He highly doubted that his call--saying he thought Ava's life was in danger because he found a sweatshirt in his laundry that shouldn't have been there--was going to convince anyone that this was an emergency. The 9-1-1 operator would probably send a squad car out to drive through the sloughs and waterways of the delta and take a look, but if an officer came across Ava's houseboat before morning it'd be a miracle. Luke knew in his heart that he was Ava's best chance. But he also knew he might be too late. It was after one o'clock. An hour and a half had passed since that hang-up. And Ava wasn't expecting trouble. It would come without warning and end fast.
Frantic to reach her, in case there was stil a chance, he took the next corner as if he was at Daytona. The centrifugal force caused his back end to drift, but he'd planned for it. Regaining control, he punched the gas pedal again. "Hang on, I'm coming," he muttered, and prayed that he'd arrive in time.
A second later, his phone rang. Thinking it might be Ava, he snatched it off the passenger seat, letting out a whoop of relief when he saw her number on his caller ID.
"Thank God!" he cried, and hit the Talk button. "Ava, get out of the house! Get out right now and hide. Kalyna's on her way but so am I. I'l be there as soon as humanly possible."
There was no response.
"Ava?" he said.
Again, no reply. Then he heard something. But it definitely wasn't hello.
The knife had plunged into Ava's thigh. Mark would've stabbed her somewhere else, somewhere on her upper body, but she'd rolled to the right, away from him. She'd taken the thrust in a less vulnerable area as she'd intended, but the sight of the blade buried in her leg to the hilt was so surreal she almost couldn't believe this was anything more than a bad dream. She had nightmares occasionally. She saw too much, heard too much at The Last Stand. But she usually woke up once the violence hit.
This was real. But she was probably in shock because there was no pain, just an invading numbness that seemed to be creeping up from her toes.
Fight! her mind screamed, but her body froze as she tried to maintain her precarious grip on coherent thought.
In a hurry to end her call, Mark didn't bother hanging on to the knife.
He left it in her leg so he could grab her phone--and suddenly Ava's panic came flooding back. She needed this call to go through. Her life depended on it.
"No!" It'd been too dark to see the buttons, and she hadn't had time to feel her way through 9-1-1, so she'd pressed the large Phone button twice.
That was the fastest way to make a call. It redialed her last number. But she couldn't hold the phone to her ear long enough to find out if Luke answered. In the next second, Mark twisted it from her grasp and threw it away from them. Then he went for the knife.
He was going to finish the job, stab her in the heart or cut her throat and be done with her. She could feel his intent as clearly as if he'd shouted it. But she seized the knife before he could.
Kalyna counted to keep herself lucid.
One...two...three...breathe....
One...two...three...breathe....
She was growing light-headed but fought the encroaching dizziness by focusing on a single point--the light coming from Ava's bedroom. She wouldn't give up so easily, would not allow Mark to win after all these years.
She'd play dead until he'd finished with Ava and left. Then she'd go, too.
She'd drag her bleeding body all the way to her car, if necessary, but she wouldn't let him get away with what he'd done. Not to her, and not to Tati.
She'd have to plan it for another day. But she'd make him pay if it was the last thing she ever did.
The pain didn't hit full force until a second after she'd pulled the knife out. Then, like a wave crashing onto a beach, it nearly bowled Ava over and carried her down, sucking her under, into unconsciousness. Closing her eyes to help her withstand the onslaught, she dropped back, gasping for breath, but managed to wrap both hands around the handle of the knife and held it against her chest, with the point toward Mark. She knew it wouldn't matter. The fight was over. She had no strength left. She couldn't move, couldn't even lift her arms to make the thrust she'd have to make in order to save herself.
Mark didn't try to wrest the knife from her. He probably didn't realize how easy it would be. He didn't need it in any case. He simply turned and grabbed the crowbar.
There were no other cars besides Ava's, at least not that Luke could see. There weren't any lights on, either, except one at the back of the cabin. It reflected off the water as the houseboat bobbed and swayed in the river. Ava's call had cut out only seconds after he'd heard a bloodcurdling scream, but that scream was stil with him, echoing in his brain. He wished she was on the line, screaming now. At least he'd know she was alive.
Everything was quiet-- too quiet.
What would he find inside?
Hesitating for the first time since he'd dashed out of his apartment, Luke swallowed hard. Please, don't let her be dead. Don't let me be too late.
Taking his gun, he got out of his BMW and jogged down the pier.
"Ava?" The door was locked. He banged on it to see if he could rouse her, but got no response. The houseboat seemed empty, which left him with an ominous feeling to go with the lump of dread in his gut.
Fearing the worst, he used his shoulder as a battering ram and broke the door. As it gave way, it slammed against the inside wall and hung there by only one hinge.
Luke scanned what he could see of Ava's living room. Despite the dimness of the light filtering in through the hallway, he could make out a few details. A chair had been overturned, a lamp was missing from its table and a painting on the wall had been knocked askew. Obviously, there'd been some sort of fight here.
His heart pumping like the pistons of an engine, he flipped on the light and rounded the short half wall separating the entryway from the living room. Then he stopped short. Blood was everywhere. And there was a body lying on the floor, someone dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask.
Sweat made his shirt stick to his back as he stepped closer. Bending, he pulled off the mask. It was Kalyna. She'd been stabbed in the chest.
Relief swept through him as he stood. If Kalyna was dead, chances were good Ava had survived, weren't they? So where was she?
"Ava?" he called again. But then he saw her feet sticking out from behind the couch.
"Oh, God," he whispered, and set his gun on the ground beneath the coffee table as he knelt to roll her over.
Summoning al that remained of her energy and focus, Kalyna opened her eyes. Luke had barely hesitated when he'd seen her. He'd pulled off her mask to identify her, but he hadn't cared enough to feel for a pulse. He'd stepped right over her in search of Ava. But she, Kalyna, was the one who was pregnant with his child. At least, he believed she was pregnant....