Her Dying Breath (42 page)

“Do you have them?”

“Yes.”

“Send them to Nick’s tablet.” Jake hung up and thanked him, then retrieved Nick’s tablet from the backseat while Nick maneuvered the curves.

Rain began to drizzle down, making visibility on the narrow road difficult. Nick flipped on his defroster and rubbed at the condensation on his window. Headlights from an oncoming car
nearly blinded him, and he flashed his lights, warning the driver to slow down before he killed someone.

Behind him, another car approached, and he decided to keep an eye on it as he veered onto a dirt road leading to the camp.

“I wonder why she came out here,” Jake said, obviously thinking out loud. “Just because it’s deserted?”

Nick shrugged. “Could be. Or maybe the location has some significance to her.”

Jake made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I can’t imagine the Commander sending his subjects to 4-H camps.”

“Me neither. And I can’t see a sadistic man-hating killer playing with 4-H’ers as a little girl.” The headlights on the car behind him fell back some, and the tension in Nick’s shoulders eased slightly.

“Some of the famous serial killers led normal lives as a child,” Jake said as he tapped the screen to accept the incoming photos Deputy Waterstone had sent. “Or at least they seemed normal.”

“You’re right,” Nick said. “Maybe she’s here because she plans to kill us and dump our bodies in the river. It’s so isolated, no one would be the wiser.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

Nick glanced sideways as Jake scrolled through the photographs. Several were shots from personnel files, which included background checks on the employees. But the volunteers’ backgrounds hadn’t been examined as carefully. Another set of photos showcased various social functions with guests and workers mingling.

“Here.” Jake tapped the screen. “Look at this woman.”

Nick gripped the wheel and took a quick look. Jesus. It had to be her.

She had the same intense dark brown eyes, wide cheekbones, black hair as they did.

But her eyes looked vacant, empty, and although she wore a scarf around her neck, he saw the faint telltale markings of a scar.

“That’s her, Seven,” Jake said.

Nick wiped his hand over his mouth to stem the sudden bile in his throat. “If she knows we’re her brothers, she must hate us for not rescuing her.”

Silence fell, thick with horror, regret, and grief.

Jake pointed ahead to a crooked wooden sign carved into a post. “There’s the turnoff.”

The rain continued to drive down, the tires of Nick’s sedan clawing at the wet ground like quicksand.

“Did we camp out here when we were small?” Nick asked.

Jake shot him an odd look. “Once. He left us for three days, and we nearly froze to death.”

Nick swallowed hard. Jake had taken care of him, had shown him how to start a fire with two sticks.

The sedan bounced over the ruts, and the car skidded in the mud. He cut the wheel into the skid, barely missing a tree by inches. Shrubs and foliage flew past. Finally the camp’s huts slid into view.

“Brenda’s car’s by the main lodge,” Jake said, gesturing to the left.

“That Jeep must belong to Seven,” Nick noted.

Nick flipped off the lights and slowed, then parked a few huts down, hoping to go in on foot and surprise the woman holding Brenda hostage. He couldn’t let himself think too much about the fact that she was the sister he thought he’d lost.

You did lose her. To the Commander and his sick, twisted games.

Leaves scattered down in the rain, sticking to the windshield and clogging his wipers as he cut the engine. Nick eased open the car door and stuck one foot out, his hand reaching for his weapon as he scanned the property.

Seven could be holding Brenda in any of the cabins.

“We should divide up,” Jake said. “I’ll check out the huts, and you head toward the lodge.”

Nick nodded brusquely, although he wondered for a brief second if they should stick together. But no telling what Seven was doing to Brenda.

He just prayed they weren’t too late and that she was still alive.

Brenda’s fingers ached from trying to untie the ropes cutting into her wrists. “Why do you think that Arthur Blackwood is my father?”

Seven toyed with the piano wire she’d wrapped around Brenda’s neck. “I heard them talking about you,” she said. “The Commander and the bald chubby man he gave you to.”

The bald chubby man—her adopted father, William Banks.

“They were arguing. The bald man said he would adopt you and keep you safe,” Seven said in a shrill voice. “That he’d raise you as his own.”

A dozen different memories teased Brenda’s mind as Seven pinched the wire into Brenda’s neck, but none of them involved her adopted father knowing Arthur Blackwood.

“But if I was his daughter, why don’t I remember being with him? And who was that woman I was looking for in the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” Seven said again, as if Brenda was an idiot. “But I heard them arguing, and the mayor told him he didn’t need to keep you, that he and his wife would take care of you.”

Brenda shook her head in denial.

“It’s true. He and the senator and the Commander were all friends,” Seven said.

If Seven was telling the truth, then her father—William Banks—had known about the experiments. Had he stood by,
watched and allowed those horrible things to happen to the innocent children of Slaughter Creek?

God…she felt queasy.

“Maybe you misunderstood.”
She had to have misunderstood.

Seven ground the wire tighter into Brenda’s neck.

“That’s the reason you killed the senator’s son?” Brenda asked, mentally piecing together the fragments of the past few days.

Seven released a bitter laugh, her eyes wild, demented. “The senator should die, but killing his precious son hurt him more than losing his own life.”

“Cruel, but true.” Brenda had to keep Seven talking. Surely Nick and Jake would be here soon.

“So what now?” Brenda asked. “You kill me, then Nick and Jake, and then you’re finished?”

An odd expression darkened Seven’s eyes as if she didn’t know how to answer that question. Maybe she didn’t plan on ending her killing spree at all.

Seven didn’t have time to answer, though.

A board creaked, and they both swung around as Nick walked into the room.

Nick’s inventory of the situation did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that had clawed at him when he’d stood outside the lodge and listened to Seven’s rant.

That damn piano wire was wound a little too tightly around Brenda’s neck for comfort.

Seven’s gaze shot to the door behind Nick, then around the room. “Where’s your brother?”

Nick studied his sister, yet she was a stranger.

A killer who had ruthlessly taken several men’s lives.

Her hair was just as dark as his, her eyes as deep a muddy brown. A harshness slashed her features that indicated she’d
suffered at their father’s hands. “It’s just me,” he said, keeping one eye on Brenda, whose face looked pale in the murky light.

“I don’t believe you.” Seven lifted the knife in her hand and placed it against Brenda’s neck. A drop of blood trickled down Brenda’s throat.

“Nick,” Brenda said in a choked whisper. “I’m sorry—”

“You’re wrong, Seven,” he said, knotting his fists at the sight of that blood. “You have it all wrong.”

Challenge glinted Seven’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Brenda is not the Commander’s daughter.”

Brenda gasped. “Nick—”

He saw the anguish in her eyes. “You aren’t,” he said to her. “You may be adopted, but Arthur Blackwood is not your father.”

Seven took a step toward him, waving the knife, the tip red with Brenda’s blood, a reminder that this woman could snap at any time. “You’re lying. I heard them talking, arguing about using her in the experiment—”

“You misunderstood,” he said sharply. “The mayor and senator knew my father, but Brenda isn’t his child.”

“Yes, she is!” Seven cried.

“No. Brenda isn’t the Commander’s little girl, Seven. You are.”

Behind Seven, Brenda’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?” Seven’s voice rasped a denial, but he saw the wheels turning in her head.

“We found your blood on Ron Stowe’s body,” Nick said. “We tested it, and you’re related to me and Jake.” He moved toward her, hoping to slip the knife from her hand. “We thought our sister had died at birth, but we just exhumed the grave, and the coffin was empty.”

Seven’s hand trembled. “He kept me so he could torture me.”

“I know what a monster he is. Everyone in town knows,” Nick said softly. “It’s over, Seven. Just give me the knife, and I’ll see that you get the psychiatric counseling you need.”

Nick reached for the knife, but suddenly a shot rang out. He ducked against the wall, his gun at the ready. Where in the hell had that come from?

Brenda’s chair rattled as she struggled to free herself. Seven ran for the door. Nick started after her, but another shot blasted, the bullet zinging past his face. Brenda leaned sideways to dodge the bullet, and the chair fell to the floor.

Then he saw the blood pooling beneath her.

Dammit. She’d been shot.

P
anic flared in Nick’s chest at the sight of the blood seeping from Brenda’s abdomen. Her face looked gray, but her eyes blazed with courage as he yanked out his pocketknife and cut the ropes tying her to the chair. “Brenda?”

She clutched his arm. “I’m fine. Go after her.”

Except she wasn’t fine, and they both knew it.

He punched 911 and got an operator. “This is Special Agent Nick Blackwood. I need an ambulance at the old 4-H camp. A woman has been shot.” He gave her the address, and she told him to stay on the line, but footsteps clattered, a back door slammed, and Nick realized the shooter had gone out the back.

He had to catch the bastard, so he left the phone beside Brenda. “Hang in there, Brenda. An ambulance is on its way.”

Where the hell was Jake?

He gave Brenda a quick kiss, then jumped up and ran toward the back. Jake bumped into him on his way out, and was rubbing the back of his head.

“Some bastard coldcocked me by one of the huts.”

“He shot Brenda and went out the back. Go after him.”

“How about Brenda?”

“I’ll stay with her. An ambulance is on its way.”

A car engine rumbled somewhere to the right. Nick tossed Jake his keys. Seven’s Jeep was already gone.

“I’ll issue an APB for Seven’s Jeep,” Jake yelled as he darted to the car. A second later, he jumped in and sped off, gravel spewing behind him.

Nick cursed and ran back inside. His heart hammered with fear as he crossed the room to Brenda. She lay on her side, the pool of blood growing larger.

He yanked off his jacket and shirt, then his T-shirt, balled it up, and pressed it to her abdomen.

“Did you catch her?” Brenda whispered.

“No, she’s gone. Jake’s chasing the shooter.” He pulled his shirt and jacket back on, then smoothed a strand of hair from Brenda’s face and gently unwound the piano wire from her neck. Grooves where the wire had cut into her throat looked raw, and she gasped for air as he peeled it away.