When my cell phone rang, I nearly jumped out my skin. I was three houses away now. I cursed under my breath. Dr. Cool—Dr. Confident—had forgotten to put his phone on vibrate. I realized with a sinking certainty that I was deluding myself. I was out of my element here. Suppose, for example, the phone had rung when I was right up against the house. What then?
I leapt behind a shrub and answered it with a snap of my wrist.
“You got a lot to learn about sneaking up on places,” Verne whispered. “I mean, you’re godawful at it.”
“Where are you?”
“Check out the second-floor window, far back.”
I peeked out at Denise Vanech’s house. Verne was in the window. He waved to me.
“Back door was unlocked,” Verne whispered. “I let myself in.”
“What’s going on in there?”
“Stone-cold killing. I heard them say they killed that girl at the motel. They blew away that Denise woman. She’s lying dead not three feet from Rachel.”
I closed my eyes.
“This is a trap, Marc.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“There’s two of them—one man, one woman. I want you to hustle back to your car. I want you to drive and park on the street. You’ll be far enough away so that they won’t get a clear shot at you. Stay there. Don’t get any closer. I just want you to draw their attention, you got me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll try to keep one alive, but I can’t make any promises.”
He hung up. I hurried back to the car and did as he said. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest. But there was hope now. Verne was there. He was inside the house and armed. I pulled up to the front of Denise Vanech’s house. The blinds and curtains were drawn. I took a deep breath. I opened the car door and stood.
Silence.
I expected to hear shots. But that was not what came first. The first sound was shattering glass. And then I saw Rachel fall out the window.
“His car just pulled up,” Heshy said.
Rachel’s hands were still bound behind her back, the duct tape over her mouth. She knew that this was it. Marc would come to the door. They would let him in, this mutant version of Bonnie and Clyde, and then they would shoot them both.
Tatiana was already dead. Denise Vanech was already dead. There was no other way to play this. Heshy and Lydia could not let them survive. Rachel had hoped that Marc would realize this and go to the police. She hoped that he wouldn’t show up, but of course, that would not be an option for him. So he was here. He would probably try something foolhardy or maybe he was still so blinded by hope that he would simply walk into the trap.
Either way, Rachel had to stop him.
Her only chance was to surprise them. Even then, even if everything fell into place, the best she could realistically hope for was to save Marc. The rest was fool’s gold.
Time to act.
They hadn’t bothered to tie her feet. With her hands behind her back and her mouth taped shut, what harm could she do? Trying to run at them would be suicide. She’d make an easy target.
And that was what she was counting on.
Rachel got to her feet. Lydia turned around and pointed the gun at her. “Sit down.”
She didn’t. And now Lydia had a dilemma. If she fired the gun, Marc would hear it. He would know something was wrong. A stalemate. But it wouldn’t last. An idea—a pretty lame idea—came to Rachel. She broke into a run. Lydia would either have to shoot or give chase or . . .
The window.
Lydia saw what Rachel was doing, but there was no way to stop her. Rachel lowered her head like a battering ram and dived straight toward the picture window. Lydia raised her gun to shoot. Rachel braced herself. She knew that this would hurt. The glass broke with surprising ease. Rachel flew through it, but what she hadn’t counted on was how far off the ground she was. Her hands were still tied behind her back. There was no way to break the fall.
She turned to the side and took the impact on her shoulder. Something popped. She felt a stabbing pain run down her leg. A shard of glass stuck out of her thigh. The sound would warn Marc, no question about it. He could be saved. But as Rachel rolled over, dread—deep, heavy dread—hit her next. Yes, she had warned Marc. He had seen her fall out the window.
But now, without thinking of the danger, Marc was running toward her.
Verne was crouched on the stairs.
He’d been about to make his move when Rachel suddenly stood up. Was she crazy? But no, he realized, she was just a brave lady. After all, she had no idea that he was hiding upstairs. She couldn’t just sit there and let Marc walk in on this setup. She wasn’t built that way.
“Sit down.”
The woman’s voice. The pert thing named Lydia. She started to swing her gun up. Verne panicked. He wasn’t in position yet. He wouldn’t have a clear shot. But Lydia didn’t pull the trigger. Verne watched in amazement as Rachel ran and jumped through the window.
Talk about a distraction.
Verne moved now. He had heard countless times about how time stands still in moments of extreme violence, that brief seconds can drag so that you can see everything clearly. In reality, that was total bull. When you looked back, when you ran it through your mind in safety and comfort, that’s when you imagine it went by slowly. But in the heat of the moment, when he and three buddies had gotten into a firefight with some of Saddam’s “elite” soldiers, time had actually sped up. That was what was happening here.
Verne spun around the corner. “Drop it!”
The big man had his gun aimed at the window where Rachel had fallen out. There was no time to call out another warning. Verne fired twice. Heshy went down. Lydia screamed. Verne ducked into a roll and disappeared behind the couch. Lydia screamed again.
“Heshy!”
Verne peered out, expecting to see Lydia aiming the gun at him. But that wasn’t the case. She ditched the weapon. Still crying out, Lydia dropped to her knees and gently cradled Heshy’s head.
“No! Don’t die. Please, Heshy, please don’t leave me!”
Verne kicked her gun away. He kept his pointed at Lydia.
Her voice was low now, soft and motherly. “Please, Heshy. Please don’t die. Oh God, please don’t leave me.”
Heshy said, “I never will.”
Lydia looked at Verne, her eyes pleading. He didn’t bother calling 911. He could hear the sirens now. Heshy grabbed Lydia’s hand. “You know what you have to do,” he said.
“No,” she said, her voice small.