Hanson slammed the van door, gunned the engine, and set off with a squeal of tires. He struck the steering wheel with his fist. ‘Motherfucking police van,’ he shouted angrily and she cringed until she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was just mad. ‘Of all the fucking vans. Goddammit.’
He hadn’t intended to steal a police van, she thought. He hadn’t known this was a police van. So he probably doesn’t know I’m back here. God, please don’t let him know.
He grabbed the radio. ‘This is Detective Currie,’ he lied. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t need those emergency services after all. It was a false alarm.’
Meredith nearly shouted for help, but as soon as he detected her presence she’d be dead. So she kept quiet as he switched off the radio, pulled the handset out of the dashboard, and tossed it to the passenger seat.
Her body jerked when her phone buzzed in her hand with a text from Wendi. Shane talking to Linnie. Looks hopeful he can get her to surrender the baby. U ok?
A sob built in her throat and she swallowed it back. No. No, I’m not okay. Hands shaking, she replied. Help. Hanson has me. In the van. Alone. Nash Currie hurt.
She quickly checked that her phone was on silent. Hanson was driving faster than Nash had been. There was more car noise, so she doubted he’d hear her phone. It was worth the risk. She dialed 911 and slid the phone under the captain’s seat that still shielded her from view. She didn’t dare speak to the operator, but hopefully they’d be able to track her signal. In case she didn’t kill Hanson with the first shot.
She crunched her body close to the wall of the van on the driver’s side, stealing a look between the wall and the side of the chair. But her hands were shaking. Just like in the parking lot of the hospital when she’d fired and fired and the man had kept coming. The man. Wyatt Hanson’s uncle. Panic clawed at her throat and she dug deep for just a little calm.
Balancing the gun on the armrest of the captain’s chair in front of her, she aimed for his neck, the only piece of skin she could see from this angle. Relax. Pretend you are at the target range with Kate and Scarlett.
Who I’m never going to see again.
Stop it. Stop. It. Relax. For Adam. Don’t make him find your body.
She squeezed the trigger—
She was tossed to the right side when he made an erratic turn, her shot hitting the van’s wall. A second shot followed hers by a second. His shot. He’d seen her. God.
Fire burned up her right arm and she looked up to see his arm extended back from the seat, the gun still in hand. He’d deliberately swerved to toss her body between the seats.
Move. Get cover. She scrambled behind the captain chair on the right, able to get a better shot now, anyway. Except her arm was shaking. Because she was bleeding. A lot.
She hoped the dispatch operator hadn’t believed Hanson’s lies of a false alarm. But even if they did believe him, Wendi would have called the police by now and Isenberg’s people would be in pursuit. She knew that.
So stop Hanson. Give Adam time to catch up. Don’t make him find your body.
Gritting her teeth, she used the uninjured arm to pull herself to a sitting position, gripping the gun in her left hand. Because her right arm wasn’t moving. At all.
Closing one eye, she aimed and fired. A sharp cry was her reward. She fired again and the van lurched to the right, throwing her to the floor and sending her gun sliding to the front of the van as they came to an abrupt halt in a cacophony of squealing brakes and crunching metal.
There was quiet then. Absolute quiet for several beats of her heart.
Is he dead? Please, God, let him be dead.
She pulled herself to a sitting position once again. She had to blink hard, unable to see. She wiped her hand over her eyes and it came back red. She was bleeding from her head now. That sucks.
An acrid smell burned her nose. The airbag, she thought. Fuck it. The fucking airbag had probably saved his miserable life.
Then she heard a creak of vinyl a few feet forward. Sonofabitch.
He wasn’t dead. Goddammit. He’d climbed over the center console and was coming for her. His nose was gushing. At least the airbag had broken his nose.
But hell, all that blood . . .
‘Hope you didn’t have unprotected sex with Linnie,’ she found herself saying.
Even through the blood in her eyes, she could see the rage burning in his. ‘You fucking cunt.’ He spat a mouthful of blood toward her, but it hit the captain’s chair in front of her. ‘I am going to gut you.’
‘Like Butch gutted Paula?’ she asked and he grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth.
‘Just like her.’
She scrabbled back, frantically searching for something to use in her own defense. Where are you, Adam?
‘Why?’ she asked, running her hand over the floor, finding nothing. ‘Why did you kill her?’
‘To hurt him, of course.’ He loomed, staring down at her. ‘Why else?’
‘Why?’ Her fingers closed over something small, thin, and metal. Ah! She recognized it by touch. Smooth, except for brief etchings. They’d be hearts. The pen would be pink. Thank you, God. She gripped it in her fist, just as she’d practiced. ‘Why torment him?’
He shook his head and reached for her. Grabbing her bulky bulletproof vest in both hands, he dragged her to her feet. ‘I’m going to slit your throat and gut you and leave you for him to find.’
No. It will kill him. But she forced herself to smile. ‘He’s stronger than you think. He’s a lot stronger than you are.’
She cried out when his fist connected with her jaw. ‘Shut up,’ he snarled.
Now. Now. Gripping the pen in her left hand, she arced her arm upward with all the force she could muster. He grabbed her wrist, twisting away before she struck his throat, but his startled yelp told she’d hit something. More blood gushed from his face where the pen had ripped his skin, and he gripped her vest tighter, yanking her to the van door. He tore the pen from her hand, shoved the door open, and dragged her out into the cold air and down an embankment.
They’d gone off the road and hit a tree, the hood of the van crushed and mangled. It could have been worse, because fifty feet ahead was a bridge spanning the valley between two steep hills. If Hanson had been going a little bit faster, if he’d lost control a little bit later, they would have gone off the bridge. They wouldn’t have walked away from that.
New panic pushed away any relief when she looked up. The van blocked her view of the road. And, she assumed, blocked anyone’s view of her.
Nobody can see me down here. Nobody will know I’m here.
But they’ll see the van, she told herself. They’ll be looking for the—
With a loud growl Hanson tossed her pen aside and dragged her toward the underpass beneath the bridge, then threw her to the ground, her head hitting hard concrete. She blinked up at him, unable to see clearly. There was still too much blood in her eyes. Stay focused. Keep him talking. Give Adam time to find you.
‘Who was she?’ she demanded, scrabbling back. ‘Paula? Who was she?’
He advanced toward her and she ran, but tripped and went down. Her shoes came off, the cold concrete burning her stocking-covered feet. He grabbed at her but she rolled away, grabbing for one of her shoes, now covered in mud.
But with a stiletto heel.
‘Fucking bitch.’ Clutching her vest, he shoved her to her back, his fingers closing over her throat. Panicking, she sliced with one of the shoes.
He yelped and released her.
Yes. She’d caught his broken nose with the heel. But it didn’t hurt him enough. He grabbed the shoe and threw it away, then his boot came down on the hand that had wielded the shoe and she cried out in pain.
‘Who was she?’ she demanded again. If nothing else, she could find this out for Adam. Because he’d be coming for her.
Hanson leaned down, getting in her face. ‘She was nobody.’
‘No. She was a child. Where did she come from?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘You’ll die wondering.’