They All Fall Down (30 page)

“If you’d done your research, you would have seen that many of the girls on the list fall into the category of not so hot, but so very … vulnerable. Like you, they also have weaknesses and tendencies and allergies and histories. I’m very careful who I pick. Turn here. Right here. And use your signal. I see the damn cop.”

I follow the orders and we head back up a hill, away from the bridge. That’s good news. The bad news: the cop doesn’t follow.

“Stay on this road. I have another plan.”

Of course he does. “Where are we going?”

“No more questions. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Doing what?”

“You escaped the cut brakes, you found the gas leak, and I
couldn’t flatten you on your bike. But your luck has run out.
Memento mori, Quinte. Memento mori
.”

I don’t have to dig too deep into my translation well for that one.
Remember to die
 … or, figuratively,
remember you’re going to die
. Yeah, how could I forget?

CHAPTER XXX

I
’m not completely surprised when Jarvis directs me to Nacht Woods, although we’re far from the Collier property. This section of the woods is at least a mile from any homes, a desolate and dense forest that only the most seasoned hiker would attempt to enter. I don’t know what to expect, except that it can’t be good.

Next to me, Molly grunts softly, surely coming out of her sleep. Two of us can take him down. Molly and I can silently communicate and beat this nutcase at his game … unless he kills her first.

No matter what, I have to protect Molly. I have to outsmart him because he might be crazy, but he’s smart. That’s what I have to be, too.

“Up that hill,” he orders. “Cut through those trees and find the path.”

My lights slice through the densest section of evergreens. “Through them?”

“You’ll make it. Might scratch your pal’s nice ride, but she and her car are about to go through worse.”

Not if I can stop you
.

But how? I have to gun it to get up a steep embankment, the path carpeted with slick leaves that make the tires skid. I manage the climb and cringe when the needles scrape over the car like nails on a chalkboard.

Then I realize we’re driving up to Stony Creek Cliff, the very place a hiker was …

“Stephanie Kurtz.” The woman’s name pops into my head and out of my mouth. She wasn’t a teenager, but a young mother who graduated from Vienna High and had probably been on the list.

“Mmm. That was a good one. A flawless accident, orchestrated with perfection.”

To fall off the cliff onto the rocks of the creek below?

“I called her
Septime
.”

I don’t get it. “You mean you killed seven that year?” I can hear the breathlessness in my voice. “Women who were once on the list?”

“I didn’t kill her,” he says. “I merely choreographed that one and let one of the trainees take the credit. This year’s different.”

“How? Because everyone dies? In order?”

“Getting the order right is just, shall we say, a flourish on my signature. Not as necessary as getting all ten taken care of.”

“Why?” I choke out the question.

“Let’s just say the stakes in my business got higher, and I have something to prove to get a promotion.”

“You kill people to get a promotion?”

That makes him laugh. “I kill people for a living, Quinte. I do it better, cleaner, and faster than anyone else and I get the promotion. It’s really like any other job.”

It’s his job. Sick to my stomach, I force myself to focus on all that matters right now: staying alive and saving Molly. And then … Levi. I have to find him, too.

I cling to those goals and inch the car up the glasslike surface of stone and rock, heading toward the embankment about fifteen feet over Stony Creek.

In my pocket, my cell phone vibrates.

“Give it to me,” he says.

Can I swerve the car when I reach into my pocket? Is this my chance? When he reads the phone? Or should I press the call button when I hand it to him and have whoever is calling hear what’s happening so at least someone will know the truth?

“Why are you doing this? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I practically scream the questions that won’t stop.

“Death is an illusion,
Quinte
. At least, mine was, allowing me total freedom. Give me your damn phone. Now!”

I reach for the phone and swerve to the left. In an instant, Jarvis pulls up Molly’s limp body with one hand, the knife poised at her throat with the other.

“Don’t make me ruin a perfect record,
Quinte
! I will do what I have to do.”

Shaking, I manage to dig the phone from my pocket and hold it up. He drops Molly and grabs the phone before I have any chance of hitting the screen.

Wordlessly, he uses his free hand to open the window, and my phone goes sailing out.

We’re nearing the top of the cliff and the road roughens and flattens. Ahead of us is … nothing. A long drop straight down that we’ll never survive.

“Put the car in neutral,” he demands.

I do, my mind whirring with possibilities of how to escape this, coming up with none. He has to get out of the car at some point if I’m going to drive it over the cliff, right? That’s why he wants the car in neutral—so I can’t back up and drive down the hill in reverse.

But I can try.

“Get in the backseat,” he orders.

I don’t move, thinking too hard about my options.

“Move it!”

His command is loud enough to make Molly stir and shift in her seat. Oh my God, these might be her last moments alive. All because of me.

I open the car door and he does the same. Okay, now Molly’s not in danger. Well, not from a knife, anyway.

Jarvis is over six feet tall, and strong. I don’t stand a chance against him and his knife. I have to look up at him, way up, and when I do, I meet the ice-blue eyes of a killer.

“Okay,” he says. “This can work but we have to think about how the evidence looks when they investigate.” He’s nodding, calmly thinking things through. Why can’t I be that calm? Instead, my whole body is quivering and my brain is flat-lining.

“Sure, there will be evidence of a murder,” he continues. “The one
you
committed. And then you’ll jump off the cliff in remorse.” He tapers his eyes to angry slits. “I’ll still prove my point to them.”

To who?

“
Nihil relinquere et nihil vestigi
. That’s how we work.”

“Who is that?”

His smile is slow.
“Sicarii.”

Assassins
.

Before my next breath, he grabs my arm and whips me away. I go sliding on the slick surface, tumbling face-first, my hands slapping hard right before the rest of me does. I lift my head just as he’s pushing the car, standing behind it and giving it a solid shove to send Molly to her death.

I swallow my scream, instinctively knowing that will only make him more determined, and vault to my feet just as the car starts to move and the two front tires pop over the edge of the cliff.

He sees me, but if he stabs me to death, then his setup of a murder-suicide won’t work. So I run full force toward him. He turns, straightening the blade and aiming it right at my stomach. His face is contorted in frustration and fury at how I’m testing him and messing with his plans.

I keep plowing forward, straight at that blade, imagining how it’s going to feel, cold and sharp.

The world’s in slow motion—my feet stomping over the leaves and stone, the cold air whooshing over my face, the deadly expression in his eyes as I reach him. In the distance, muffled, a girl screams. Molly!

“Damn you!” He flips the knife away and I pounce, surprising him and getting help from the slippery leaves. Off balance, he slides down, his full weight on top of me.

I hear something hit the ground and know it’s the knife. At least he can’t stab me, I think, as his knee slams into my gut. I
let out a grunt of pain, then reach up to grab his hair and pull like hell.

He’s swearing as his fist slams into my face, and I can hear my jaw crack. I don’t care. Break my face. Break my body. I just have to fight him long enough for Molly to get out.

Is she awake? Coherent?
Come on, Molls!

He gets his hands on my throat and I feel him squeeze, then relax, anger flashing in his eyes, and I know why. He can’t kill me like this. It will ruin his plan.

I manage to grab his shoulders and push him off, then try to scramble away. I don’t get far. He lifts both legs and aims right at the VW’s bumper. With another solid shove, I hear the undercarriage scrape against the side of the cliff.

I flail sideways to get away, but he snags my arm and drags me closer, something jabbing hard into my hip on the way. Not something, the knife. The knife is under me.

Once more, he slams me onto my back, my head whacking against the stone. I see stars for a second, but manage to get the fingers of my right hand around the knife handle.

“I don’t care.” He grinds out the words as his hands close on my throat. “I don’t care if it costs me everything.”

He squeezes my neck, instantly cutting off my air. I have seconds, if that. There’s no pain, just relentless, blinding pressure.

“You will
not
ruin this for me! I’ve worked too hard, too long, given up too much.
Morere, Quinte! Morere!
”

“No!” I rasp and choke as I lift the knife, twisting my wrist. “I will not die!” I thrust the knife with all my strength, aiming for his neck and nailing it, blood splattering all over me as the blade slides into his flesh.

He shoves my hand away and kicks backward, the screech of the car sliding farther over the cliff almost drowning out his gurgled cry of disbelief. I push him off and this time it’s easier, my effort rewarded by him rolling away.

I slam my hands on the ground and push myself up, just in time to see the car teetering at the edge.

“Molly!”

The car is tipping forward, sliding and dragging to the edge just as I see the passenger door fly open. I scramble forward as the car teeters and Molly rolls out of the side onto the ground. I manage to reach out and snag her hand, pulling her away just as the VW loses the fight with gravity and goes headlong down to the boulders of the creek below.

Tears are streaming down her face, her eyes vacant and shocked as she suddenly leans over and retches.

I whip around frantically, certain Jarvis will be coming after both of us now, and freeze. Nothing.

He’s gone. Absolutely … disappeared, like a ghost. Who took his knife with him. Of course he did—he’s an assassin.

And he’s not the only one.
Sicarii
is plural.

“I’m dying!” Molly rolls into a ball but I immediately grab her arm.

“Not on my watch.” I pull her up, not caring that she’s stumbling. “Run!”

“I need to barf!” She clutches her stomach and gags again but I refuse to wait.

“Barf and run,” I tell her, wrenching her arm and practically dragging her to the bottom of the hill.

“Kenzie …” She moans but staggers along as I squint into the darkness. I can’t see two feet in front of me and Molly can barely walk, let alone run.

“Just be quiet, Molly,” I tell her. “Don’t make noise if you can help it, and force yourself to run.”

She folds over again, her knees buckling. “Can’t. Sick.” She pukes again and my heart rips in half, but I don’t give in to the urge to comfort her.

“Come on, Molly.”

She’s starting to collapse, so I scoop her up by the armpits, making her groan and give me an ineffective swat. “I swear you’ll thank me if we live through this.”

I wrap an arm around her and drag-walk her about twenty or thirty feet, my shoulders already aching from the effort. As we near the middle of the incline, I remember my phone and steal a glance in the general direction of where Jarvis threw it, praying for a miracle.

Like, that it would ring at that moment and I’d see it light up.

“Molly, do you have your phone?”

She shakes her head and moans. “He took it.”

I can’t afford to stop and look for mine, so I stumble us both farther down the hill, hauling Molly, who somehow manages to get one foot in front of the other.

I follow the path as best I can, finally on soft pine needles and not sliding on leaves over stone. After what seems like an eternity but is probably only thirty seconds, I risk stopping, giving Molly a chance to bend over and throw up again. After a second, she moans, wiping her mouth.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Nacht Woods. It’s Jarvis, Molly. He’s not dead. He’s crazy.
He’s some kind of assassin. I stabbed him but he’s not dead.” I seize her arms and squeeze.

“I’m so sick. I’m so …” She closes her eyes as a wave of nausea passes through her. “I can’t.”

“You have to.” I pull her along. “We have to get out of here before he kills us both.”

Her eyes focus enough for me to know I got through to her. “ ’Kay.”

“You can do this,” I tell her. “One foot in front of the other and stay standing.”

She gives me a limp, pathetic nod and I swell with sympathy and regret. I shouldn’t have involved her. She almost died … because of me.

“Come on,” I say again, urging her forward.

She allows me to help her, her arm over my shoulders pressing on my sore neck, still bruised from being strangled.

She’s whimpering in my ear as we head down a path I’m relatively certain will get us back to the road.

I can’t believe I didn’t kill that son of a bitch. How did he get away from me?

The path narrows and there’s another split-off that I don’t remember because I was so distracted when Jarvis made me drive here. Which way do I go? I hesitate just one second and think I hear—no, I
do
hear footsteps. Fast and furious and getting louder.

“Molly,” I whisper frantically. “We have to move.”

She looks at me, silenced for a moment; then her eyes widen as she hears the footsteps, too. We both run a little but the path is narrowing quickly, the trees coming together like a wall of evergreens.