Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Durham, New Hampshire
Thursday, October 10
8:39 p.m.
“It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.” Dean Groves seemed to resemble an avenging devil, dressed head to toe in black. Yet he was exactly as she’d remembered him. “That’s when the fun really starts.”
Ford broke his attention from Leigh, turning to face the man who’d hunted him all these years. An air of familiarity and anticipation filled the room. “I can’t get rid of you, Groves. You’re like a bad rash.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Tension rippled up Dean’s exposed forearms as his gaze shifted to her. The hardness drained from his expression. “You okay, little rabbit?”
She didn’t have an answer for him. Hell, she couldn’t even breathe. What had Ford given her? Straight-up adrenaline? Her meager attempts to get free left her wrists a bloody mess, and she still couldn’t control her own damn heart rate. No. She wasn’t okay. Ford was going to kill them both.
Matte black steel absorbed the lantern’s dim light at Ford’s back as he reclaimed Dean’s attention. His service weapon. No, the real Marshal Ford’s service weapon. “I’m afraid Leigh isn’t available at the moment. I hate to admit it, but we’re in the middle of our first fight.”
“Trouble in paradise already? That’s too bad, but I’m going to have to cut your conversation short. You see, you and I have unfinished business.” Dean lunged. His fist went wide, coming at the faux marshal from the side. He missed, but expertly landed a strike to the bastard’s chest.
Ford’s uppercut connected beneath Dean’s jaw. He hit the water, going under as Ford approached.
“Dean, watch out!” It was an odd feeling, suddenly rooting for the man she’d believed to be a murderer all these years. Leigh’s warning came just in time.
Dean rolled as the killer pulled the gun.
Her warning wasn’t enough.
Hauling a heel into Dean’s chest, Ford pressed her ex under the water. “You should’ve taken the murder charges like a man, Groves. All of this could’ve been avoided.”
Hands gripped Ford’s ankle, but Dean couldn’t get the advantage from his position. Ford was going to kill him. Not with a bullet but much slower. More painful. Sputters reached her ears.
Leigh locked her back teeth as she focused on the table Ford had set up near the lantern. She couldn’t make much out other than the syringes lined in neat little rows, but there was a chance he’d brought something else to cut through the zip ties at her wrists and ankles. She put what energy she had left into shifting the chair closer to the workbench. The water helped take some of the weight off but also slowed her down. Every movement sounded overly loud in her ears. Echoing off the cinderblock walls and announcing her intentions.
Ford put his weight into keeping Dean in place.
Time. She was running out of time. Pain in her wrists and muscles stripped her nerves raw, ripping a groan from her throat. There. Ford had set her service weapon near the lantern. It wouldn’t get her out of these zip ties, but with any luck, she could stop Ford altogether. She had to do something. Dean wasn’t struggling anymore. Her heart kicked hard in her chest. No. This wasn’t over. He had to keep fighting.
“Well, that was anticlimactic. I mean eighteen years and so many close calls, and you would think there’d be… more.” Ford peeled his foot from his latest victim’s chest. Then turned on her. Holstering his weapon, he dragged his chair back in front of her. “Now, where were we? Right. Round three.”
Ford collected another set of syringes. Utter despair leeched into Leigh’s brain. She wasn’t going to survive a new round. She could feel it in her bones. How achingly… tired her body had become in a matter of minutes. She thought of Ava, of how she’d be breaking her promise. She hoped Ava forgave her.
“I have to say, disruptions aside, I am really enjoying our time together, Leigh. When you spend so long planning someone’s death, you have an idea of how it will end, but this is so much better than I ever could’ve imagined.”
The last of the warmth in her veins vacated. Leaving her empty as she stared at the still waters where Dean had disappeared. They were deeper now. Nearly to her knees. It would take Durham PD days to drain this basement and find her remains. And then where would Ava go? Tears burned in her eyes. What was the point in holding them back? She’d buried any feelings she’d had for Dean Groves over the years, but watching him murdered brought back those few moments he’d given her permission to be herself. Where he’d accepted her for who she was—baggage and all. “I don’t even know your name. How will I know who to haunt when I’m dead?”
“Still quick with that wit, I see.” Ford uncapped the syringes. One an amphetamine, the other a barbiturate. It was going to hurt again. He’d make sure of it. “It took a lot to convince the detective running Teshia’s murder investigation to leave my name out of the reports, but it turns out, money can buy happiness.”
The shadows behind Ford shifted as he set the needle into the crook of her arm. Nothing but a hallucination. The last effort from her brain to make sense of the position she’d die in. Not to mention the outfit. Sweats were not fashionable, but it was too late to change now. Acceptance settled over her like a weighted blanket. Uncomfortable at first, but she’d get used to it. At least for the few minutes she had left. “You thought of everything.”
“I have.” He shoved the needle beneath her skin. She didn’t even feel the pinch this time.
Leigh registered the wall of muscle at Ford’s back. “I mean, you thought of everything except him.”
Ford grabbed for her service weapon and spun. Not fast enough. Dean slammed the palm of his hand into the son of a bitch’s wrist. The gun tore from Ford’s grip and was lost to the inky black waters climbing up Leigh’s body. Dean’s fist rocked into the marshal’s face. Once. Twice. Ford lost his footing, and the two men dove into the depths together.
She was out of options. Leigh bit back a scream as she pressed her knuckles into the chair’s arm. Plastic cut into skin and tendon, but it had to break sooner or later. It had to. Both men struggled for the upper hand mere feet away in a brutal desperation for dominance and survival.
But a strong kick hit her chair.
Leigh was falling backwards. Water consumed her in an instant. It drove into her mouth, up her nose. Black waters fought her attempts to break free and crushed her from every side. Her lungs were emptied in a matter of seconds. Only the dim light of the lantern gave her any direction of which way was up.
Frantic churning told her Dean and Ford were still locked in their battle. Neither of them had noticed she’d gone under. She was on her own. Trapped. Alone. The zip ties seemed so much tighter than they had a moment ago, the wood of the chair soaking up as much water as possible. Leaving her with less slack.
Her screams went unheard. Her thrashing ignored.
She was going to die in the flooded basement of the university that’d helped shape her into a survivor. As a student who learned what heartbreak really entailed. As an agent who’d stood against police corruption and senseless murder. As a woman who’d taken the leap to rebuild her family and trust again. None of it had done a damn bit of good in the end.
Strong hands latched on to her arms and hauled her upright. Water choked from her nose and mouth as she grasped for a single molecule of oxygen.
“You’re not getting away from me that easy, little rabbit.” Dean. He’d saved her. Calluses scraped against her jawline. “Breathe, damn it.”
Her lungs took the order to heart. Air rushed to replace water in her chest. Before she had a chance to blink the water from her eyes, his touch was gone. The hard thud of fists broke through the pounding of her heart between her ears. Hair clung to her face in long streaks, cutting off some of her vision.
Dean slammed his knee into Ford’s jaw then rushed to lock the imposter marshal in a headlock. Ford’s elbow connected with his assailant’s torso. Neither gained the advantage over the other. Light and dark. Push and pull. Perfectly matched in every way.
But Leigh could tip the scales.
The flood had increased by another couple of inches, crawling across her lap. This entire section of the basement would be underwater in under thirty minutes at this rate. Blood leaked from her wrists as she twisted against the swollen chair arm. Her toes barely touched the floor, but she had to try. She pushed her toes into the floor as much as she could and kicked off. The chair swayed backwards once again. Panic had her overcorrecting, but the precarious balance had gotten her that much closer to the workbench. There had to be something—anything—she could use to get herself out of this damn chair.
Leigh tried again. And again.
The chair hit the edge of the makeshift workbench. The lantern wobbled on impact, revealing nothing but two more sets of syringes on the surface of the table.
Her fingertips barely brushed a few inches over the ledge. If she could get to the syringes, she might be able to use one for leverage between the chair arm and the zip ties. Hope fled as she stretched her hand as far to one side as possible. Rocking forward, she tried to balance on her toes, but ripples of water knocked her off course. It was no use.
A frustrated growl vibrated through her. “Come on!”
She could do this. She had to do this. She hadn’t survived the loss and grief and betrayal of those she’d once trusted to give in now. She was a mother now. Not as good as her own, but a mother all the same. That was worth fighting for. Marshal Ford—or whoever the hell he really was—was just the latest in a long line of jackasses who thought they could control her. She deserved a future. With Ava and all the complications of substitute motherhood that came with it. With the BAU and maybe even a nice guy who wouldn’t try to kill her one day. A girl could dream. Or she could make that dream a reality.
The brutal fistfight at her back grew louder. Closer. Neither Dean nor Ford were willing to give in. And she wouldn’t either. Pressing onto her toes, Leigh forced her weight forward. Her chest hit the edge of the worktable. One of the syringes rolled toward her, and she used her chin to position it into her mouth. Careful not to bite down and expose herself to whatever drug Ford had loaded inside, she let the chair’s legs hit the floor. They were stronger than they looked, but the next few minutes would prove it.
She transferred the syringe to one hand, gripping it with everything she had. One chance. That was all she had to make this work.
Water slapped her across the face as Ford dropped onto all fours at her feet. Dark eyes connected with hers. Right before he drew his service weapon from the back of his waistband.
Turning, Ford took aim. And pulled the trigger.
Dean halted mid attack. Then stumbled back. Chin dropping to his chest. His black T-shirt revealed nothing but a red hole where there should’ve been skin over his right pec.
The breath rushed out of her as he dropped to his knees. Eyes focused solely on her as though in apology for taking a bullet. “Dean.”