Chapter 57
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
THE HOLY HAND GRENADE
Since there’s nowhere else to sit, I plop down on the toilet seat. “I seriously cannot believe this shit.” I take the last three squares from the roll of toilet paper and wipe my eyes. I look all around me, and the tears start all over again. “All of Pops’s work. Gone.”
Getting myself under control, I walk out into the living room to see if my jewelry stuff is still in the compartment.
I pop it open, and I’m relieved to see it all there.
I’ve probably got a thousand dollars’ worth of stuff here.
I walk to the kitchen and grab one of my cloth grocery bags from under the sink. “I guess he didn’t take everything.”
I walk back to my cubby and start to place my things in the bag. “I’m going to have to call Lauren to see if I can stay with her for a few days.” At least until I can track down some secondhand furniture.” I sniffle again and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
As I’m placing a satchel of the gems in the bag, I hear a knock on my door.
“Great. He’s here,” I grumble. The guy can’t take a damn hint.
Leave it to Sam to race over here to talk after I hung up on him.
I should ignore it, but he’s not the giving-up type.
“Why don’t you just use your key, asshole,” I say as I pull the door open.
When I look up, I blink because I know I’ve got to be seeing things. And what I’m seeing isn’t good.
“Hello, slut,” he says, drawing out the t for emphasis.
Gathering my wits, I attempt to push the door closed, but his foot stops the momentum.
The ghostly serial killer uses his palm to push the door open wide.
He’s standing in the doorway, blocking my exit.
What the hell am I going to do? Running through my options, I know I need to lock myself into a room.
The only room with a lock is the bathroom. I’ll run there.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come home forever, slut.”
I turn to race down the steps, but I feel myself falling backward headfirst. He grabs my hair and my head makes contact with the wooden step. I’m stunned for a second and my mind is foggy, but I find enough strength to ask, “Wh-wh-why?”
He walks down the steps, ducking under the exposed pipe until he’s standing directly above me. “Why what, slut?”
“Wh-why me?”
In a mocking tone, he mimics my words. “Oh, poor MacKenzie. Why you?” he coos creepily. Then he shouts in a creepy, crazy voice, “Why not you? You’re a slut, just like the rest of them.”
This pisses me off. “I’m not a slut. I’ve always been a good girl.”
He lets out a diabolical laugh. “I’ve seen you with men.”
“Men? I’ve got one man.” Well, I used to have one man. “He—”
“Enough,” he shouts. “You’re a goddamn slut, and do you know what happens to sluts?”
This asshole needs to lay off the slut talk. “They kick you in the nuts?”
He blinks in surprise. At that moment I raise my bad leg and jam it into his crotch.
He falls on the floor into the fetal position, and I move as fast as I can to stand up.
I turn to run up the steps, but he reaches out and grabs my foot.
I stomp on his wrist with everything I’ve got.
This is a time in my life when I’m glad I’ve got a little extra weight behind me.
He yelps in pain, pulling his arm to his body.
He is curled up with one hand on his balls and the other against his chest, and I take the opportunity to run up the stairs.
I hear him muttering the word slut repeatedly, but I don’t stop.
I yank the door open and run out into the wet grass, slipping and falling to my knees.
I jump up and run to the front of the house, looking back to make sure he’s not following, then turn back and see a big man vaulting out of a fancy SUV.
“Sam! Sam, he’s in my apartment. Get a gun, get a Taser, grab the holy hand grenade, anything!” I screech.
Sam races toward me, pulling a gun from the back of his pants. Running past me, he says, “Get in the car. Lock it!”
I run to his car and slide in. I hit the locks, then hit them again several more times to make sure they’re secure. When I hear shots, I freeze in my seat, panicked. “Did psycho have a gun? I didn’t see a gun, but what if Sam’s hurt? What if he’s shot?”
Sam’s phone is on the dash. I pick it up and punch the emergency display. “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“Shots fired,” I yell into the phone. That’s the quickest way to get the police here.
I don’t tell her there is a serial killer in the house or try to explain the situation.
I just want them here fast. I give her my address.
She keeps me on the line, and the wait seems endless.
It’s really only a few minutes before I hear sirens.
“Thank God.” I sigh in relief. I want to get out of the car.
I want to see if Sam’s okay. He told me to stay in the car, and I’m fighting myself to stay in the car.
When the police pull up, I jump out of the car and run to them. It’s the same officers who came to investigate the break-in, as impossible as that seems. “The serial killer is in my house. Sam Stone went in there. I heard shots. You’ve got to help him.”
They pull their weapons. “Get back in the car, MacKenzie. Lock yourself in.”
I nod and jump back into Sam’s vehicle. I lock it, then again once more to be sure, and I wait. I’m peering out the window like a kid waiting for his parents to come back and let him out. It’s taking forever.
“What the hell is happening in there?” I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got to know if Sam’s okay. I pop open the door, stepping out into slush, but I pay no attention to it.
I make my way through the gate and then around to the back of the house.
The door to my apartment is ajar and I stop to listen.
I hear somebody mention an ambulance. I gasp when I look in at the bottom of the stairs and see the killer lying in a pool of blood.
I hope he’s dead. Then I see Sam sitting on the floor, clutching his thigh.
I run down the steps. “Sam?” Blood is pouring out of him. Officer Sawyer is using his palm to put pressure on the spot.
“Hit the artery,” says Sawyer. “Ambulance is on the way, Sam. I need for you to lie down. He looks at me. “See if you can find something to elevate the leg for me, MacKenzie. I’m gonna make a tourniquet to try to slow the bleeding.” Using one hand, Sawyer unbuckles his belt pulling it out from the loops of his uniform pants.
Next, he wraps it around Sam’s thigh above the wound and pulls it taught.
Sam is white as a sheet. I quickly search what’s left in my apartment.
There’s no furniture, so I race to my kitchen and pull out one of the drawers.
Bringing it back to Sawyer, I place it on its end. “Perfect. Thanks, MacKenzie.”
I kneel down behind him, running my fingers through his hair over and over again.
It’s the only thing I can think of to do that would soothe him.
It always soothes me. I put my arms around his shoulders.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” I whisper. I’ve never seen so much blood.
I hear sirens and breathe a sigh of relief.
“They’re here. I’ll go direct them this way. ”
“No, stay with me, Mac.” His voice wavers.
Oh, shit. He’s scared. My big, strong man is afraid. “I’ll just go wave them this way. I’ll be back in two seconds.” I am back in two seconds, and I’m holding Sam’s hand when the first paramedic races down the steps.
I move away to give them room. “It’s going to be okay, baby. They’ve got this.”
“Don’t leave me, Mac.”
I have a wild thought that I don’t know if he means don’t leave right now, or don’t leave him ever. I shake away the cobwebs.
“I won’t leave you. I love you, Sam.” I do—I know I love him so much.
“I love you, too, MacKenzie. More than I can say.” He winces as one medic pushes a needle into his arm so he can start an IV. The other paramedic has cut open Sam’s jeans and applied a real tourniquet to his leg.
They are calling in to the hospital. “Base. We’ve got a penetrating trauma.
Femoral artery puncture. ETA seven minutes.
” One cop is coming down the stairs with the gurney.
In only seconds, they’ve got Sam loaded on the gurney, setting their kits next to him.
With a grunt, the three men lift him and jog up the steps.
“Wait. Where are you taking him?”
“Rush,” the guy in back yells.
“MacKenzie?” Sam calls for me.
I run upstairs and to the side of the gurney. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his key fob. “Drive my car over. I need you with me.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry. These guys know exactly what they’re doing, baby.”
He nods and winces as they jog over to the ambulance.
I run back to the apartment and down the steps, grab my purse, and run back up the steps. Martinez tries to stop me. “Hold up. We need a statement.”
I wave him off. “Screw that. I’ve still got Sawyer’s card. I’ll call you later—when I know Sam’s okay.” He nods and looks down at the asshole who’s dead on the floor. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
“Lock up when you’re done.”