“Shhh,” Kyle breathed into her ear in a sickening mimicry of Justin’s soothing whisper. And then, as though he and Cammie were involved in a conversation, he said loud enough for the couple to hear, “FedEx delivers on Saturdays but we charge a heck of a lot more for the service.” He kept his voice light, conversational, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the man. Beneath Cameryn’s coat, Kyle’s arm encircled her in an iron band, the blade of the knife perpendicular to her kidney.
The woman laughed and shoved her hip against the man, also laughing. They were only yards away now—the woman wore a perfume that smelled like cloves.
Once again Kyle dropped his voice so low that Cameryn could barely register his words. “If you draw attention to us in any way I will go to Gertrude Gorman’s house with this knife. I know your mammaw’s there.”
With his FedEx cap once again on his head, he tilted the bill down as the couple closed the gap. Cameryn could feel its stiff rim against her cheekbone. “Two old ladies won’t be much of a challenge for someone like me. So try to look normal and keep walking. You’re shaking. Put a smile on that pretty face.”
Step, step, step, Cameryn kept moving forward, which seemed impossible when her mind was frozen on what was left behind in the sheriff’s office. Justin, dying. Justin, already dead. Her grandmother. The blade pressed against the wool sweater, slicing yarn. Nodding at the couple as they passed them, Cameryn looked at their faces, but they didn’t even register her face, too intent on their own conversation.
“Perfect,” Kyle crooned when they were past. He propelled Cameryn down the county courthouse back stairway that led to a plowed parking lot. The building’s door had not quite closed shut when Cameryn heard the woman scream, “Oh my God, is that blood?” and the man’s cry, “It looks like footprints. Coming from there. . . .”
“Keep moving,” Kyle hissed.
She stumbled as he pushed her toward a black Jeep; Kyle righted her and lifted her so that for a moment her feet dangled inches above the ground. He set her down next to the Jeep and opened the door.
“Get in.”
Her muscles felt like wood. “No,” she croaked. “If you’re going to stab me, do it here.” She knew the statistics; once a victim got into a car his or her life was basically over. It was better to take your chances on the outside. But Kyle, pushing the blade in so hard she cried out in pain, whispered, “Do what I tell you and your grandmother lives. Give me any trouble and I swear I will go to that house and slit her throat.”
“Mammaw?” she gasped.
“Don’t you get it? It’s
you
I want. And now you’ve got a choice.” His hazel eyes blazed. “Do you seriously want me to hurt anyone else? I killed Justin because of you. Do you want another soul on your conscience?”
She could barely get her mouth to move. “No.”
“Good girl. Good Catholic girl. All the police are at the Old Hundred Mine and there is no one in this stupid town to help you. So get into the Jeep, Cammie, or more people will die. Final warning.”
Fear stabbed her as her mind worked through the decision that was now not a choice. Kyle, who had once told her he killed because it gave him a thrill to have power over life and death, held every card. There was no doubt he could kill Mammaw. Or anyone else he chose. Slowly, she folded herself into the bucket seat. He grabbed her right hand and placed her wrist on top of the metal grab bar installed over the glove compartment. From a pocket he produced a thin piece of plastic. The zip tie was threaded around the bar and her wrist so fast she barely registered his motion as he pulled one end of the plastic so tight it cut into her wrist. She cried out in pain but he ignored her.
“That should do it. Now you won’t be going anywhere. That first time I used duct tape on you, but I’m proud to say I’ve improved my style. There’s no way out of a zip tie.” He walked toward the driver’s side, his movements sinuous, like a large cat. Tall and well muscled, Kyle was far too big for her to overpower. In the seconds it took for him to make his way around the car she jerked against the zip tie with all her strength, but it did not give.
“When are you going to learn to stop fighting?” Kyle asked as he slid into the driver’s seat. He was talking fast, his movements disjointed. Pulling off his FedEx cap he tossed it into the backseat. He set the knife on the dashboard and the Jeep’s engine roared to life. Blood glazed the knife blade, and she thought of the red stained glass in St. Patrick’s, the red frosting on her grandmother’s Valentine cookies, and the red of her father’s once fiery hair. Strange, disconnected thoughts, confetti memories whirling behind her eyes, useless memories of the ones she loved.
“Kyle, please,” she whispered. “Please!”
“Please
what
?” He ran a hand through his hair then clasped the wheel. His posture was military, so straight the small of his back did not touch the upholstery. Blond hair stood from his head like an areola, longer than it had been when she’d last seen him. The features on his face seemed coarser, more hardened, his skin darkened by days lived in the open. With a lazy flick of his finger he turned on the blinker and coasted slowly out of the parking lot, stopping properly, checking the traffic in both directions before moving on at the proper speed. There was nothing about the two of them that would draw anyone’s attention as he turned onto Greene Street.
“See, Cammie, last time, when I had you in my chicken coop, I didn’t kill you. I walked away. I gave you a chance. But I won’t do that again. This time it’s just you and me and eternity.”
Cameryn could feel her mouth widen in horror.
“See, the thing is, I’m tired of the game. I want to end it but I want it to be memorable. So I’ll take you with me. It will be poetic. Me and my
anam cara
.”
“
Stop calling me that
.”
“I will call you whatever I want.”
It was stupid to fight him, but she tried. If she was going to die it would not be passively sitting in the seat of a car. With her left arm flailing in a fist, she hit him as hard as she could, for Justin, for herself, and, for her mother and father and her mammaw. But he caught her fingers in his right hand and squeezed so hard she felt the bones crunch as she screamed in real pain.
“Don’t do that, Cammie,” he said coolly. “I’m driving and it’s not safe. My, my, my, you are a hellcat, aren’t you?”
“Let me
go
!” she said, swearing. Her fingers throbbed as he clamped down harder. And even though she didn’t want to, she cried out again.
“That’s not appropriate language from my
anam cara
.” Dropping her hand, Kyle looked at her, his eyes amused. “The thing is, you’re not in a position to tell me what to do, Cameryn Mahoney. You are my Angel of Death. And I own my angel.”
What does that mean?
Frantically, she searched for anyone who could help her. Her left hand, almost useless, could still signal someone’s attention. In February, though, the plowed streets of Silverton were strangely empty, and the storefronts stood shuttered like pastel-colored ghosts. She searched for cars, trucks, pedestrians, anyone who might see her thrashing. Nothing. They might as well have been driving through a cemetery.
Moments later they left the buildings behind them and had reached the fork at the end of town. He carefully turned on his signal and headed north. Mountain peaks loomed above her, towering granite capped by a shimmering pearl white layer of snow. Overhead the blue sky mocked her. Spruce trees, dark green against the white, marched away from her up the mountainside, their legions a useless army. She struggled against the zip tie but it held her fast. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in short gasps. The ends of her fingers were turning white as the strong plastic tie dug into her flesh and she thought of animals gnawing off their own limbs in order to be free. If she could, she would do it to free herself from this monster. But the knife was out of reach and there was nothing she could do.
Exultant, Kyle crowed, “Do you know how much preparation this took? Weeks of thinking. Weeks of planning.” A strange smile twisted his almost perfect features, distorting them so that she wondered that she’d ever thought him handsome. “I knew you were lying to me the whole time. I knew they would make you say what you did. Cammie, I was outside your house the whole time, watching.”
Through stone lips she whispered, “But you called me from Leather Ed’s phone. . . .”
“No, I used a spoofcard. Mobile invisibility.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s all about the technology. A spoofcard subverts the caller ID system.” He spoke to her as though he had to make it simple enough for a child. “I turned on Leather Ed’s cell phone and left it there at the mine. They’ve probably found the phone by now, but”—he frowned comically—“they won’t find me.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” She put a space between every word.
“But you should!” His golden eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “I’m probably the only one you know who’s smarter than you. And now the game really begins.”
Cameryn’s mind raced. Feelings whirled around her head in a blur, but there was one sure bit of knowledge that sliced into her consciousness more clearly than the blade of Kyle’s knife he’d thrust against her back.
He is going to kill me. Now, or very soon, my life will be over.
She should have known she was living on borrowed time and she thought of Justin and her grandmother, her mother and her father. Before, when he’d tied her up in his chicken coop, Kyle had told her he would return for her.
“Two guarantees,” he’d said. “First, they’ll never, ever find me. And second”—he’d held up his middle and index fingers, pressing them together in a salute—“one day, when you least expect it, I’ll be back.”
Despite the barrier of her father’s and Justin’s protection, she was helpless once again. Fear rose in her like bile as Kyle downshifted, the Jeep now careening around deep bends more wildly. The needle on the speedometer inched up to sixty, then seventy, too fast for the winding mountain road.
You got out of it once, you can do it again. Don’t give up!
But what else had he said? As the trees streamed by, she searched her mind for a chink in his emotional armor, trying as hard as she could to bring up memories she’d forced beneath the veil of buried thoughts.
Think,
she commanded.
Think, think, think.
He’d told her that she was like him, an idea that made her recoil. But it was a thread she could follow. Desperate, she began, “You said, before, that we are the same. Tell me why you think that, Kyle.” She barely squeezed out the words, but she knew it was best to keep him talking. To use his name.
“It won’t work, Cammie,” he answered, laughing coldly. “I read the same books. I know all about the psychology of a killer. You’re trying to humanize yourself, aren’t you? According to the books, though, there’s something not quite right with my brain. I don’t care if people die. Not even me. In fact, I’m going to welcome it.”
Frantic, she cried, “You let me live because of my mother. I met Hannah, right before Christmas. I met her because of
you
. You let me live, Kyle. You did a good thing. Hannah’s moved back to New York and she’s great—we talk all the time. There’s still good in you!”
He downshifted again, his foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. “Did you tell her about me?”
“I didn’t want to worry her.
Slow down!
” she screeched.
“Then I guess you didn’t say a proper good-bye.”
“Kyle,
why
—”
“Because I want people to remember me. I
told
you, Cammie, I’ve played the game and I keep winning. I’m bored. If I go out I want to take someone with me. There’s a place called the Ruby Walls where the drop is a thousand feet straight onto rock. No guardrail to stop a car—nothing but air.” His hand flew from the steering wheel, straight out until it touched the windshield’s glass. “I thought you and me would sail right over the side and into eternity.” He looked at her and smiled, flashing teeth. Kyle’s face had frozen like a mask, everything dead, even his eyes. The flecks of gold in them had turned to ash.
“
No!”
In reply he gunned the car faster, the engine whining as it made its final ascent. They crested the top and began the winding path down the narrow band of asphalt cut into the mountainside. Boulders covered by shrouds of snow whizzed past as Cameryn tensed, aware of things she’d never noticed before: the way her chest filled with air and the beat of her heart in her wrists, a heart whose beats were numbered. There had to be a way. To live and not die. The knife lay on the plastic dashboard, gleaming in its sheath of blood. Her left hand, crushed, almost useless. Not enough strength. Not enough time.
The plan came to her, and she realized she was putting the pieces together with surprising calmness. Thinking, calculating, she tugged on her collar with her throbbing left hand to help herself breathe. He was like a statue chiseled from the inside; the only thing left was a hollow shell of a human being. But maybe enough of a husk remained. With a deep, wavering breath, she looked at him. “Kyle,” she said.
Her voice was almost drowned out by the drone of the engine.
“Kyle,” she said again. “Look at me.”