Love at First Sight (18 page)

She stared down at Brad Baxter’s photo and realized what it was about him that caused her to recognize him as the same man she’d seen only briefly before. His ears. They were good-size and stood out from his head in a way that she hadn’t realized made him very recognizable. Even in silhouette.

“Where is he?” Annette asked as she took the photograph back.

She looked up at her. “Where is who?”

“My brother.”

Karen slipped closer to the fireplace. “I have no idea.” She bumped into the stone with her heel.

“He isn’t here?” Annette glanced around nervously and Karen took that moment of distraction to reach behind her and feel for the poker.

“Why would he be
here?
” Karen asked and darted a look toward the bedroom.

It worked. Annette followed her gaze in that direction, giving Karen the opening she needed. She gripped the poker firmly and swung. It was only a glancing blow, but enough to knock Annette out. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped, the gun and cell phone clattering to the floor next to her.

Karen held the poker, waiting to see if the woman moved. When Annette didn’t, Karen exchanged the poker for the gun and cell phone.

Holding the gun on her, hands trembling, Karen punched in 911. Thunder boomed overhead. Rain pounded at the window. It took her a moment to realize that the number wasn’t ringing. She tried again without any luck. The tower must have gone down in the storm.

She looked down at Annette, not knowing what to do. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine Annette killing Liz. Or clobbering Howie with a rock. But then, before a few minutes ago, she couldn’t have imagined the woman holding a gun on her, either.

Annette still hadn’t moved, but Karen couldn’t trust that the woman wouldn’t come to soon. Tossing the cell phone aside, Karen pulled down the cord from the drapes and tied Annette’s hands and feet, keeping the gun nearby just in case.

When she’d finished, Karen noticed the gun. She stared in disbelief. It wasn’t loaded. Why had Annette come all the way up here to threaten her with an empty gun?

Something hit the window. She looked up startled. Raindrops began to beat against the glass. Wind rattled the panes as the sky darkened and thunder rumbled off in the distance.

For a moment, Karen stood frozen, afraid to move, too confused to know what to do if she did move.

She’d have to get Howie help. She had to get them both out of here. Now. Annette would have driven. Her car must be just down the road. Karen fished through the contents of Annette’s purse. No car keys. Then checked Annette’s pockets. She must have left the keys in the car.

She checked to make sure Annette’s feet and hands were still bound tightly enough, then started for the door, wondering what had made the woman think her brother would be here?

Karen opened the front door hesitantly, not sure who or what she’d find outside waiting for her. The sky had
turned a bruised and angry blue-black. Rain dropped in a torrent. She could see her breath but little else through the cloudburst. It was now or never.

As she stepped off the porch, she ran toward the road as if the bogeyman were after her. For all she knew, he was.

O
UT OF BREATH
and drenched from the rain, Jack slowed as he neared his cousin Howard’s black sports car parked beside the road. Howard hadn’t driven all the way up the mountain. Not that Jack could blame him. The road only got worse closer to the lodge and Howard drove one of those expensive two-seaters. Jack realized that Howard had probably been lucky to get this far.

Jack had passed him that morning farther down the road, assuring himself that Howard was the perfect person to leave with Karen. His cousin had a black belt in karate, although you’d never know it based on his chosen profession—floral design.

As Jack drew closer to Howard’s car, he saw something that escalated his already rocking fear. All four of the tires had been flattened.

Jack started past the car at a run again. Ahead he could see that there was another vehicle parked up the road. He didn’t recognize it and realized Baxter would have ditched the cop car for something less conspicuous.

Jack had only gone a few yards when he heard a sound off to his right. He turned, but not quickly enough. Something hard and cold struck his temple. He saw a flash, like fireworks, then nothing. His last memory was of hitting the ground, hard.

T
HE MOMENT
K
AREN SAW
the red four-wheel-drive car parked a short way from the lodge, hidden in the trees, she knew it had to be Annette’s. She raced to it, jerked open the door and leaped in, locking the door behind her.

Rain pounded at the glass, blurring everything beyond the windows. She reached around the steering column for the keys. They weren’t in the ignition.

She stared, uncomprehending. If Annette didn’t have the keys on her, and they weren’t in her purse or the ignition… She spotted them in the little tray in the console and clawed them out, fighting tears.

She could fall apart later. Not now. Not yet. Shaking from the cold and the fear and the relief, she got the right key into the ignition. The car started. She closed her eyes for an instant in silent thanks. Everything was going to be all right now. As long as she didn’t think about Jack and the pain that came with it. As long as she didn’t think that there was a killer still after her.

She shifted into gear, determined to drive this rig up as close to Howie as she could. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to load his dead weight— Bad choice of words. He was still alive. He had to be.

She pulled up to the end of the wall, then bracing herself against the cold, slipped out, leaving the engine running, and hurried along the wall to where she’d left Howie, still wondering how she’d get him into the car.

It wasn’t something she was going to have to worry about.

Howie was gone.

“Howie!” she shouted, glancing around for him. The rain must have revived him. Would he head for the lodge?

She looked toward the lodge, then back at the spot where she’d found him lying. The rock that had had the blood on it was still there. A few feet away, she saw Howie’s hat, rain-drenched and lying in a puddle. On past it, she saw the drag marks. Heel prints in the mud.

Her gaze followed the marks up the mountain, stopping on the one black loafer, lying on its side in the rain.

Oh, God. She felt her legs turn to water. Her head swam as she realized what she was seeing. Someone had dragged Howie’s body up the mountainside. It couldn’t have been Annette. She wasn’t strong enough.

Karen turned and felt as if she were running in quicksand. The car. If she could just reach it. She could get out of here and get help.

She reached the car again, jerked open the door and threw herself in, using the power lock to lock all four doors.

For a moment, she didn’t move, just sat breathing hard. Rain pounded on the roof like a steel drum and the thunder moved closer, louder, more ominous. Maybe that was why she didn’t realize at first that something had changed.

The car engine was no longer running. She reached to start it again.

The keys were gone.

Karen sat perfectly straight, not moving, not breathing, fighting the panic that had her heart ready to burst from her chest.

He was behind her.

In the backseat.

She could hear him breathing. Just like she’d heard him breathing on the phone when he’d called her number, after he’d killed Liz Jones.

She fought the urge to look in the rearview mirror. To face her killer. To face her fate.

She forced her gaze down to her hands. They lay in her lap, shaking. She knew she’d never reach the door handle, throw the door open and get out before he grabbed her.

He was playing with her. He could have killed her several times over. He wanted to make her suffer first.
Just as he was doing right now. Waiting. Watching her. Enjoying her pain. Tasting her fear.

Anger numbed the fear. She let only her gaze shift away from her lap to the console between the plush seats. Something glittered between the seat and console in the dull light. She saw that it was one of those anti-car-theft devices, a foot-long metal rod.

She took a breath, knowing he was waiting for her to try to escape. He would be anticipating it. But she knew he would never let her get out of the car. If he could help it.

She began to cry softly, finding the tears more easily than she would have liked. He’d like tears. She would give him that—if it bought her the few precious seconds she needed.

Her hand dropped over the cold steel rod at the same time she glanced in the rearview mirror. All she saw was his head, covered in the hood of a dark-colored sweatshirt—and his eyes looking out of the cloaked darkness.

The moment she saw the glitter of the malevolence in his gaze, she knew this was what he’d really been waiting for. He wanted to see her terror when she saw him, when she realized he was right behind her, waiting to kill her.

His arms came over the seat for her. Just as his hands grasped for her, she clutched the metal bar, and swinging her right arm back through the space between the seats, drove the end into his ribs as hard as she could, catching him by surprise. He let out an
Umfph!

She struck him again. Harder. She felt the steel connect solidly with his ribs, heard a sharp loud crack
and a satisfying cry of pain. He recoiled, the dark shadow of his arms above her retreating. Temporarily.

She unlocked her door and threw it open, then hurled herself out into the rain again. She landed on her hands and knees. Scrambled to her feet and ran blindly down the road, the steel bar still in her hand. She wanted to keep running and never look back. But it was miles to the nearest paved road. Miles to the nearest house.

She slowed, fighting panic. Think, Karen. Think. She stopped running and spun around, raising the rod to strike, expecting to find the killer right behind her.

All she saw was rain and the stormy darkness as she stared back up the mountain. The driver’s side door was still ajar, the overhead light shining through the rain. The car appeared empty.

She heard a branch break below her down the mountain. She listened. Another crack. Someone was just below her on the road.

She turned and ran back toward the lodge, remembering something she’d seen in the chalet farther up the mountain. An old double-barreled shotgun and a half-empty box of shells.

She worked her way through the trees and the rain, watching for movement. Where was he? Still in the car? Somehow she doubted that. Just like she doubted he would just leave now. Leave her alone. He couldn’t do that, could he?

The thunder drowned out any sound she made. But it also made it impossible for her to hear someone sneaking up on her.

She reached the side of the chalet and stood back
against the rough rock, trying to catch her breath. Through the rain she thought she saw something move near the ski lodge. She stared until her eyes ached but saw nothing.

Hurriedly, she slipped around the building and into the dark chalet. She didn’t dare turn on a light and give herself away.

She felt around, her fingers falling on the cold steel of the shotgun. She clutched it to her breast and felt for the shells.

Six left. She stuffed four in her pocket. Breaking the shotgun open over her thigh, she pushed the remaining two shells into the old double-barrel and snapped it shut.

She took a breath, held it as she listened for any sounds beside the drumming of the rain on the chalet roof. She debated waiting here for him, letting him come to her. There were places she could hide in the chalet. But for how long?

Suddenly the sound of the generator filled the air. A light came on high in the rafters of the chalet, spilling down on her. Exposing her. Making her an easy target.

He was right here with her.

She spun around, raising the shotgun, afraid she wouldn’t be able to get a shot off in time before he was on her.

Nothing moved. Nothing, because, she remembered belatedly, when an outside light was turned on at the lodge on the mountain below her, this one came on in the chalet.

She lowered the shotgun and hunkered against the
wall for a moment, trying to chase down her heart. She knew she’d have to either do something about the light or take her chances outside in the dark.

She had no idea where the light switch might be nor did she have time to look for it. Hurriedly, she looked around for something small and heavy, and spied a can with an assortment of large rusted bolts. Setting down the shotgun reluctantly, she hefted one of the larger bolts and taking aim, threw it at the naked lightbulb in the rafters.

The bolt missed, showering her with dust and dirt. She picked up another bolt, this one larger. Calmly. A confirmed tomboy like herself should be able to do this. She threw. The lightbulb shattered, showering her covered head with broken glass this time—and blessed darkness.

He’d see the light go out and know where she was. But she’d have a much better chance in the dark. And no matter where she hid, he was going to come looking for her. She didn’t try to fool herself about that.

She picked up the shotgun again, deciding she would stay in the chalet and wait for him.

But then she heard something over the storm and the thump of the gas generator. The strange chilling sound of metal scraping against metal. It took her a moment to realize what it was.

The chairlift. He’d started it up. She could see the shadow of a chair inching slowly past the dirty chalet window in the rain.

Why had he started the chairlift? The lift ran from below the lodge up the mountainside, right past the chalet where the chairs dropped low enough that skiers
would have been able to get off—or continue on up the mountain to the top.

Was he riding the lift up the mountain to her? Why? Had she hurt him that badly? Or was this just another way to torment her?

He didn’t know she had a weapon. Maybe he
would
be arrogant enough to ride the lift to her.

Cautiously, she opened the door and stepped out into the rain. The chairlift groaned even louder out here. She stared at it, surprised it still worked.

The chairs rocked with the snail’s pace motion, dark against the storm. She could see them creeping up the mountain, headed for her.

Another bolt of lightning eerily illuminated the string of chairs. With a start, she saw that one of the chairs coming up the mountain had someone on it. Just as she’d expected. He was riding right to her.

Her first instinct was to run. But how far would she get before he jumped off and came after her? Worse yet, he would be able to see from up there. He’d know where she’d gone. It was just a matter of time before she’d have to face him.

She stayed in the shadow of the chalet and waited for the dark figure on the chairlift to come to her.

She was shaking so hard, she wasn’t sure she would be able to pull the trigger, let alone hit him. She made a swipe at her eyes with her sleeve.
Get control. Get tough. Think about Jack.
But along with her anger at Jack came a terrible sadness that was almost her undoing. It wasn’t bad enough that the man she loved had lied and betrayed her. She was about to face a killer. Alone.

She brushed at the tears that mixed with the rain, knowing she couldn’t give in to her pain. She stared at the figure through the rain. He sat on the chair that inched toward her, one leg propped up against the far side of the chair, the other dangling down. Casual. As if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

She stayed in the shadow of the building, not wanting to give herself away. Not yet. Wait until he saw the shotgun. Wait until she pulled the trigger.

He didn’t move on the chair. Just kept coming, slowly, ever so slowly, the chair grinding almost in pain as it creaked closer and closer.

It was almost to her when she stepped directly into the chair’s path, lifting the shotgun, ready to fire.

Lightning splintered the sky in a burst of blinding light that cracked like a gunshot.

Karen flinched, her finger on the trigger, as she focused on the figure riding the chairlift. Ready to fire.

But in that instant of intense light she saw something that changed everything. White crew socks illuminated in that burst of storm energy. White socks. And one black penny loafer.

The killer came at her from behind, his breath ragged as if he’d run up the mountain. But there was no weakness to the arm he clamped around her neck, imprisoning her in a headlock. Strong. Unforgiving. She stumbled, the shotgun slipping from her hands and sliding down the mountainside into the rain and darkness as she reached up to claw at his arm.

An animal cry tore from his throat, almost a cheer. He had her. She wasn’t getting away. Not again.

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he demanded in a fierce hoarse whisper. “You have destroyed me. Ruined my life. Hunted me down like a dog. Now you’re going to die.”

J
ACK CAME UP
out of the blackness of unconsciousness. His head ached. He pushed himself up on all fours, the rain running down into his eyes. Rain and blood, he realized, as he touched his head and his fingers came away sticky.

Karen. He stumbled to his feet, his vision blurring for a moment as he fought to keep upright. He felt lightheaded. Off balance. And strangely naked.

He felt under his arm, against his ribs. The holster was empty. The gun gone.

T
HE CHAIRLIFT
continued to groan, the chair with Howie in it rocking as it moved toward Karen and the killer.

She could see Howie now, his face pale, his body slumped in the seat, one leg up against the far side of the chair, the other with the one missing black loafer dangling lifelessly as the chair inched nearer.

Karen realized the chair with Howie on it would hit her and the killer if they didn’t move.

Close to her ear, she heard the killer chuckle as she fought to free herself from his hold, but even as she tore at his sweatshirt-jacketed arm and his face with her hands and kicked back at him, she knew her efforts were wasted. He was too strong for her. Too determined to kill her.

He tightened his hold, cutting off her air. She couldn’t
breathe. Couldn’t speak. Blinded by the rain and her own tears, she thought of Jack. She wanted him to be her last thought. Her best thought. It didn’t matter now that he didn’t love her. She loved him. And it was all she had now.

Lightning splintered the sky like a flashbulb going off in her face. Thunder came on its heels, earsplittingly loud. In that fraction of a second, she saw him. And she knew he’d seen her. Miraculously, Jack was coming up the mountainside as if her love for him had made him appear.

But at the same time, she realized he’d never be able to reach her in time. Darkness was closing in. She needed air. Desperately.

She struggled, knowing the man behind her was enjoying making her suffer. He wouldn’t let her die easily—or quickly. She hoped.

Howie’s chair was almost to them. The killer seemed to realize that they were about to be hit if they didn’t move.

Just as he started to drag her back, she lunged for Howie. Wrapping her arms around his shoeless leg, she pulled with every ounce of strength left in her.

Howie’s inert body didn’t budge, as if he were bolted down to the chair, and for one heart-stopping moment, Karen thought her last-ditch effort had been wasted.

Her vision narrowed to only a pinpoint of light. Her lungs cried out for air as she teetered close to passing out. The arm around her neck tightened as the killer tried to pull her back, but she held tight to Howie’s leg, the chair rocking.

Then when she didn’t think she could hold on any longer, she felt Howie’s body give a little. He came
crashing down on her, breaking the killer’s hold on her as they all three fell to the wet ground.

Karen heard the swinging chair hit something with a thud. The killer let out a curse. She fought for air, the darkness refusing to relent to the light. She could hear her attacker struggling nearby. As her vision began to clear, she could see two figures, limbs entangled. Air filled her lungs and she sucked in huge gulps.

As her attacker tried to free himself of Howie’s inert body, he groaned and she realized she
had
injured him earlier in the car. He was holding his ribs.

She tried to get to her feet, gasping for breath, her throat on fire. His hood still shadowed his face as he finally managed to throw Howie off and lunge through the pouring rain for her.

She scrambled to get away from him. But she didn’t move fast enough or far enough. He caught her ankle and dragged her toward him. She kicked furiously at him, hoping to connect with his injured ribs.

Suddenly Jack appeared behind the killer. She saw him lift the chunk of wood in his hands and bring it down. The killer’s grip on her ankle loosened as the wood struck him in the shoulder, but he didn’t go down. He shoved Karen out of the way as he turned to launch himself at Jack.

She fell back, tumbling and sliding down the hill, finally coming to rest against a tree stump. Above her the two wrestled beneath the chairlift. She scrambled back up on hands and knees toward them.