Michael Prescott - Last Breath

He glimpsed her white sneakers blurring into the darker recesses of the warehouse, and he fired again. Missed her, damn it, and already the light from the window was dimming as the fire died down. The inflammable liquids had vaporized, and there was nothing left to burn but dry grass and leaves.

At least the BMW’s fuel tank hadn’t ruptured; there had been no explosion. Car must be ruined, though. Undrivable. How the hell was he supposed to get home? And even if he did, how would he explain the missing car, the injuries he’d suffered?

Everything was fucked up. His perfect crime, his cover story-all shot to hell.

He forced himself to calm down. Hard to think with that alarm clanging in his skull. And he was tired, worn out. But he had to keep it together. He almost had her. And once she was dead…

He would steal a car for the drive home. Clean himself up in his shower, and with fresh clothes and a false smile, he wouldn’t look much worse for wear.

As for the BMW-why would the cops even ask to see it if he wasn’t a suspect? He was the grief-stricken ex-husband, remember? He had fooled Detective Walsh before. He could do it again.

Things would still work out. There were complications, sure. Well, when life gives you lemons…

“Make lemonade,” he said with an odd, lopsided grin that felt strange on his face. He thought he might be laughing. It seemed strange to laugh at a time like this. He might be cracking up.

If he was, it was C.J.’s fault. This whole mess, from start to finish, was her doing. She had walked out on him, ended their marriage. She had wormed her way inside his brain until he could think of no other woman. She had fought him and hurt him and cost him time and pain.

She had done her best to fuck him up.

Now it was time to return the favor.

C.J. reached the wall at the far end of the warehouse and groped for an exit, any kind of exit, a door or a window or a hole to crawl through. There was nothing, just smooth metal that stretched in all directions like a sheet of solid darkness.

Stop. Think.

There was no exit. The window was the only way in or out. The doors were padlocked from the outside. She had seen the heavy locks and chains.

She was stuck in here, and Adam was with her.

She’d been waiting for a flashlight to come on, but he must not have a flash. He would find her anyway. He had all the time he needed, and she had no place to hide.

The worst thing was that she couldn’t tell if he was right behind her or fifty yards away. The screaming alarm covered any sound of footsteps.

Covered her own footsteps too. She ought to be grateful for that, but she was past being grateful for anything.

Her ambush had failed. She had worked it out so carefully, and in the end all she’d accomplished was to get herself trapped in a steel cage with a madman.

Nice going, Killer. Real slick.

She didn’t think he’d even been hurt. When he’d called out to her, she had heard no weakness in his voice, only rage-and an edge of hysteria.

He was out of control. There was no telling what he would do to her, how bad it might be…

That line of thought would get her nowhere. She needed a strategy.

The window was her only way out. If she could slip past Adam in the dark, then climb through the window unobserved…

She took a step toward the fireglow dimly visible in the window on the opposite side of the warehouse, and then there was silence, slamming down like a hammer.

The alarm had shut off.

She stopped, aware that Adam could hear her footsteps if she moved.

The glow in the window died away. The last light in the room vanished.

No sound. No light. Utter stillness.

She waited, suspended in an ocean of darkness, with only the contact between her sneakers and the floor to convince her that she was still part of physical reality.

Then Adam’s voice, echoing around her. “You can’t hide, C.J. I can hear you breathing. I can hear the pounding of your goddamned heart.”

He was trying to goad her into answering or running. Either way she would reveal her position.

But she couldn’t just stand here.

She still had to get to the window-if she could find it with no light to guide her.

She crouched, untied her sneakers, pulled them off, and tied them by the laces to a belt loop on her cargo shorts. Her socks came off next; they were slippery, and she needed traction on the smooth floor. She wadded them up, stuffed them in her pocket. Then stood.

The floor was cold against the soles of her feet. She took an experimental step, then another.

He couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t see her.

She froze. Heard something.

Footsteps. The click of hard soles on stone.

Unlike her, he hadn’t taken off his shoes.

How close was he?

Couldn’t tell. But she could judge the direction. He was on her left.

Click. Click.

Coming closer.

Did he know where she was? Could he really hear her breathing, her heartbeat, as he’d claimed?

She untied one of the sneakers from her belt. Waited, standing with shoulders hunched, eyes darting uselessly.

Another footstep. Very close.

She threw the sneaker behind her. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Laughter. “Think I’m stupid, C.J.?”

He hadn’t been fooled. Was still coming.

Her only hope was an all-out sprint to the window.

She ran And there was a shock of impact, a body heavier than hers flung against her, driving her down, and Adam saying, “Game’s over, bitch.”

She landed hard on the floor with Adam on top of her. His thighs clamped on her hips as he straddled her, and crazily she thought of the first time they’d made love.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he breathed. The same words, then and now-spoken then with passion, now in hate.

She thrashed and flailed at him, and his hand closed over her right wrist, squeezing hard. “Fuck you, C.J.”

He twisted her wrist. She jerked sideways and rammed her elbow into his face. A shout of pain, a crunch of bone, but his grip on her wrist didn’t loosen.

“Broke my nose,” he muttered. “God damn it, you broke my fucking nose.”

She’d ruined more than that. “Guess what, Adam? You can’t get away with it anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Busted nose. Very visible. No way to hide it.” She panted out the words, her whole body shaking with raw triumph and raw fury. “How will you explain that to the police, asshole?”

Silence from Adam as he took this in. Then a croak of rage. “I’ll kill you.”

I sort of thought that was the idea, C.J. almost said, then felt cold metal against her cheek.

The gun drifted lower, its muzzle kissing her lips.

“Open your mouth,” Adam said.

She wouldn’t.

“Come on, C.J. You used to like it when I put it in your mouth.”

The noise that escaped him was less a laugh than a high, hysterical shudder.

“Open up. And don’t tell me how it doesn’t match the MO. You’re right. I can’t face the cops, so it doesn’t matter anymore. Come on, Officer Osborn. I want you to go out with a bang.”

She clamped her jaws. She would not yield to him in this last contest of wills.

“What’s the matter? You won’t open up for me? You won’t put out? Nothing new about that. You were always too goddamned busy. Why do you think I took up with Ashley? She knew how to have fun. I’ll bet you haven’t been fucked since you walked out on me.” He laughed again. “Well, you’re fucked now, C.J. You’re fucked now! ”

Ringing in the darkness.

The alarm again? No, the sound was too soft.

His cell phone. That was what it was.

It seemed to take Adam a moment to remember the phone. Then he swore, and she heard a rustle of clothing as he removed it from his jacket. It rang again, but he still didn’t answer.