Driven (25 page)

K
rogan stood there, seemingly in thought. His mass shrunk the room. His rippled arms were cut and scraped and his tank top
was torn and soiled. Amy’s heart hammered. Apparently he had heard enough of the conversation to surmise his situation. The
longer he stood there the angrier he appeared. Finally he let out a primeval scream and kicked the garbage can, sending bottles
and broken glass everywhere. He then brought the cell phone to his mouth.

“Gavin, huh? I didn’t expect to be speaking to you again so soon.”

“Krogan?” came Gavin’s voice through the receiver, barely loud enough for Amy to hear.

“Very good. That’s why you’re a detective. You’re good at figuring things out. I’m a detective, too. You know what I just
figured out? I figure this nosey wench just put me out of the lobster business. She’ll die for that. But not before I have
some fun with her. If you want my boat so bad, you’ll have to pry it out of another. I
never was a big fan of freedom or New York. You think you’re so smart, figure that one out, Detective.”

Krogan smashed the phone against the wall and turned to Amy with a smile. “Well, pretty girl. Anyone who looks for me as hard
as you deserves my best. Just whisper in my ear if I’m moving too fast.”

Amy was scared less by his ominous presence than by what she knew about him. She didn’t know if Karl Dengler knew anything
about Krogan’s past, but she knew the demon in him found his comfort in terror and destruction and she wasn’t going to worry
anymore about killing him. So what if he disappeared and popped up in someone else? At least it would be someplace else, and
right now that seemed like a good thing.

She glanced at the shotgun and knew by the way he followed her eyes that the weapon was loaded.

Krogan took a step in her direction and she dove for the shotgun. The instant she grabbed the stock, he grabbed the barrel,
snatching it away from her with a laugh.

“All right,” he said. “This is my lucky day.” His hungry, wild eyes were a vacuum of darkness, feeding like a shark off her
terror.

She leaned back hard into the netting as he approached until all she could see was his enormous bulk.

F
or one horrified instant Gavin stared at his phone. Then he was bolting for the door. Cedar saw him coming and scrambled to
get out of the way, his paws slipping on the oak floor. The aluminum storm door slammed against the handrail as Gavin landed
on the walkway, then cleared the chain-link fence… and stopped. There was a white pickup truck in his driveway and someone
was getting out.

Five minutes ago there was no one in the world Gavin would rather have seen than the man who emerged from the truck. But right
now all he wanted was to get to the marina as fast as possible.

“Detective Pierce!”

“Buck, I don’t know what you’re doing here but you’ve got to let me out of the driveway—now.”

“I came as soon as I got your message. I told you not to—”

“
Get out of the driveway!
Krogan’s got Amy in a fishing boat. I’ve got to stop him before he gets out of the harbor.”

Buck’s expression stiffened. “I have to come with you. We’ll take my truck. You drive.” He threw Gavin the keys, which Gavin
immediately threw back.

“You can come if you like, but we’ll take my car,” he yelled as he hopped into his Sunbeam Tiger and started the engine with
a throaty roar.

Buck quickly backed his pickup out of the driveway to the opposite curb. He hurried to Gavin, carrying an old wooden chest
the size of a milk crate.

“What’s that?” Gavin said.

“A tool of the trade.”

“Come on. Put it in the back and get in already,” Gavin said, folding up the seat for him. He watched impatiently as Buck
stored the chest.

Before Buck had the door closed Gavin hit the gas, whiplashing Buck and leaving a cloud of exhaust behind them. Keeping the
pedal to the floor, Gavin threw the four-speed into second and then third, chirping the tires each time. He then put the flashing
red light on the dashboard before shifting into fourth.

“I think I can understand why we took your car,” Buck said loudly enough to be heard over the engine and wind.

Gavin handed Buck the cell phone and told him to dial 911.

“That would be a huge mistake, Detective,” Buck said.

“A mistake I should have made this afternoon. Now dial,” Gavin commanded. “We’re going to need all the help we can get as
soon as we can get it.”

“They’re going to kill him and Krogan will be free. You have to believe me when I tell you your fight is not only against
flesh and blood.”

“Tell me about it,” Gavin acknowledged.

“You mean Sabah?”

“You got it.”

“I told you not to.”

“That’s why I did it. I had to know.”

“What actually happened?”

“Later. Call 911. We’ll surround him and he’ll have to give up.”

“Please, Detective. You’ve faced him. You’ve followed him through five thousand years. Stop listening to your police training
and tell me: is Krogan going to give up? Is he going to let anyone take him alive?”

“Then we’ll kill the monster. We’ll catch him the next time, or
we’ll kill him again and catch him the time after that. At least Amy will have a chance.”

“Krogan knows you’ll do this. He’s counting on it. You can’t match his craftiness with your logic and emotion. Your men will
swarm him from every direction and he’ll kill Amy so they’ll have no choice but to kill him. When he found out his host’s
fun-filled life was going to change he had to have been very angry. The faster he can find a new host the better for him.”

“But if we don’t catch him, he’ll kamikaze some party boat and kill himself and Amy and half the people on board. I can’t
let that happen,” Gavin said, downshifting to second for a hard turn, then slamming it into third.

“Then we have to catch him. It’s our only chance of keeping everyone alive,” Buck pleaded.

Gavin growled in frustration. “Then dial this number,” he said, handing him his beeper.

Buck dialed the number and handed the phone over to Gavin.

“Hello?”

“Chris!”

“Gav! Where are you? I’ve been paging—”

“I can’t talk about it now. There’s something you’ve got to do for us.”

“Shoot.”

“Two boats:
Freedom
and
New York.
Find out what they are and where they are, then call me on my cell phone. They could be anything from an old tall ship to
a navy vessel to a party boat to a tour boat. Fast, Chris.”

“You got it, pal.”

Gavin hung up and concentrated on driving. A few minutes later he was fishtailing into the marina parking lot, alternately
downshifting and speeding up as he wove through the cars. He soon found himself racing down the same fishing pier Krogan had
when
he’d crashed through the fencing and into the sailboat. By the time he skidded to a stop at the temporary barricade that had
replaced the broken railing, Buck’s hands were splayed against the dashboard and a couple of fishermen were clinging to the
pier’s outer rails.

Gavin was out the door in a flash and up onto the barricade, his hand blocking the sun from his eyes as he searched the harbor’s
mouth for the lobster boat. Nothing.

“Did either of you see a lobster boat leave the marina?” he yelled to the shaken fishermen.

They both nodded, one of them pointing out of the harbor.

“And I’ll bet it was going a lot faster than the five-mile-per-hour speed limit,” Gavin said.

The fishermen nodded, then looked at each other oddly, as if they thought he was going to give a lobster fisherman a ticket
for speeding in the harbor.

Gavin ignored them. Down to his left were the boat slips. Several boats were slowly maneuvering in and out, but they were
mostly sailboats and cabin cruisers and would have little chance of catching up to the lobster boat. To his right was the
boat ramp, with boats going in and out of the water. Maybe he could use one of the ones already in. He scanned the half dozen
or so waiting their turn, but saw only little ski boats and runabouts. Why was it that every other time he had come down to
the marina, he had been wowed by at least one or two ocean racers, yet now, when he needed one, there were none?

Frustrated, Gavin hopped back in the car and slammed it into reverse. Next to him Buck sat with eyes closed.

A
my lay face down on the rotten, liquor-bathed mattress. Before Krogan showed up, she had tried her best not to touch it lest
some horrid disease invade the pores of her skin. Now she was trussed up on it like an animal awaiting slaughter. Her hands
were tied so tightly to her ankles she could barely feel her fingers anymore. Another droplet of blood crawled from the cut
over her left ear along her bruised, sweaty cheek to her lips.

Fortunately, thanks to her phone call to Gavin, Krogan had been in a hurry and hadn’t taken the time for any indulgences.
Of course, nothing would have been easier than for him to kill her outright, but he seemed willing to keep her alive, at least
for the moment. If there was anything to be learned from the sessions with Karianne—or rather Sabah—killing was to be savored.
Looked forward to, like dessert after a fine meal. Krogan had pretty much told her so, beating her only to the point that
she would allow him to tie her up. He wanted her fully alert and horrified at whatever he had coming.

He had taken the shotgun with him. Through the open doorway she could see him from the waist down. He was at the steering
wheel and she hoped he would stay there. In one hand he had a fifth of clear liquor. Whatever it was, he was downing it fast.
She wondered how long she had before the inevitable crash. Knowing the Krogan that Sabah had revealed, she knew his target
would be large, yet sinkable. Something the size of a yacht, she thought. A ferry maybe. What kind of boat would be in the
water, full of people
on a Sunday evening before sunset? Whatever and wherever it was, she wasn’t about to just lay there and let it happen.

She rolled to her side and tried to lower her tied wrists under her buttocks. She could not. She rolled back to her abdomen
and struggled to raise her rump, dragging her chin on the mattress until she was up on her knees. Next to her was another
dirty porthole, opposite the one she had originally looked through. She wished she had never peeked in; after all her good
intentions, Krogan still had the shotgun.

Peering out the window, she saw they were about a thousand feet off a shoreline she did not recognize. The very fact the shoreline
was off the left side meant they were traveling west, toward Manhattan. She was surprised at the speed they were traveling
at— for such a large boat
Shadahd
could move.

“I’m sorry. You wanted a view?”

Amy turned her head as far as she could without falling to see Krogan crouched down, staring at her through the shallow doorway.
The engines suddenly slowed to an idle; the excess momentum made Amy fall forward onto her face. Terror snapped at her mind
like an uncoiling viper and she fought to control a scream. What perverse ideas were marching him toward her… alone in the
water… tied up and at his mercy?

Her eyes widened as Krogan slowly knelt down beside her. He looked her up and down, examining her like an unwrapped gift.
Then he closed his eyes and whispered close to her ear, “Listen… can you hear it?”

Amy couldn’t answer. She sensed whatever she said might snap him into a violent rage. But then, so could her silence.

“Your heart. I can hear your heart. It’s beating for me. Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom,” he said, slowly at first, then faster
and faster until Amy could swear he actually was in rhythm with her racing pulse.

“Boom!”
he yelled, his eyes popping open, his face inches from hers.

Amy startled. She jerked again as he touched her leg.

“Very smooth,” he said, then brought his nose to the back of her thigh and licked her. “Mmm… Did you shave just for me?”

Amy began to tremble uncontrollably. She had been determined not to cry, but her shivers turned to whimpers. Krogan began
to laugh, and she felt his hot breath against her. She struggled violently to gain control of herself and to get his slithering,
slimy tongue off her.

“You coward,” she screamed.

Krogan laughed loudly. “Brave girl. We’ll see how tough you are.”

T
he moment Gavin pulled into the boat-ramp parking lot, he saw the boat he wanted. Sitting on a huge trailer hooked onto a
Range Rover was almost thirty feet of streamlined ocean racer, its bow taking up at least three quarters of the boat. Perfect.
The boat should be able to catch Krogan fairly rapidly—if, that is, they chose the correct direction once out of the harbor.

Both Buck and Gavin got out of the car, but Gavin motioned Buck to remain there. He didn’t want this scene to be any more
confusing to the boat owner than it had to be. The man in the Range
Rover frowned as Gavin ran toward him, his shield out and in clear view.

“Sir. I’m Detective Pierce of the Nassau County Police Department and this is a police emergency. I need the use of a boat
and driver to apprehend an escaped felon.”

“Yeah, right,” the man said incredulously. He looked at his buddy in the seat next to him and laughed.

“I’m serious.”

“And you want to use me and my boat?”

“It’s a matter of life and death,” Gavin said.

“Don’t the police have any more boats or helicopters?” the man said as he laughed again.

Gavin was too desperate to feel like a fool, but he didn’t have an answer that would make any sense. He couldn’t very well
tell the guy he was afraid of involving other policemen, and he didn’t have time to explain why.

“If you’re worried about your boat, I’ll take personal responsibility for it. We’ll go right now to the front of the line.
You’ll be a hero tomorrow whether we catch him or not.” Gavin was lying; for doing what he was doing, he’d probably be fired
by this time tomorrow.

“Personally responsible? Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Do you know what this boat cost? And what are we
going to do, get shot at? Sorry, pal, I gave at the office. Besides, nobody’s going anywhere until the wild-man with the flying
machine gets his crazy contraption off the ramp… again. Now there’s someone you should arrest.”

Gavin didn’t even remember running toward the ultralight, but suddenly he was there.

“Hey, uh, Bill, right?” he said, grabbing the man by the arm as he was climbing into the pilot’s seat of his experimental
seaplane.

“Huh? Oh, hi, Detective. Look, I’m really sorry for the holdup.
I didn’t open my gas valve all the way and it conked out right here. But as you can see, the engine’s back on and purrin’
like a kitten. I’ll be outta here before you can tell me to, uh, get outta here.”

“Forget that,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “The last time I saw you, you said you would take me for a ride sometime.”

“Yeah, sure. But didn’t you say you were afraid of heights?”

“This is an emergency. Did you happen to see a lobster boat leaving a short while ago?”

“You mean
Shadahd
? You bet I did. I’ve always got an eye peeled for that guy when I’m around here. He hates me—always gives me the finger for
no reason. For the life of me, I don’t know what I ever did to him. I think he’s dangerous.”

“More than you know. He’s the Ghost Driver.”

“No way! Him?”

“That’s right. And right now he’s on the run with a hostage on board.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious. Will you help me catch him?”

“Me?” Bill said, his voice rising. “Now? In this?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. Please, we have to do this fast.”

“But—”

“I can’t tell you anything else. This is all extremely confidential. I’m desperate. Please!” Gavin tried very hard not to
think about the fact he was asking to go into the air in a glorified kite with a motor. All he could focus on was Amy.

Bill took a brief pause to frown suspiciously. “Why would this be confidential?”

“That’s also confidential.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever. You don’t have to explain yourself. A ride is a ride. Get in!”

“One more thing,” Gavin said, seeing Buck approach with his wooden chest. “There’s two of us.”

Bill turned to see Buck. “Him?”

“Me,” Buck chimed in.

“What’s with the chest?” Bill asked.

“It’s… confidential,” Gavin said with a shrug. “I don’t even know.”

“Weird,” Bill said, nodding. “But three is illegal.”

“I’m a cop.”

“I don’t have any extra helmets.”

“Then don’t crash,” Gavin said, ready to explode with anxiety.

“The extra weight will make takeoff a little harder and our airspeed a bit slower, but we have the power.”

“Then let’s go, already,” Buck said.

“Okay, you get in the seat,” Bill said to Buck. “And you sit in front of his seat, Detective. Hold on tight to the back of
my seat and keep your feet on the mono-float.”

In a few moments all three were snuggly in place. Gavin sat in front of Buck’s feet on a six-inch pipe, the main body of the
plane to which everything appeared to be either bolted or strapped. His fingers dug reflexively into the back of Bill’s seat
as the pilot throttled up. As the ultralight rolled down the rest of the boat ramp, Gavin looked to his left, then wished
he hadn’t. Everyone around was staring at the spectacle. Their expressions mirrored the thought Gavin was desperately denying:
they were doomed. He closed his eyes and prayed. He begged for God’s immediate attention. After all, wasn’t he chasing one
of God’s mistakes? He held his eyelids tightly shut as the roar of the engine behind him grew louder and louder until the
engine was screaming like a dozen lawnmowers and the waves blurred by, slapping with increasing frequency against the frame
in a drumroll of noise. “Please remember Buck is with us on this thing,” Gavin verbally added to his prayer. “He’s on your
side.”

Just then, the barrage of watery noise stopped. Gavin’s eyelids
remained stoically shut. He felt like he was in a confused elevator—weightless, then rising against gravity, then weightless
again. The engine itself continued its steady roar. That was a good sign, he hoped. He cracked open his eyes, although he
refused to look downward, focusing instead on the back of Bill’s white helmet and noting the microphone arm that jutted from
the side.

“How are you doing?” Buck yelled, tapping Gavin on the shoulder.

Gavin released the grip of his right hand just long enough to make an OK sign, then quickly regrabbed.

“We should be able to see them soon, no matter what direction they went,” Bill yelled over his right shoulder, inches from
Gavin’s face.

“Aren’t you ever afraid of this thing crashing?” Gavin yelled back.

“Nah. It’s a lot stronger than it looks. Besides, if there’s a problem, there’s always the ballistic chute,” he said, tapping
a white canister the size of a two-quart soda bottle mounted over his head on the front of the wing. “It fully deploys in
a second and a half with a pull of the lever under my seat. And if that fails, I have a smaller version attached to my vest.
I like to know I can abandon ship if I need to.”

Gavin suddenly wanted his own personal ballistic parachute.