Karen Rose - I Can See You

Thursday, February 25, 3:15 p.m.

Don’t be afraid. Don’t flinch. Even if it hurts . She smelled the metal of the blade, heard it scrape her skin. Down the scar on her cheek, she realized. The cheek that had had no feeling for almost six years. She smelled her own blood. Knew he’d cut her.

Panic welled up and she fought it back. How deep had he cut? It doesn’t matter. Noah had noticed her before the scar was gone. And if it did matter to him… If I’m still alive to worry about it, that’ll be good .

Pierce grunted, evidently convinced. “All right. You’re unconscious.”

She focused on even breathing as he cut the twine that had tied her bound wrists to the bed. But her wrists were still bound. He didn’t cut my hands free. Dammit .

He took her wrists and brought them over her head, resting them on her stomach. He paused. He’s looking at me. Waiting . She kept breathing and kept her eyes closed.

Noah rolled his car to a silent stop, diagonally behind the open garage. Inside was a Lincoln Navigator, a black BMW, and a brown Honda Civic with the trunk lid up.

Heart pounding, he got out of his car moving noiselessly, weapon drawn. Brock followed, watching his back. Inside the truck was a huddled figure wrapped in a blanket. Be Eve. Be alive . He pulled the blanket aside and blew out a breath. It was the girl he’d seen with Tom Hunter the night before. She was nude, bound, her mouth taped, her eyes staring up at him desperately. Her skin was already blue.

He peeled the tape back from her mouth. “Hurry,” she whispered, teeth chattering. “He’s got Eve in the basement. He’s got a knife.”

Noah pulled the blanket back up over her, shrugging out of his own coat to wrap her in it. She’d be dead from exposure in minutes. “How many doors to the basement?”

“One. From the kitchen.”

“Stay with her,” he said to Brock and took off at a run, ignoring Brock’s hissed command to wait for backup. The house was eerily empty, the television set to the news. Abbott had just finished his press conference.

It was safe to assume Pierce knew he was a wanted man. It was safe to assume he’d do anything, as he had nothing to lose. Noah was at the door to the basement when he heard a crash that sounded like a wall coming down. He started to run.

Eve sat up, breathing hard, blinking to clear her vision. Her leg burned, but what she saw was far better than she hoped and ironic as hell. The shelves of shoes had come down. She’d waited until he’d bent to cut the twine at her feet, then she’d shoved her body down the cot, knees bent, and kicked him backward. Caught unawares, he’d gone sprawling against the wall, knocking all the shelves down.

One wood shelf had smacked his head and he lay unmoving. Shelves and shoes covered him in a heap, so that only his feet showed. Eve was bizarrely reminded of the red-and-white-striped stockings of the Wicked Witch and half expected his toes to curl.

“Eve!”

Slowly Eve looked to the stairs, sending the room into a spin. Noah was leaping, taking four stairs at a time. He rushed to her side, pale, holstering his gun. White knight , she thought as he grabbed Pierce’s knife from the floor and cut the twine that bound her feet. Then she saw movement behind him and screamed, hoarsely. “Noah.”

Pierce had risen from the shoes and was running to the stairs. In two steps Noah was on him, gun drawn. Then Eve heard a sickening crunch, metal to bone. Noah dropped to his knees and Pierce remained standing, holding a shovel like a bat.

Pierce swung again, but Noah rolled, the shovel head hitting his shoulder instead. A moment later, Noah tackled him and Pierce went down.

On his hands and knees, Noah blinked hard, trying to see. Pierce was on the floor, scrabbling backward. He plowed a fist into Pierce’s face, feeling satisfaction when the cartilage in Pierce’s nose yielded like butter. But Pierce rolled to his feet, standing behind him. Noah twisted, found himself looking into the barrel of a.22 with a silencer.

“Hands out, Noah,” Pierce said. “I want to see them.”

Noah held his hands out. His own gun was three feet away, dropped when he’d been hit by the shovel. Too far to grab. He watched Pierce, waiting for the time to move.

“This is the way I always wanted you to die,” Pierce said with a smile, even though blood gushed from his nose. He stood over him, staring down. “On your knees, looking up at me.”

Noah was breathing hard, his ears still ringing from the blow. “There are police surrounding this place. If you kill me, you’ll still go down.”

“But I will have killed you,” Pierce said, reasonably. “And I have a hostage.”

Noah didn’t think he’d ever adequately describe the expression that crossed Pierce’s face next, a combination of surprise and… annoyance. Noah leapt, wresting the gun from Pierce’s hand, but he didn’t have to exert much force. Pierce slumped to his knees, then fell flat on his face, Eve falling with him. Her hands were still bound and she wore nothing except the satisfaction on her face. Her left hand still clutched Pierce’s knife as it stuck from his back, blood soaking his tan overcoat.

“No, you do not have a hostage.” She lifted her eyes. “Are you all right?”

Noah crawled to her, checking her for injuries. “I’m fine. What did he do to you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, dully. “What did he do to me?”

“He hit you. Oh, Eve.” She looked like Brock had on Sunday night.

She grabbed his arm, clumsily. “My face. Did he cut my face?”

Noah wiped the blood away from her cheek. “Not much. Nobody will be able to tell.” It was then the shoes sank in. “Oh my God. Micki was right. The shoes.”

Eve blinked slowly. “He killed all these women. They’re under us, right now.”

He’d deal with that later. She looked like she was going into shock. He tried to stand up, but came back hard on his knees. The room was spinning so he crawled to get a blanket on the floor next to the bed. He wrapped Eve in it, then pulled her to his lap, holding her close, giving her his warmth. “You’re like ice.”

She stared at the knife protruding from Pierce’s back. “Did I kill him?”

“I hope so,” he said fiercely.

Olivia came down the stairs, her gun at her side, then stopped short. “Holy shit,” she muttered. She knelt at Pierce’s side, put her fingers to his throat. “Alive, but barely.” She took her radio from her belt, called the all-clear and requested three more gurneys, then knelt beside Noah, reaching for Eve. “Let her go, Web.”

Noah shook his head, sending the room spinning again. “No.”

“Noah,” she said gently, “you’ve got a huge gash in the back of your head and you are bleeding a river. In about three minutes you’ll be flat on this floor yourself. Let her go so I can cut this twine.”

Reluctantly, Noah let go. Olivia efficiently cut the twine from Eve’s hands as the medics thundered down the stairs. Eve met his eyes as the medics lifted her to a gurney. “He killed his wife. She’s under the floor. They all are. Jeremy Lyons, too.”

A second medic was pushing Noah to a gurney. “Wait.” He blinked at the floor, saw a handle. “Open it.”

Olivia yanked, then gagged when a concrete slab rolled back. “Oh my God.” She covered her mouth as she stared into the pit. “That’s his wife, Ann Pierce.”

A man’s hand stuck up out of the dirt. “Jeremy Lyons,” Noah whispered. “Kane was right. So was Micki.”

Olivia pulled the slab shut. “You can tell them yourself, once you’ve had stitches. Take him,” she said to the medics. “Don’t let him argue.”