinch. I waited.”
Washington holds her breath.
“But”—Tess deflates—“it didn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“He never showed himself. He didn’t peek over the edge once.”
Of course. Jacob wasn’t stupid.
He’d known not to expose even an inch of himself. He’d already won. He was only finishing his cleanup; he was minutes from
ending her life, and this miraculous final bullet in the weapon’s chamber was just another false hope.
“I tried to trick him into showing himself,” Tess says. “But it didn’t work.”
“If you turn that key,” Jacob heard her shout, “you’ll be making a mistake.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“A big one.”
He wouldn’t fall for it. He knew the trapped woman was changing tactics now, trying to bait him. He imagined her down there
with his own gun in her muddy hands, her finger curled around the trigger, aiming her Hail Mary shot. Could an amateur really
hit him at forty feet? Hell, anyone can get lucky.
He forced a laugh. “You must think I’m stupid.”
“I do.”
“I missed our talks.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why not shoot yourself instead? Save me the gas money.” He scooped up loose ointments and wipe packets and stuffed them back inside the first aid kit.
He squashed it with his knee so the zipper closed.
“I’ll admit, you’ve got me thinking maybe I picked the wrong horse.
You’re a hell of a fighter. You don’t give up.
You would’ve made a nice babygirl, I think.
I shouldn’t say this in case she’s listening, but maybe even an upgrade from the current model. ”
“Hard pass.”
“I bet I could make your toes curl.”
“I’d rather die.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You’re making a mistake, Jacob.”
The woman’s tone was strangely confident. Derisive even, like she knew something he didn’t. And hearing his name echo up from
the blackness gave his stomach a sickly swirl. But he ignored the feeling. It was time to wrap this up.
He slung his pack over his shoulder. He’d made the arduous crawl to the surface several times today, but this would thankfully
be the last. “I promise it won’t hurt,” he shouted down to her. “I know you won’t see it this way, but carbon monoxide is
a gift in disguise, practically euthanasia. My old man would’ve loved to go like this. Just nestle yourself into a cozy spot
down there, breathe it in, let yourself fall asleep, and you won’t even—”
“Remember when I gave you my memory card?”
He froze.
An icy pit opened up in his stomach.
“That was just a spare.” The woman’s voice hardened. “I still have the footage. I’ve had it this entire time. I even have
your face on video.”
The pit grew.
“And if you start that engine, I’ll die with my footage. The cave will be full of exhaust, too dangerous to enter for days
or weeks or maybe even longer. You don’t have the equipment to reach my body all the way down here—but I’m guessing search
crews will, won’t they? It’s simple: if you kill me, you’ll perfectly preserve my video for the cops.”
His knees turned to slush. He had to sit down.
“Go ahead.” The voice below shivered with laughter. “Turn the key.”
She outsmarted us.
Again.
“I hope you got a good deal on all those garden hoses, asshole.”