A Silent Terror (22 page)

And if he realized she knew his identity, she was as good as dead.

Against his boss’s wishes, Ethan ran into the building, ordering, “Don’t come after me until I call for help. If we all descend on him, he’ll kill her.”

“Ethan, you’re going to get yourself killed.” Victor’s voice came through loud and clear, but Ethan’s focus was on Marianna’s safety, not his own. He darted down to the classroom and screeched to a halt Empty. Just as he’d been told. Where would they go? The roof?

No. As clear as if Marianna had whispered it in his ear, he knew.

The basement.

But no exit door had been shown on the blueprints. He’d specifically looked to see if he needed coverage on one. Why would she go down there? She’d have no way of getting out. Cold terror swept his insides. Marianna was sacrificing herself for her students.

Probably trying to buy some time. Did she have a plan? Did she think she could get away from the guy while down in the basement? Or did she know something he didn’t?

Spinning from the door, Ethan headed for the steps that would lead him down. With fingers wrapped around his gun, he kept his focus, his senses tuned to the atmosphere around him.

I’m coming, Marianna, I’m coming.

Marianna felt her ankle twist in the dimly lit area as she maneuvered over and around the accumulation of stuff The basement held tons of storage from years past. File cabinets littered the area along with boxes of long forgotten books, paper, files. A path had been cut through the mess, and she knew this was because maintenance workers had to get down here occasionally to work. Or flip a switch in the breaker box. Her left hand caught on a stack of files, sending them to the floor.

Her captor didn’t stop, just tugged her along. She had to figure out a way to get away from the man, who kept a tight grip on her upper right arm. If she could get free and could get to the Mace she had in her front right pocket…

But he hadn’t let go of her aim.

Please, Jesus, help me. Let me have a clear mind, be smart.

Think, Marianna. Look around you. Get away from him.

But there was no way. He yanked her around to face him. “Show me. I need out of here, now. There’s no way I’m getting caught, you understand?”

She nodded, her brain humming. He just needed to let go of her.

And if she couldn’t get to the little canister in her pocket, she needed some other kind of weapon. Meeting his eyes, she shivered at the coldness there. Death stared back at her.

Swallowing hard, she pointed to the back. He pushed her on, over to the window with the broken latch. She had discovered it just a couple of weeks ago when she’d followed a stray cat who’d recently given birth. The cat had slipped inside, and Marianna knew she had kittens she was taking care of.

She’d planned to report it to the maintenance department but had wanted to give the kittens time to grow a bit before they were forced from their home. Now, perhaps her compassionate nature might be the deciding factor in whether this man let her go or shot her.

Depending on if he thought he could lit through the window.

Marianna doubted he could lit but hoped he would try. Maybe it would give her a chance to run, since she feared he would not let her go once he had his escape down. She shuddered. As soon as he was distracted, she needed to be able to act immediately, needed to be quick and smart.

Please give me an opening, just a chance to get away.

She was going to use the fact that she knew the layout of the basement much better than he. If she could just get out of his sight, she might have a chance. But as long as he kept a hand clamped on her arm, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her eyes darted. The lighting was poor, but maybe that could work to her advantage also.

If she could get away, she could hide somewhere – behind the massive number of bookshelves, a filing cabinet; anything would do.

When he shoved her in front of him, she stumbled, her knee banging the side of a file cabinet. Pain shot up her leg, but she ignored it. That was minor when compared with the bullet she felt quite sure was waiting for her as soon as he decided he didn’t need her anymore.

“Here.” She pointed to the window that sat at face level. He pulled her back, moved her to his right side and gripped her upper left arm with his right hand this time. With the gun, he reached up and shoved the window open. It slapped back down, and he turned back to Marianna.

The voice growled, “Sit there.” His lips curved into a cruel smile as he shoved her onto a sturdy wooden crate.

She sat.

Breathing a prayer of thanks, she shoved her right hand into her front pocket. Fingers curled around the can of Mace just as he swung the gun around to aim it point-blank at her heart.

Ethan stepped lightly down the steps, his gun gripped tight in his right hand, his eyes finally adjusting to the darker environment. He heard scrapes, a thud, come from up ahead. The radio crackled in his ear, but he didn’t dare answer. Right now, he figured the guy probably thought no one knew where he was. And he sure didn’t want to tip off the attacker to the contrary. He kept his breathing shallow, ignored the adrenaline infusing him.

Move slow; move smart. Don’t dwell on the fear that if you fail, she’ll die.

He couldn’t stop the mental picture of him screaming, of Ashley never knowing he called her name, of Ashley being hit by the car, flying through the air. His feelings of helplessness, horror, the crippling guilt that he couldn’t protect her.

But now Marianna needed him. He breathed deeply. He ordered himself, to focus, keep it together. Lord, I need You.

Three more steps brought him to the bottom of the staircase. Breathing through his nose, he held himself still, tuned his ears to the slightest sound.

Nothing. He kept moving, heard a whisper, felt the chill of musty air brush by like a swish of evil against his face. He shivered, not from the cold but from the oppressiveness he felt. In his mind he quoted every verse he could think of. I will never leave you nor forsake you.

Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the earth. Trust in Me. I am the way, the truth and the light.

Moving forward, he kicked up some papers in the middle of the

path. He stepped over them, wishing he could see who he was

tracking.

Another slight sound from his left reached his ears, then a single word. “Here.” Slowly, he crept forward. One foot after the other until his foot came down on something soft. The yowling screech nearly took his head off, and the bite of sharp claws sank into his left calf.

Marianna knew if she moved a scant millimeter, the man would pull the trigger. Hardly daring to breathe, she watched his eyes. Knew when he’d made the decision. Knew she was on her way to meet face-to-face the God she loved. His finger curled around the trigger.

Lord, I can’t give up without a fight. Please let me live to love Ethan.

Her hand gripped the canister. She refused to sit obediently while he blew her away.

A fleeing ball of fur caught her eye just as his focus swung from her to behind him, his attention diverted, his eyes off her. Marianna dove to the left, pulled the Mace from her pocket and aimed it at his eyes, which were now back on her.

She held her breath and squeezed. Liquid squirted, covering his eyes and his nose, soaking the cloth still covering his face. As though she were in slow motion, she could see his mouth working, could see him stumble away, clawing his face with his free hand. The hand that held the gun jerked toward the ceiling, and she saw the flash of the bullet exiting the barrel.

Then she was back in real time, scrambling from her position on the floor, hurrying away from the man who wanted her dead, her mind looping a prayer: Please, Jesus, please!

With her heart thudding painfully in her chest, she moved fast, her elbow catching the edge of something hard, which sent shooting pains into her shoulder. Panting, she followed the trail she’d just walked with the man behind her. Any minute now, she expected to feel a bullet blast into her back. Still, she skirted the debris, maneuvered through file cabinets, boxes. The floor thumped behind her. A bullet pinged from the pole beside her.

She screamed and jerked sideways, tripped and fell.

An agonized cry sounded and chilled Ethan’s soul. It echoed madness, fury, murder. Marianna had done something to make the man very mad. That was definitely not a good thing. Ethan’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the whine and clang of the bullet.

Marianna’s responding scream froze him for a brief second; then he picked up the pace and headed toward her. He wanted to hurry, to burst on the scene and grab her away.

Still, caution reigned. If he went and got himself shot, he wasn’t going to be much help for her. He had to get to her, had to save her.

The responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders as his prayers to God continued.

As he swept the basement with his eyes, his senses, the acid in his stomach churned, ate at him. What if he couldn’t save her? What if he failed again? The what – ifs could haunt him.

But God was still in control.

If someone had landed a punch on his jaw, he wouldn’t have been more stunned.

It wasn’t up to Ethan.

It was up to God.

He swung the gun to the right. Someone still thrashed ahead. Another gunshot, the bullet grazing the ceiling above him. He ducked.

God was in control.

Ethan was only a tool.

Marianna’s life was in God’s hands. Not Ethan’s.

The realization scared him to death…and freed him all at the same time. What if God chose to let Marianna die at the hands of the man who had her, the man who still screamed obscenities and threats?

Please, Lord, use me. I believe prayer changes things. I know You don’t need me, but use me to save her.

Closer, closer to the noise. Where are you, Marianna?

A shuffle to his left. He whirled and stared into Marianna’s shocked, fear-filled eyes; then something hit him in the left shoulder, spinning him around to crash against a file cabinet. Again, Marianna’s scream echoed around him.

He looked down to see a small stain growing larger. Then searing pain hit him. Marianna grabbed his hand and pulled him behind the makeshift wall of shelves where she’d been hiding. Then the shelves parted, crashing to the ground, and the masked gunman stood, his weapon trained on them. Marianna squealed and Ethan thought she sounded more angry than scared.

The man’s blue eyes, rimmed in red, ran with tears – and glittered with rage. Ethan held his gun on him. “Drop it,” he ordered.

A guttural laugh scraped Ethan’s ears. Then to his horror and fury, the man turned his gun on Marianna and said, “You drop it.”

Cold fear settled in the pit of Ethan’s stomach. If he dropped the gun, they were dead. If he took a chance and shot the man, the guy might get a shot off and Marianna would be dead regardless.

Please, Lord, a little help.

Marianna knew Ethan would drop his weapon to save her. She couldn’t let that happen. He already looked pale, his breathing coming in shallow spurts, the stain on his shoulder growing by the minute. The gunman stared at her, and she swallowed at the evil emanating from him. She’d really made him angry with the Mace stunt. Terror washed over her, and she considered her options.

“Don’t drop that gun, Ethan.” She knew her voice shook but didn’t care. The look on his face said he felt he had to protect her, that if something happened to her, he’d never live through it. Not after what had happened to Ashley.

“Why?” Ethan’s simple question caught the man’s attention.

He blinked. “What?”

“Why? What do you want?”

A delaying tactic.

“I don’t have time to explain my reasons to you. Now either drop the gun or she dies.”

She blurted, “He wants Josh’s box.”

The man gritted his teeth. “Shut up.” His finger tightened on the trigger, then Marianna felt herself flying through the air, heard the crack of a gun. Fear cramped her as she heard another loud pop, then gave a grunt as she landed with a thump in a pile of files.

“Ethanl”

No sooner had his name left her lips than SWAT members and local police flooded the place. The gunman lay facedown, screaming his anger, with cuffs encircling each wrist, a steady flow of blood pumping from his right hand. Ethan sagged against a pole, pale, shaken, with a hand pressed against his left side. Blood seeped between his fingers. Marianna scrambled out of the files, ignoring the cloud of dust that hovered around her and scooted over to Ethan. “Ethan, oh, no. You’ve been shot again.”

He grimaced, reached for her and pulled her down to lay a kiss on her lips. When he moved back, he groaned. “I promised myself I was going to do that if you were all right. Are you all right?”

She nodded, tears clogging her throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. I can die a happy man now.” He gave her a weak grin and she shuddered.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I kissed you again. I can die happy now.”

Paramedics began easing him into a horizontal position. Marianna wanted to slug him…and kiss him again. “You’d better not die on me. You’ve got a lot to live for.”

He looked into her eyes, and she could see the emotion behind them. “I’m sorry for what I said in the car…about the cochlear…”

This time it was Marianna who leaned down and kissed him. “Don’t worry about it. I was just a little sensitive about the issue.”

Her heart hurt at the relief she saw flood his face. Then his eyes turned to the still masked gunman. “Who is he?”

She gave a shudder. “Steven Marshbanks, campaign manager for the man who’ll probably be the next governor of South Carolina.”

Ethan’s eyes went wide; then he passed out.

When Ethan wakened, the first thing he noticed was the ache in his shoulder and the fire in his side. The second thing was the beautiful woman sleeping on the couch beside him. Shifting, he grunted at the shaft of pain, but Marianna didn’t stir. The door swooshed open and a woman in a white lab coat entered. “Hello, Mr.