Jo Robertson - The Avenger

A few minutes later, the car eased across gravel and began its steadily increasing speed toward what would surely be Olivia's slow and painful death. Her brain worked feverishly. Where would he take her? Someplace private, isolated. She shivered in the cooling trunk interior.

Howard would want to be alone for whatever he had in mind.

The Judge and Myron Higgins were the only passengers on the plane besides the pilot and copilot. Warren wasn't happy making this unplanned trip to California. He'd given up field assignments years ago, and he was too damn old to start up again, he thought, as he patted the shoulder holster under his arm. But he was still a crack shot and he'd do whatever needed to be done. He scowled and puffed on his cigar.

The Learjet 29 had been specially modified by expanding the long-range fuel tank. The alterations diminished the passenger capacity, but Warren wasn't taking a crew anyway. With a strong tail wind, the plane landed in record time – four hours after leaving Baltimore.

Dr. Davis' recent findings alarmed the Judge. If, as he suspected, Jack was taking mega-doses of the lysergic acid compound, he could be in serious trouble. Damn fool probably wasn't taking the Phens either, which would intensify the problem.

Fortunately, the mad scientist had developed an antidote. Trouble was, Jack needed to take the serum within twelve hours of his last stepped-up dosage of the red pills.

Holt was the best agent Warren had ever recruited, and he had no intention of losing such a valuable commodity.

As soon as they landed at the Sacramento International Airport, he put a call through to the Bigler County Sheriff. When the connection went through, a deep voice barked into the phone. "Slater."

"Sheriff Slater, this is Warren Linders."

A pause during which Warren imagined the Sheriff was putting the name with the position. "What can I do for you, Judge Linders?"

Warren liked the calm, easy-going tone of the Sheriff and the fact that he knew him. It'd make cooperation easier. "I think we can help each other. I need to find Jackson Holt ASAP."

"And that would be because…?"

"I'm gonna save the damn fool's life."

An hour later four of them, including a pretty young ADA, were in a patrol car headed for a reclusive spot where Slater speculated the killer had property. Sheriff had better be right because Warren had no idea where Jack was.

He wanted this ended today. The DLK assignment had gone too damn long.

The sudden absence of noise – the thrum, thrum of the tires on asphalt followed by the crunching of gravel and jarring of wheels dipping in ruts – ceased. The silence was deafening.

Olivia strained to listen, taking in shallow puffs of breath, alert for the tiniest sound, but heard only the smooth, gentle hum of the engine. Nothing else, not even the opening of a door or the crunching of footsteps on gravel or the rustle of leaves in the wind. The anticipation of impending doom held her fixed like a deer caught in headlights.

She tensed her muscles and waited.

Suddenly the engine turned off. She thought she heard the slick whisper of cloth against leather. Slacks sliding across the car seat? Then the slamming of a car door. She tightened her body, gauging how quickly she could lash out at Howard with a strong, swift kick. She curled her hands into themselves, tightened her legs, and readied herself for battle.

Nothing.

She strained again to hear his footsteps. What was he doing standing there? Waiting for something? Someone? Did Howard have an accomplice? Ted Burrows! Was that pervert Ted part of her abduction? She remembered the ugly anger of his threat at the jail house. Was this her payback?

No, couldn't be. No matter what, Slater wouldn't let Ted go free.

After what seemed like endless minutes, she heard the quiet tread of soles on hard ground, the sound diminishing by the moment. He was walking away from the car, away from her. She heard the altered noise of the steps, a crunch and rustling as if he'd walked from packed dirt into leaves or underbrush. The sounds grew fainter and fainter until she couldn't hear anything at all.

Then silence descended like the weight of a boulder on her chest.

The scent assailed Jack's nostrils like a steaming layer of freshly dropped dung. The odor of the killer's blood lust gagged him. Jack had never experienced fear on a mission. Never once since his initial training had he been afraid, not for himself, not for anyone else.

The human part of him wondered what this said about the kind of man he'd become, that he was able to remain completely detached during these hunts. But as Olivia's terror melded with the killer's scent, a terrifying fist of dread choked him. The fear wasn't for himself, but for Olivia, and he knew that his worry for her meant danger to both of them. He pushed the image of Olivia at the mercy of a madman out of his mind. No good would come of going there.

He willed his animal instincts to deepen and strengthen, he beckoned the dark psychosis of the killer's mind, and he plunged into the dank evil of his appetites. Jack compelled himself to conceptualize, explore, and absorb the cabalistic drives of Howard Randolph.

Within a few minutes, the killer's aberrations became Jack's. His hungers invaded Jack's mind and body until the dark urges took over and he was one with the murderer. Now he was ready. Only a few more miles.

Howard hadn't expected such resistance from Olivia. Hadn't anticipated the strength that came out of her small body. He'd left her in the trunk and taken less than thirty minutes to wend his way through the overgrown weeds to the church. Even less time to complete the preparations inside, to gather up the robes, the holy water, and the cloths for the altar. He wanted everything to be perfect for his unblemished sacrifice.

Originally, he hadn't planned on performing the final ritual here – in the church where he'd spent so many childhood hours in the company of his mother and her God. But at some point during his drive from the university to his home in Sequoia Falls, he remembered the unused church, lying on fallow land. He now knew he'd been led here, guided back on his Path.

Another part of his brain, the linear, logical side, screamed that Olivia was not a virgin, not unblemished, but he refused to listen. The base part of his nature found her desirable, and if he succumbed to those appetites, she'd be a whore and end up like the blonde from the bar. No, Olivia was his – the perfect sacrifice.

By the time he returned to where he'd hidden the sedan in a clearing fifteen miles off Highway 70, darkness had deepened and the air had chilled. Dressed as scantily as she was, she'd be cold in the trunk of the car. The image of Olivia half-naked and at his mercy stirred him again, just as the woman from the bar had. No! He banished the lustful thought from his mind. Olivia was the offering, the final immolation that would purge him.

He listened carefully, his ear to the trunk lid and heard deadly quiet. No rustling, no shifting, no breathing. Nothing! Could she have passed out? Suffocated? If she were dead… no, he wouldn't allow himself negative expectations. He needed Olivia alive.

A dead sacrifice was unacceptable.

Carefully, he inserted the key in the lock. Panting hard with anticipation, he turned the key, expecting the slow, gentle spring of the trunk lid as it swung open.

With unexpected force, the truck blasted open.

She attacked him immediately and ferociously. Shoving at his stomach with both feet, she caught him off balance. He never imagined such power in those small feet. He stumbled backward and while he was partially down, she leapt from the truck, brandishing some kind of weapon.