Allison Brennan - The Kill

Driscoll and Olivia spotted Zack at the same time. Olivia’s eyes widened. Driscoll’s expression didn’t change, but he pressed the barrel of the gun firmly to her head and stared dead on at Zack: a warning. He walked around to the passenger’s door and shoved Olivia over to the driver’s seat, then climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Moments later the engine turned and Olivia drove slowly down the drive.

Zack ran toward Quinn’s car. “You’d better have the keys on you,” he called to the Fed. He suppressed his fear for Olivia’s life. If he thought about her as the woman he loved, he wouldn’t be as effective at the job of saving her life.

It was excruciatingly difficult to bury his feelings.

“I’ll drive.” Quinn unlocked the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Zack opened the passenger door. They had no time.

Quinn tossed him a.30-06 sniper rifle. “It’s loaded,” he said. Quinn grabbed two handguns and slammed down the trunk.

The stolen police car, with Olivia at the wheel, suddenly sped up as it rounded the turn in the driveway, its tires momentarily spinning in the pea gravel before hitting the packed dirt road.

Quinn started the ignition before he shut the door. A second later he peeled out of the driveway and pursued Driscoll.

“He’s not going to let her live once he’s clear,” Zack said, his entire chest tight.

“He’s not going to kill her yet,” Quinn said. “She’s a hostage. No one is going to be shooting at him with a hostage.”

Olivia. A hostage. The realization first made Zack ill, then furious. His fists tightened on the rifle. Though Quinn had told him it was loaded, he checked the ammunition and slid the bolt back to chamber a round.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Hell if I know. Look for an opportunity. Olivia’s smart, she’ll be thinking of a way to get out. Then we act.”

“Keep them in sight, Peterson. Don’t lose them.”

Quinn glanced at Zack. “Olivia’s a hostage. Let your training take over.”

Zack had been telling himself the same thing, but it didn’t help. “It’s hard. Damn, it’s hard.”

“I know.”

Olivia’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her entire body rigid as she assessed the situation.

Driscoll held the gun inches from her head, his finger calmly on the trigger. He seemed not at all fazed that they were being followed. His eyes were on the dirt road, though every few minutes he’d reach for the steering wheel and she’d flinch. He kept her in the center of the wide, one-lane road. If she slowed, he said calmly, “Keep moving.”

He would kill her as soon as he didn’t need her. He’d only grabbed her because she happened to be there-a shield, in case someone came from the house. Maybe he’d intended to take one of the Krause sisters once he realized the police were all over the mountain. Or maybe he simply planned on killing the deputy and escaping in his car. And she’d had the misfortune of walking right up to him.

In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think he might have made a clean getaway if she hadn’t walked into the barn this morning. Driscoll would have disappeared, resurfacing in another city to kill more innocent children.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror told her Zack and Quinn were still following. Olivia took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, focused on her situation. Not only did she need a way out, she had to delay Driscoll enough that Zack and Quinn could nail the bastard.

Missy’s killer sat next to her.

The thought made her foot ease up on the gas.

“Keep moving,” he said again, glancing in the side mirror at the car behind.

She jerked when he put his left hand on her knee, pushing her leg down on the accelerator. This was the hand that brutally murdered her sister. The car swerved and she came within a foot of going off the edge. He reached over and steadied the wheel. She could barely breathe, barely even think with Missy’s killer so close.

The winding road had a steep drop-off on the right and a rock-strewn gully on the left. If she aimed the car into the shallow gully, the impact wouldn’t kill them, but his gun would end her life. If she aimed the car off the cliff, they would both die. Even if they quickly hit one of the many redwood or fir trees, the steep slope and violent crash would leave them both dead. Driscoll wouldn’t kill again.

Fear pressed tight against every nerve ending. She was scared, no doubt about it, but anger boiled hot inside as she thought about this evil man’s horrid crimes. The children he’d killed, the families he’d destroyed.

But instead of seeing the pictures of dead children, she envisioned little Amanda Davidson.

And Olivia came back to herself.

It would end today. She didn’t want to lose her life, but there was no way she would allow Driscoll to escape. A master of changing identity, of blending in, he could disappear and they wouldn’t know where he was until another blonde girl was found stabbed to death.

For the victims-living and dead-Olivia would stop him. She worked to control her fear and her anger, because both threatened to overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to act if she lost control of her emotions.

She almost laughed. For years she’d worked to suppress her feelings, to live in neutral. But ever since the day she learned Brian Harrison Hall was innocent, all her decisions had been guided by emotion. Instinct. Fear. Rage.

She slowed to round a sharp turn, glancing again in the rearview mirror. Her heart skipped a beat when she lost sight of Quinn’s white sedan, then steadied when the car came back into view.

Not that they could help her.

“Speed up!” Driscoll commanded, a new edge to his voice.

“Do you want me to drive off the cliff?” she countered. Her voice quivered but at least it was audible.

“Shut up.”

No conversation. Fine with her. More time to think.

She glanced at the mass of equipment built under the dashboard of the police car, trying to find something to grab as a weapon. Nothing. Driscoll had seized the shotgun as soon as they got into the car. It lay across his legs, its barrel facing her. His right hand rested on his lap, gripping the handgun, which was still pointed at her. He had turned on the police radio and appeared to be listening to the static. Did he think they were so stupid as to broadcast their plans when he had access to the radio? Perhaps.

He probably thought he was smarter than everyone.

He was looking in the side mirror again, distracted, the gun not pointing right at her, but more at the steering wheel.

If she was going to do anything to save herself and give Quinn and Zack the chance to capture or kill him, now was the time to act.

She slammed on the brakes. Her forehead hit the steering wheel at the same time that Driscoll reached up with his hands to brace himself. She heard the gun hit the floor as she grabbed at the door handle.

She pulled and the door opened, but Driscoll grabbed her arm. “Fucking bitch!”

She screamed as her left foot touched the ground, and at the same time he pulled her against him. With all her strength she resisted, trying to break his grip. The car started to roll as her right foot left the brake in her effort to throw herself from the vehicle.

With a loud grunt, Driscoll pulled her back into the car and she heard a click. Cold metal pressed against her neck. Something ran down her throat. It wasn’t until she glanced down that she saw it was blood.

The edge of a knife had cut into her neck. It burned.

As the car rolled, Olivia instinctively braked. Slowly, so the knife didn’t dig deeper.

His voice was low, rough, pure rage as he whispered in her ear, “Shut the fucking door.”