Dead Even (33 page)

From the safety of Mike's arms, Jason responded. “I'm
not
your son, you stupid old man! And Miss Delaney is my
teacher,
not my mother! My name is Jason Miller. I'm five years old and in kindergarten—just like you thought!”

“Furthermore,” Audra looked at him coldly, “I don't know the first thing about guns. Tonight was the first time I have ever even had one in my hands.” She enjoyed the look that crossed Isaac's face. “And even if I
had
known how to use it, it would not have done me any good. The rifle was empty.”

Over the loud tolling of the church bells, Isaac could hear the sound of screaming. It was several minutes before he realized it was coming from him.

Chapter THIRTY-TWO

Audra lay on the rug in front of the fireplace at Mike's house. His strong hands were kneading the sore muscles of her legs. She felt safe—warm—wonderful.

She had cried like a baby earlier when they had brought Jason back to the motel, and he had raced for his mother's arms. She had raced for Bess, and the two of them had wept as they held each other.

Thomas Reivich had shown up and hadn't even been concerned that she had smashed in the fender of his pickup. Something told her he would have a new one delivered to his farm the next day anyway.

Katherine Miller and Bess had become fast friends during their ordeal. She was going to start work at the motel in two weeks—right after getting settled in a new house that some strange man had come to the motel and told her about. She had no idea that her benefactor was Bess.

Audra rolled over on her back and looked up at Mike. “Do you think Jason will have any permanent effects from all of this? He went through quite a lot for a five year old.”

Mike answered her honestly. “Judging from the way he was ‘holding court' with his brothers and sisters, I'd say he will shake it off. There's nothing like a big, boisterous family to help a kid over the rough spots. And the fact that he was able to confront Isaac will help.”

“It helped me, I know. I don't believe that face will be invading my dreams anymore. I—I used to have nightmares about a man in a horrid mask. Then when I pulled on the mask, the man's entire head would come off. It's clear to me now, of course. There was no Halloween mask. The face was Isaac's.”

Mike stopped massaging Audra's legs and stared thoughtfully at the fire. “He refused any kind of plastic surgery, you know. I still don't understand that.”

“I do,” Audra's voice was grim. “He used his face as an instrument of terror. He liked to watch the revulsion on his victim's faces as he made them beg him to do—unspeakable things; shameful, degrading things, while saying they loved him. I suppose it was that whole ugly aspect that made me repress every memory of what happened that night.”

“You did only what you had to do to stay alive. Don't forget that. If you had fought him, you would most likely have been dead by the time those teenagers arrived on the scene.”

Audra smiled at him, nodding, loving him for his words. “I know, Mike. Truly I do. And it's all behind me now.”

“It seems impossible. Markham said when they finally sorted through everything in the attic, there was evidence of thirty-six deaths. And that isn't even counting the girl he killed when he was twelve—or the ones before he started collecting his little
mementos.
”

“What bank books was Captain Markham talking about? The ones he said they found in the trunk of the police car?”

Mike leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Those didn't have anything to do with Isaac. They belonged to Harry Windslow, the officer who was shot. Apparently, he had been on the take for a lot of years when he was on the Denver force. I—I met him once, long ago, but had forgotten about it until Gallinni's name came up tonight. Then I remembered where I had met him.”

“And he was the one you left the message with? About Isaac?”

“Yeah. Only he was on his way to meet Gallinni's men, and didn't relay the message. It's just as well they shot him. Saved me the trouble!” He shook his head in disgust. “It never ceases to amaze me, what some people will do for money.”

Audra rolled back over onto her stomach and stared at the fire, a small grin curling up the edges of her lips. “Mike—what would
you
do if you were rich? I mean
really
rich? Millions and millions?”

Mike quit massaging Audra's legs and leaned back on the heels of his feet. “
Really
rich? I'm not sure. Probably open up more halfway houses for troubled kids, set up programs to help teenage alcoholics—something like that.” He bent over and kissed the small of her back. “I sure as hell wouldn't quit my job, if that's what you mean. I love what I do.”

Audra stood up and walked over to Mike's couch and sat down. She patted the cushion next to her and used the same words Bess had said to her earlier in the day. “Maybe you had better come sit down, Mike. I have a little story to tell you.”

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

DEAD EVEN

Copyright © 1996 by Gladys Wellbrock.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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ISBN: 0-312-95939-7

St. Martin's Paperbacks edition/September 1996

eISBN 9781466885363

First eBook edition: October 2014