Robert Bidinotto - Hunter

12:16 a.m.

He forced her to drive.

Her hands and feet were free, now, but useless to her. He sat behind her in the back seat, belted in securely with a shoulder strap. But he ordered her to keep hers off. If she tried to crash the car, he’d survive. She might not.

And Susie definitely would not. He held her across his lap, on her back, face up, with the knife lying across her throat. Susie’s eyes were squeezed tight. Her lips were moving. Praying…

They were only three minutes from Susie’s house when she saw the first of the police lights up ahead, blue-and-white flashers growing as they raced toward her.

“Keep driving straight and steady. Let them go past. No tricks-or Susie’s head will be sitting beside you in the passenger seat.”

The lights sped toward her, seeming to get faster by the second. The car drew abreast, and the high-pitched squeal of its siren died off octaves lower as it blew by.

“Good girl.”

If she were alone, she would have crashed the car anyway. Suicide would be infinitely preferable to whatever he might do to her. But she had no right to make that decision for her friend.

And maybe they could still get out of this.

Dylan…

He’d survived governments and their hit teams. He’d stymied the combined investigative talents of scores of police agencies. He’d bested cold-blooded killers, both armed and bare-handed.

And he was coming for her.

She glanced into the rearview mirror. Wulfe was staring at her, unblinking-a dead, blank, malignant stare, like that of a snake.

She stared back at him.

“He is going to kill you, you know.”

He lifted one of Susie’s hands, now untied. Tapped it with the tip of the blade. “One more word, and Susie will lose this thumb.”

She turned her eyes back to the road.

*

After another minute, she made a right onto 694, heading southeast toward the destination he had ordered. She approached the Capital Beltway and passed over it.

“I don’t want us to take any side trips, my dear. Show me what the GPS tells us to do.”

She came to an intersection and stopped at the light. She flipped on the GPS.

“I’ll program the most direct route.” She hit the right buttons. “Okay, there are the instructions. See for yourself.”

The screen displayed printed instructions to stay on Route 694 all the way into Falls Church.

He leaned forward and looked.

“Good. Just keep going straight.”

She continued down 694. They reached the second traffic light within thirty seconds. After a minute, she proceeded. In another half-minute they stopped again at the intersection of Route 123.

She had programmed the most direct route.

Not the fastest.

12:18 a.m.

Lights flashing, siren blaring, the powerful car raced down the Capital Beltway at well over one hundred miles per hour. He glanced at the dashboard clock and said, “Redial previous number.”

“Cronin here.”

“Me again. What do you know?”

“I’m on my way there now. Just got a call from the Fairfax County P.D. They and the staties are on scene. They would’ve waited for SWAT, but the front door was wide open, so they chanced it and went in. It’s empty. Looks like they just missed them.”

He didn’t say anything.

“They couldn’t have gotten far, though. And it looks like he dumped the car he stole from his sister at the scene. Copeland’s is in the garage. So he’s got a fresh set of wheels, maybe whatever Ms. Woods was driving. Do you know what her car is?”

“Yes.” He told him.

“Okay, we’ll put out an alert. Copeland’s place is real close to the Beltway, and my guess is they’re on it and trying to get out of the area.”

“Right.”

“Sorry, Hunter.”

He cut off the call. Downshifted and braked hard, pulling off the road.

Annie’s car.

He popped the trunk, ran back there and grabbed his bug-out bag and a laptop computer. Slammed it and jumped back inside. Opened the laptop on the passenger seat, hit the “on” button.

While it was powering up, he popped the stick into gear and hit the gas, kicking a spray of slush behind him as he fishtailed back onto the highway.

He wished he kept a gun in this car.

12:24 a.m.

“Goddammit, I’ve never seen so many red lights,” he thundered. “Isn’t there a better way?”

“This is the way I always go home from Susie’s. It’s the most direct-almost straight to my door. You can see it on the GPS. Everything else takes you out of the way.”

The light changed, and she moved forward, staying in the speed limit.

“Two lanes. Twenty-five, thirty-five miles per hour, the whole way. Couldn’t we get on a thruway?”

“You know he called the cops. The big highways are the first places they’ll be looking.”

She cast a quick look in the mirror. His face now looked strained. She noticed the red streak on his cheek where she grazed him with her elbow.

She glanced again at the digital clock.

I’m trying to buy you time, Dylan.

But how could he possibly know where they were going? It was the last place anyone would dream to look.

She gripped the wheel tightly. Saw a sign for a curve in the road ahead, marked for twenty-five miles per hour.

Took her foot off the gas.

12:25 a.m.

He was doing over one twenty-five, zig-zagging through the rare vehicles he overtook, passing them as if they were parked.

He couldn’t bring in the cops, not now. If they got involved, Wulfe would use the women as hostages, then kill them if things went south.

He had to do this his way.

His eyes darted from the highway to the laptop as the program loaded. Then, using his forefinger, he tapped in the numerical code for the device. Hit “Enter.”

On the screen, a flashing red dot appeared on the map.

There you are…

He watched the dot heading southeast on 694. But to where? His eyes tracked ahead, moving down the line on the map.

Why, you devious son of a bitch.

He estimated the distance, did a quick mental calculation of comparative speeds.

He accelerated even more, heading south toward the Dulles Toll Road. A four-lane highway, with no traffic lights, running parallel to 694.

He glanced at the dashboard clock.

It was going to be close…

12:34 a.m.

“All right. Pull the car into the garage.”

She reached for the button on the visor that opened her garage door. It rose slowly and the inner lights came on. She looked up the expanse of the driveway. In her headlights, the snow on the ground was unmarked by any tire or footprints.

She began to tremble again.

You’ll have to find a way out of this yourself.

She eased the car into the garage.

“Now, lower the garage door.”

She did as she was told.

“Shut off the car, and toss the keys to me. Gently, please. Remember that this knife is right on her pretty neck… Put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them, and keep them there.”

In the mirror, she saw him lift Susie to a sitting position on his lap. Her eyes were vacant. She was like a rag doll in his arms. He hauled her out of the passenger side.

“Now, get out of the car… Put your hands on your head and walk to the house door.”

Her legs were wobbly and she stumbled as she approached the door. Her eyes searched for anything nearby that she could grab and use as a weapon.

“Stop there. Now, understand something, my dear,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You surprised me back at Susie’s. I won’t be surprised again. I see that you’ve trained in martial arts. But don’t even dream of it. I have fourth- and fifth-degree black belts in several of them and competed as a mixed martial artist for a while. Retired undefeated.”