CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
As he lurched through the underbrush, Thomas Veach pressed one hand against his abdomen where Evelyn’s elbow had connected with surprising force.
She couldn’t have gone far—not in these woods, not with that twisted ankle he’d seen when she fled.
In his other hand, he clutched his unfolded pocket knife.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. The knife was less elegant than poisoned wine, but its blade now glistened with drops of arsenic. Perhaps it was fitting for Evelyn Caldwell, whose company had wielded the physical tools of destruction against Ila’s vineyard.
He moved forward, eyes scanning the ground. Somewhere ahead, the woman was hiding, nursing her injured ankle, perhaps believing she had escaped. Thomas tightened his grip on the knife.
***
Callahan moved through the tangled undergrowth. The western perimeter of the forest grew denser as he advanced.
A soft sound brought him to an abrupt halt—barely audible, it might have been the wind or a woodland creature. He remained perfectly still. There it came again—a whimper, distinctly human, emanating from a thicket off to his right.
He drew his weapon, keeping it pointed downward as he advanced cautiously. The undergrowth here was thick enough to conceal a person—or two.
“Evelyn Caldwell?” he called in a near-whisper.
The rustling that followed was frantic, panicked. “Please don’t hurt me,” came a fearful reply.
Callahan moved toward the voice, pushing aside a curtain of ferns to reveal a woman crouched in the hollow beneath a fallen tree. Evelyn Caldwell looked nothing like the CEO of a major construction firm—her hair was disheveled, face streaked with dirt, her right ankle visibly swollen.
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Callahan, Chicago Police,” he said, keeping his voice low as he holstered his weapon. “We’ve been looking for you, Ms. Caldwell. You’re safe now.”
“Police? How did you—”
“Your assistant told us,” Callahan explained, crouching beside her to examine her ankle without touching it. “The man who attacked you is Thomas Veach. He’s killed three women already.”
Recognition flashed in Evelyn’s eyes. “The Triad partners.” She winced as she shifted position. “My ankle—I think it’s just sprained, but I can’t put weight on it.”
Callahan was already retrieving his phone to text his colleagues. “Two FBI agents are also searching these woods. We need to let them know I’ve found you.”
His thumbs moved swiftly across the screen: “Found Caldwell. Alive. Injured ankle. Western sector, approx 400 yds from cabin. Very still at large. Staying with the victim.”
***
Ann Marie pushed aside a curtain of hanging vines, her eyes scanning the forest floor for signs that might indicate Evelyn or Veach had passed this way.
The forest had grown unnaturally quiet, even the birds seeming to hold their breath, but Ann Marie attributed this to her own intrusion into their realm.
The attack came without warning.
A powerful arm locked around her chest from behind, pinning her right arm against her body. Before she could reach for her weapon, she saw a glint of cold metal held close to her throat—the blade of a pocket knife.
“Don’t move,” a voice hissed in her ear. “The blade has arsenic on it. One cut and you’ll die like the others.”
Ann Marie froze, her training battling with the instinct to struggle. The arsenic-laced blade complicated everything. One cut could be fatal.
“Thomas Veach,” Ann Marie said, keeping her voice calm. “Or should I call you Thomas Kilkenny?”
Veach’s breathing changed, growing more controlled. The knife came nearer her throat, then eased away slightly. “So you know. About Crimson Grove. About Ila.”
“We know everything,” she confirmed, cataloging details even as she spoke—his height, his build, the slight tremor of the knife. “Margaret, Victoria, Amanda. We know why you targeted them.”
“I just wanted justice,” he muttered. “Perfect endings for each of them. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
Ann Marie remained still.
“I’m taking you with me,” Veach decided. “I need insurance.”
He shifted his position, forcing Ann Marie to move with him, the knife hovering a fraction of an inch away from throat.
“Listen to me!” Veach suddenly shouted. “I know you’re out there! FBI! Chicago PD! Whatever! I have your colleague here with a knife to her throat! The blade has arsenic on it—just like the wine! I’m walking out of here! Try to stop me, and she dies! That’s a promise!”
***
Riley froze mid-stride when Veach’s voice shattered the forest silence—Ann Marie captured, a knife at her throat, the blade poisoned with arsenic. The entire dynamic of their search had just transformed in the worst possible way.
She pulled out her phone. Callahan’s text from minutes earlier now carried new weight: “Found Caldwell. Alive. Injured ankle …”
At least Evelyn was safe. That simplified the equation—now their priority was Ann Marie.
Riley texted Callahan: “Veach has Ann Marie. Knife with arsenic on blade. They’re moving north toward the access road. Need a distraction to give her opening to act.”
Her phone vibrated: “Can leave Caldwell hidden. Will create distraction from northwest position.”
Riley texted, “Ready.”
She tucked the phone away and began making her way downslope, careful to minimize noise.
When she reached the edge of a depression, she saw them—two figures moving awkwardly through the underbrush.
Ann Marie’s blue blazer was unmistakable, with Veach positioned behind her, one arm around her chest, the other extended to her throat, holding an unfolded pocket knife.
Riley drew her weapon and held it ready.
A sudden, sharp crack split the air from the northwestern edge of the forest—the unmistakable sound of a substantial branch breaking under weight. It was followed by a cascade of smaller snaps and rustles, as if someone was crashing clumsily through the underbrush.
Riley saw Veach’s head snap toward the sound, his body tensing. For just a fraction of a second, his attention divided between his hostage and the new threat.
***
Ann Marie felt the change instantly—Veach’s attention yanking toward the sudden crash of breaking branches. The knife at her throat wavered for a millisecond as his focus split.
It was all she needed.
She moved with explosive speed, her left hand shooting up to grasp Veach’s wrist, simultaneously pushing the knife away from her throat while twisting her body to the right. The blade swung by harmlessly —the difference between life and death measured in centimeters.
Her right arm, now freed from his chest-lock, drove backward in a vicious elbow strike. The impact connected with satisfying force, air expelling from Veach’s lungs in a pained grunt.
Still maintaining her grip on his knife wrist, Ann Marie completed her turn, using the momentum to hyperextend his arm. The human elbow isn’t designed to bend backward, and Veach’s was no exception. He howled as the joint strained against its natural limitations.
“Drop it!” she commanded, applying more pressure.
The knife fell to the forest floor. Ann Marie delivered a hammer-fist strike to the base of her captor’s skull. Then she released his arm and backed away several steps. Veach stumbled forward, off-balance and gasping for breath, his face a mask of pain and disbelief.
“FBI! Don’t move!” Ann Marie ordered, drawing her weapon and training it on Veach’s chest. Her hands were steady. “Down on the ground! Now!”
Veach swayed slightly. She could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes—whether to surrender, whether to run, whether there was still a path to escape. He took a half-step backward.
Ann Marie tightened her grip on her weapon. “Don’t,” she warned. “You run, and this ends much worse for you.”
Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention—Riley emerging from the trees to her right, weapon drawn, moving toward them. From the left, the sounds of someone else—Callahan, returning from creating the distraction.
Veach saw them too. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him.
***
Riley emerged from the tree line, weapon steady, to find Ann Marie already in control of the situation. The killer himself looked deflated.
“FBI! On the ground now!” she commanded, advancing.
Callahan appeared from the opposite direction, completing their triangulation. “Do as she says,” he added, his own weapon joining those already aimed at Veach. “Hands behind your head, down on your knees.”
With a final, defeated exhalation, Veach lowered himself to his knees.
Riley moved forward while Ann Marie and Callahan maintained their positions, weapons still trained on their suspect. She holstered her gun and pulled out handcuffs, approaching Veach from behind.
“Thomas Veach, you’re under arrest for the murders of Margaret Thornfield, Victoria Ashworth, and Amanda Sterling, and the attempted murder of Evelyn Caldwell,” she recited, securing his wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”
As Riley continued the Miranda warning, Callahan holstered his weapon and moved to examine the knife lying on the forest floor where Ann Marie had forced Veach to drop it. He carefully retrieved it using a handkerchief, avoiding the blade that could still carry traces of arsenic.
“Nice work, Agent Esmer,” Callahan said appreciatively to Ann Marie. “Those were some moves.”
Ann Marie lowered her weapon once Veach was securely cuffed. “Krav Maga since high school,” she replied.
“We need to retrieve Ms. Caldwell,” Riley said, helping Veach to his feet.
“I know exactly where she is,” Callahan replied. “Sprained ankle. She can’t walk on her own. I’ll go get her.”
He handed the carefully wrapped knife to Ann Marie. “Evidence,” he said simply, then turned and headed back toward where he had left Evelyn.