Tatum closed his mouth, but the kids were sobbing uncontrollably. Their crying seemed to be making Jeffrey even angrier. He looked at them, then at the gun on the floor. He took a step toward the gun.
Sitting as he was, Tatum could never make a lunge for the gun and get to it in time. Jeffrey would reach the gun, but he would have to remove the knife from Laura’s throat and crouch to pick the gun up. That would be the only moment that Tatum would be able to act. He tensed, preparing himself for an impossible lunge.
Then the front door opened slowly. And to Tatum’s horror and disbelief, Zoe stood framed in the doorway, raising her empty hands high above her head.
CHAPTER 75
Zoe had seen fragments of the struggle in the house through the window and realized that they had just run out of time. She was out of the car, running to the front door, when she saw Tatum lowering the gun. He had no choice, she knew. He probably planned to stall, hoping for the police to arrive. And perhaps it was the best course of action . . . but Zoe wasn’t sure.
Jeffrey Alston was erratic under pressure. He didn’t think clearly. He might decide to shoot Tatum, Laura, and the kids, then make a run for it. He might cut Laura’s throat just to remove her from the picture. He might even kill Laura by accident.
She forced herself to calm down, to think. She’d spent the last two weeks profiling this man. She knew what made him tick, what he wanted, what he yearned for.
She formed a plan.
She was relieved to find the front door unlocked. When it opened, Jeffrey turned his eyes to her, then back at Tatum, who sat frozen on the floor, then back at her.
“I’m unarmed,” she quickly said, stepping into the house, keeping her hands held up. “I’m closing the door.”
She had to make him feel in control. Had to make him calm down. Right now, he was unpredictable, dangerous, a ticking bomb. She carefully lowered her right hand and pushed the door closed.
“I’ll cut her,” Jeffrey warned, his eyes shifting back and forth. “Put down your gun.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“Like hell you don’t. You’re both police detectives.” His eyes flickered to Tatum, who seemed to shift slightly. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not a police detective,” Zoe said. “I’m a psychologist.”
He snorted. “Like hell you are.”
What he wanted was control. It was always about control and loneliness with him. Especially when it came to women. That was the fuel to his fantasies, and those fantasies dictated his actions. He dreamed about a dead woman, her body never decaying, keeping him company. That’s what spurred him to kill over and over. She had to maneuver herself into his fantasy to take control from him.
“I’m unarmed,” she said again. “I’ll show you.”
Slowly, she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, then the second.
“You should let the woman go,” she said. “You don’t want to go to jail.”
“I’m going to jail anyway. Maybe I should cut her throat just for the hell of it, huh?”
“If you kill her, you won’t be able to take her with you. The cops are on their way. You won’t have time to get her to your car.” She unbuttoned the bottom button and opened the blouse, letting it drop to the floor. She looked at his eyes, searching for excitement, but there was none. She didn’t interest him. She was talking, opinionated, alive. He preferred them dead and silent.
“You won’t even have five minutes of fun with her,” she said, unzipping her skirt, pulling it down slowly and very carefully. He remained standing, watching her as if he were watching a piece of furniture.
This was a man whose imagination ran rampant. She had to give his imagination something to work with.
“I have a better idea for you,” she said.
“Stop talking.”
“Take me instead. I won’t struggle. You won’t need to carry me to get me to your car. I’ll go willingly.” She straightened. She stood in her bra and underwear in front of him, and she knew it was enough for him to believe she was unarmed, that she could stop.
She didn’t stop. Instead, she reached for the clasp of her bra.
“That man over there,” she said, motioning with her head at Tatum, “has a pair of handcuffs. He can handcuff my hands behind my back to make sure I won’t try anything.”
She made a small movement toward Tatum, and Jeffrey’s hand tightened around the knife; his teeth clenched. She stopped.
“When you get me somewhere safe, you can put that strap around my neck and tighten it.”
She removed her left bra strap. Shivers ran up her arms, but she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or pure fear. The right strap followed.
“Once I stop struggling, you’ll be able to have some fun with me. Not just once. Maybe even twice. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”
His eyes flickered, his mouth slightly open. The hand holding the knife was still rigid against Laura’s neck. She shrugged the bra off, hearing it rustle as it hit the floor.
“And then you can do what you need to do for this to last. For us to last. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to lie against you at night? To sit by your side when you eat breakfast in the morning?”
She took a step toward Tatum. And another.
“Someone to love you unconditionally? Can you really do better than me? Is she better than me?”
The knife hand wavered.
“Can you see it, Jeffrey? This mouth, frozen forever, my skin cold, my arms and legs posed however you want them to? Can you picture it in your mind?”
Another step—and another. Always facing him, her eyes locked with him, her movements slow and calculated. She hoped fervently that Jeffrey would keep still. And that the Glock tucked into the waistband of her underwear behind her back wouldn’t tumble down to the floor.
“Every day together. Dressing me. Caressing me. Kissing me. There will finally be someone in your life. Someone who’ll never leave.”
She took another step, and the gun shifted, lowering slightly. Her heart skipped a beat, but it didn’t fall; the underwear band held. She took another step. And another.
“The rest of them were mistakes. I am the real deal.”
She reached Tatum and the kids.
Jeffrey swallowed. “You!” he barked at Tatum. “Handcuff her hands. Slowly.”
Zoe waited, hearing Tatum move behind her. She felt the cold touch of one of the handcuffs tightening around her left wrist. Then she felt the shift of the gun in her underwear. The second cuff tightened around her right wrist.
She took one step forward, carefully hiding Tatum with her body.
“Finally we’ll both have someone to love. Come on, Jeffrey. Let’s leave before the cops get here.”
There was a slight nod, the blade lowering. She took another step forward.
And then she dove to the floor.
There were three consecutive blasts as she hit the hard floor tiles with her shoulder, her cuffed hands unable to stop her fall. There was a jolt of pain, and she felt the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She had bitten her tongue.
She felt someone grab her hands, and there was a click. The pressure of the cuffs was removed from her right hand, and she pulled it out, turning around.
Tatum handed her the key, and she tried to unlock the second cuff. It was hard. Her fingers were trembling.
Sirens screamed close by, and she wanted to sob. Instead, she finally unlocked the cuff, removed it, got up, and hurried to the woman, removing the gag from her mouth in one fast rip. The woman took in a wheezing breath and a sob.
“My children,” she said.
“They’re fine,” Zoe said. “Don’t worry. They’re fine.” She inspected Laura’s throat. It was bleeding, but it was a shallow scratch, no more.
Tatum was crouching by Jeffrey’s body. For a moment Zoe was about to shout at him angrily. They had to untie the family. Then she saw that Jeffrey was coughing blood. He was still alive. Tatum tore the killer’s shirt open. He found a bit of cloth and shoved it against Jeffrey’s bleeding belly.
Zoe blinked and looked at Tatum. He focused on Jeffrey, not looking at her. “You should get dressed. Half the Chicago PD is about to barge in.”