Chapter Thirty
Gideon swerved around an SUV as it pulled toward the shoulder, then screamed on. He punched the touch screen to take the incoming from Brill.
“Status?”
“We’re coming up on the Corvallis exit. Staties in Washington are at the border.”
“Jesus, Venmar, you’re killing me. We just did. Where are you?”
“I can’t be far behind him. We’ve got rain, fog, and he doesn’t know the roads like I do.”
“Do you have backup, Chief?”
“It’s coming. I’ll get back to you.”
Dubecki had made a mistake, Gideon told himself. Smarter, faster, if he’d turned around, backtracked, crossed the river, and taken the shorter route to the highway. Instead, probably panicked because of Jamie, he’d headed in the opposite direction.
Stuck on this road until he could cross over to 99, then ride that until he could intersect with 5.
And Gideon would be damned if he’d make it that far.
He streamed through the fog like a bullet.
He wanted off this stupid road, out of this goddamn fog. He wanted the clean mountain air, a drink by the fire.
Her fault, all her fault.
If he hadn’t had to hurry, if she hadn’t had some asshole—probably the one she was cheating with—shouting and running at him, he wouldn’t have gone the wrong way.
Back roads could be useful, but he’d gone miles out of his way before he’d realized it, before he’d thought to tell the damn car to bring up the GPS and the directions to The Retreat.
Now he had to take this stupid road to another stupid road before he could take that to the highway and his straight shot.
Worse, she’d made him forget he’d left all his things at the hotel! Now he needed new clothes, a new laptop. He didn’t have all his cash!
And would she appreciate she had made him forget the clothes he’d bought her? Would she apologize?
He’d fucking make her apologize.
She wasn’t just going to learn a lesson. She was going to learn a hard lesson.
He had to slow down when he should’ve been on the highway doing a steady seventy-five.
He squirmed in his seat.
And he had to piss!
She’d screwed things up so bad he was going to have to pull over and take a leak on the side of the road, in the fucking rain. He’d end up drenched, and driving for three damn hours in soaked clothes.
He struggled to hold it, did his best to think of something, anything else. Just another couple miles. There had to be someplace to stop—gas station, mini-mart, some damn thing—where a man could piss civilized.
But he couldn’t and, setting his teeth, decided that after he’d relieved himself, he’d open the trunk, give her a couple more good punches—less than she deserved.
He’d use the zip ties, the duct tape. That way, when he got on the highway, found some exit where he could pick up some dry clothes, she’d be quiet and secured.
With his bladder all but bursting, he shot to the side of the road, had the car rocking.
He shoved out, slammed the door.
She couldn’t lift the lining enough to reach under, so she sawed through it. Her left eye throbbed like a bad tooth, and her hands cramped, but she used the knife to hack and saw until she could reach through the opening.
The car swayed like a boat in a storm, and she feared the growing nausea would win.
She felt the spare tire, some metal, shined her little light inside. Breathing labored, not from panic, but effort, she widened the opening. Despite the chill, her hands were slick with sweat, but her fingers closed around something metal, something slim but solid.
She had no idea of its usual purpose, didn’t care.
Right now, she held a weapon.
Then the car swerved hard, rocked so her head rapped against the roof of the trunk.
And stopped.
She heard a door slam.
Twisting, she gripped the tool in both hands, prepared to swing when he opened the trunk.
Seconds passed, but she heard nothing except the rain.
She ordered herself to take one hand off the tool, open the safety latch inside the trunk.
She eased it open an inch, then two.
He stood a few feet away, legs spread, back to her, and, she noted with a kind of wild amusement, his dick in his hand.
She didn’t hesitate. She shoved the trunk open, rolled out.
She had no war to wage against fight or flight. Fight had already won.
Long, aching legs carried her over. She’d started the swing when he turned his head. She had one glimpse of his shocked eyes before she connected.
It made a terrible cracking noise, and he made a sound like air escaping a balloon. He fell forward. She swung the tool over her shoulder, prepared to strike again. But he stayed down.
She stood in the rain, staring down at what had been her monster in the closet for nearly five years. Crumpled now, he looked so small. But he had a gun on one hip, a knife sheath on the other.
Numb, shivering, she realized he’d have used them on her. And the zip ties, he had zip ties on his belt.
But she’d stopped him.
“Move,” she ordered herself. “Move, goddamn it! Get the gun, the knife, get his phone. Don’t lose it now.”
Before she could bend down, she heard the sirens.
“Someone’s coming. They’re coming for you, you son of a bitch.”
She looked down at the metal tool. Blood, blood on the metal, on her hands. The rain was washing it away, but she had blood on her hands.
Gideon’s headlights streamed over her. She stood shrouded in the fog, hair running with rain, her face pale and bruised. And a lug wrench in her hand.
He hit the brakes, the emergency flashers, then leaped out.
“It’s you,” she managed, swaying where she stood as she had in the trunk. “It’s you. I think I killed him. Is he dead? The blood. I think I killed him.”
He gripped her shoulders. “You’re okay. You’re in a little bit of shock, Legs, but you’re okay. Go sit in my car.”
“He has a gun, and a knife, but I think he’s dead. I need to know. And you have to get his gun, right? Do that. Please.”
Because she needed it first, Gideon checked for a pulse.
“He’s alive.”
“Not dead.” Her breath whooshed out. “That’s better. Killing him … I’d live with it, but this is better.”
“Yeah, it’s better. Go sit in the car, out of the rain.”
“I don’t want to. I hit him with this. You have to take this, too. For evidence.”
Gideon took the gun, the knife, checked pockets. He cuffed Dubecki, still unconscious, and rolled him onto his side.
He left him there, walked Arden to his police car.
“Sit here. I have to call for an ambulance.”
“I hear more sirens.”
“Yeah, I hear them. It’s my backup.”
He called for an ambulance, then contacted Brill.
“I’ve got her.”
“She okay?”
“Bruised up, shocky, but yeah.”
“Dubecki?”
“She knocked him out with a lug wrench. Ambulance on the way. My backup’s here. You should go straight to Riverbend Hospital. I’ll meet you there.”
“A lug wrench,” Arden murmured as she studied it. “I couldn’t think of the name.”
“I’ll take it now. Eyes on me, okay? Slow breath,” he said when her hand stayed clamped around it. “Then let it go.”
When she did, he brushed his lips over her bruised cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
“Zorro. He was—”
“He’s fine. He’s with Jamie.”
That’s when she started to weep.
“Kim! Get a blanket for Arden, she’s soaked. Stay with her,” he added. “Let’s get some road flares up. Hawk, bag this. She used it to knock him out. Bag these. He had them on him.”
“She okay, Chief?”
“Banged up, and I want the medicals to take a look at her, but yeah. Dubecki’s secure, and let’s get something over him. We don’t want him dying of exposure.”
He looked over, saw Kim sitting with Arden, talking to her. Arden, tears done, nodding.
He wanted to gather her up, take her home, but doing that would let her down, and he had a job to do.
He walked over to the trunk of the car, shined his flashlight in, and saw the damaged lining, the colorful multi-tool.
“Jesus Christ, Santa.” He had to press his fingers to his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“She used that girlie multi-tool to cut the lining, get to the lug wrench.” Beside him, Hawk shook his head. “Smart lady.”
“Yeah, she’s that.”
“Ambulance is two minutes out, and he’s coming around.”
“Good. We’re going to have a nice, long talk.”
He walked over, crouched down. “Hey, Dustin, you awake?”
“Help me.” The words came out garbled.
“I think she broke your jaw, nose, too. You’re going to need a whole bunch of stitches. And that tiny little dick of yours? Pretty scraped up, some gravel stuck in there. Ouch.”
“Attacked me.”
“Is that right? Well, an ambulance is on the way, and in the meantime. I’m Chief of Police Gideon Riley.
Dustin Dubecki, you’re under arrest for the murder of Theresa Lester, for the murder of Hailey Parkinson, for the assault on and forcible abduction of Arden Bowie, for the attempted murder of Jamie Stuart.
Oh, and deploying a firearm in a residential area.
Plus, using false identification to obtain said firearm, and other related charges. You have the right to remain silent.”
As he read off the rest of the Miranda, Dustin began to babble.
“You should save your breath until they wire up that jaw.”
When the ambulance pulled up, he rose, called Jamie.
“We’ve got her. She’s fine.”
“Oh, you promise? You swear to all the gods?”
“I promise, I swear to whatever works for you. He banged up her face some, so we’ve got medicals on scene now.
They’ll take care of her. If they release her, I’m sending her home.
I can’t be with her yet. Can you go up when I let you know, take Zorro?
She’ll want the dog, she’ll want you. And she’ll want Zoey. ”
“Yes, yes. I nearly called Zoey a hundred times, but I knew I’d scare her. I’ll call her now. We’ll be there.”
“I don’t know when I’ll get home. Can you stay with her tonight?”
“You couldn’t pry us away. You saved her.”
“No, she saved herself. She’ll tell you about it. I’ll call when she’s on the way.”
When Gideon walked over, Kim started to slide out. Arden took her hand. “Thanks.”
“I’d say anytime, but let’s not do this again.”
“I need the ambulance guys to look you over,” Gideon told her.