Andrew Britton - The American

Why not? he thought. It would be worth it just for the look on her face. Tomorrow, a Saturday, would be a good day for that. He’d slip away in the afternoon and go see the dealer in Augusta. He wondered if she would notice if he had a roll cage installed…

The random thoughts began to fade as he left the highway in favor of the narrow side roads running along the coast. Harder going here, as the towering trees carried over the road and blocked out some of the rain, but also some of the light, which wasn’t all that much to begin with. The road was covered in fallen branches, too; some were almost as big as small trees, so that he had to brake a few times and swerve sharply once, which rattled him almost as much as the bumpy landing had back in Portland.

The house came up fast on the left, the steep roof showing up now and then through the evergreens from a distance. He was pleased to see lights in the windows, which meant that Katie was there and they still had power.

Ryan was glad she was home, and it took him a few seconds to realize how relieved he actually was. She had nearly broken his heart by walking out on him at the hotel, and they hadn’t spoken in the few days since that incident. He’d had a good idea how she felt, though, and had decided that the best thing was to give her some space. Surely it would have blown over by now. All he cared about was seeing her. He had wanted to call to let her know he was on the way, but she liked surprises, and he liked surprising her. The Volkswagen would top them all, he thought with a grin. Again he was reminded of his idea for a sunset ceremony on the Mediterranean. Lots of plans…

The argument first, though. There would be no getting around that, but maybe it wouldn’t last too long. It was only fair to be up-front with her about it.

Then he found himself thinking about what his profuse and heartfelt apology would most likely result in, and decided that the argument could definitely wait for one more day.

The one disadvantage to the house on Cape Elizabeth, he thought, stepping out of the Mercedes and into the storm, was the fact that it didn’t have a garage, not to mention the fact that the distance from their improvised parking area to the front door seemed much farther on a moonless night during a torrential thunderstorm. Ryan finally made it under the awning, the raindrops beading and rolling from his thin leather jacket. Although his jeans were soaked around the ankles, his feet were still dry in his waterproof Columbia boots.

Sliding the key into the door and turning the handle, he immediately realized when he stepped inside that the house did not seem as brightly lit from the interior. In fact, apart from a dim glow at the top of the stairs, the only light he could see was coming from the kitchen directly in front of him. Then he heard her moving around, and an involuntary grin crept up on his face as he silently moved down the hall to sneak up and scare her.

Stepping through the doorway, though, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t moving anywhere. Instead, she was sitting at the dining room table and staring up at him with a terrified look on her face. Her bottom lip was trembling, and her dark blue eyes were filled with tears.

And standing directly behind her, wielding a razor-sharp knife and a terrible smile, was William Vanderveen.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real because it wasn’t rational; Vanderveen had the contacts to get out of the country almost immediately, but had decided instead to drive more than 450 miles, with every police officer in the country out looking for him, to come here? It just didn’t make any sense…

And he didn’t look anything like Claude Bidault. That meant it must be a dream, because there was no way that he would have had time to drive all the way from Washington to Maine and remove the heavy beard and the tint from his hair. It just wasn’t possible… was it?

He instinctively reached for his Beretta, then went cold when he realized that it was sitting on the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

All the tools in the world, but nothing at hand when he needed them most. And no one to blame but himself.

“Hello, Ryan.”

Said conversationally, in the tone of voice that Ryan remembered from so long ago, and the same voice that chased away the last of his desperate hopes. This was not a dream.

“Will.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was almost impossible.

The smile grew wider. Vanderveen tilted his head and said, “It’s hard for you to call me that, isn’t it? You want to say March, don’t you?” The flat side of the knife moved slowly across Katie’s throat, but Vanderveen’s vivid green eyes never strayed from Kealey’s face. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Ryan. You can call me what you like. It doesn’t make a difference. Not here. Not anymore.”

The man’s gaze was almost hypnotic. Kealey broke it with a huge effort, forcing his eyes down to Katie’s. She was pleading with him, the tears finally breaking free and streaming down her cheeks. “Ryan…”

Vanderveen looked down when she spoke, but his head came up very fast before Kealey could move. “She’s stunning, you know. I couldn’t have chosen better for you myself. Her eyes are so…” He put on a show of searching for the words, the knife doing little circles in his hand. “Expressive. So full of life. It can make an otherwise plain woman seem very beautiful indeed. And Katie here was never plain, was she?”

Ryan noticed, with some strange clarity of vision, that the weapon Vanderveen was holding had come out of his own kitchen drawer, a ^ 41? 2 — inch Kyocera paring knife, much like the one he had brought into the detention center. It was dancing in rhythm with the killer’s words, but never strayed more than 6 inches from Katie’s throat.

He dragged his eyes away from them, searching for something, anything he could use as a weapon.

It was useless. Three feet to his right, a slate-topped counter that had nothing to offer. He could charge, but it would never work, he would never get there in time. Vanderveen would start cutting her the instant he moved.

And outside, pounding through the exterior walls of the house with its own incomparable rhythm, was the sound of the building storm.

He had to say something. “Listen, she… You don’t need to…”

The other man was watching him intently, but Ryan stopped, and something clicked in his mind. When he opened his mouth again, the pleading note was gone. Instead, he spoke the truest words he knew. “If you do it, you won’t be able to run far enough.”

“There it is,” Vanderveen said, genuinely pleased. “That’s what I wanted to hear. It’s good to see you can still get your back up.”

Ryan took a quick step forward. Before he could take a second, Vanderveen had pulled Katie out of the chair in a blur. He held her tight against his chest, his left arm wrapped like a steel bar around her slender waist. The tip of the knife was digging hard enough into her skin to draw blood.

“No, Goddamnit! Don’t-” Ryan stepped hard on his rising panic. He snapped his hands up and tried to keep his voice level. “Just let her go, Will. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Wrong!” Vanderveen snarled. “She has everything to do with this. You made her part of this when you decided to play hero today.”

Ryan couldn’t find the words to respond. Katie was crying hard now, stricken by the helpless look she saw in his eyes, struggling to find words between her heaving sobs: “Ryan, don’t let him… hurt me… please.”

“It’s okay, Katie,” he managed to choke out. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“That’s very touching,” Vanderveen remarked. “But I’m getting bored now, so let me ask you something, Ryan: Was it worth it? Was it worth the fleeting gratitude of a few hundred people you’ll never even meet? If you could go back and let them die so she could live, wouldn’t you do it? Wouldn’t you do it in a heartbeat?” He waited for some kind of response, but Kealey couldn’t focus on anything but the look of sheer terror and desperation on Katie’s face.