Last Exit in New Jersey (35 page)

Stevenson walked to the opposite side of the trailer, and Hazel heard each sapling spring free as Stevenson safely released each remaining snare.

Nelson looked to Hammon. “Hel…mm…”

Hammon said, “I bet he’d give up all that money right now just to live.”

Nelson’s eyes widened and he nodded feebly.

Stevenson considered and turned to Hammon. “How much do you think is in there?”

“A lot. A whole lot.”

Stevenson turned to Hazel. “And you? What do you think?”

There weren’t words to express her thoughts, and her mouth was too dry to spit. Slowly she approached Nelson, studying how the wire sliced clear to the bone on one arm and buried itself within his chest on the other side. A little more tension might have cut him clean in two. Nelson’s head bobbed weakly, desperation in his eyes as he gasped like a dying fish.

Stevenson rubbed his face. “So, princess, now what?”

She didn’t reply, and he made no attempt to stop her as she walked to the unit and picked up a can of spray foam lying on the floor next to Valerie’s corpse. The horror in Nelson’s eyes as she approached, the nozzle raised toward his gaping mouth, almost brought a smile to her face. He thrashed feebly and tried to scream. Stevenson let out a long sigh and pulled Hazel’s arm away.

“Interesting choice, but I can’t let you do that.” He took the can from her and wiped it down with a rag.

“Why not? He’s dead either way, and you’ve got your damned money.”

“You think this is about the money? You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“Then what is it about?”

Stevenson smiled the same chilling way she’d seen in her nightmares; that eerie cemetery smile. “You.”

Run
, her mind screamed. But like the nightmares, she couldn’t move.

“There’s something else you should know.” He pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

She couldn’t speak.

“This,” he held up the can, “works better when you shake it.” He turned to Hammon. “You’re positive she disabled the cameras.”

Hammon nodded. “Every one I saw.”

Stevenson stepped over to Nelson and patted him down, retrieving his cell phone and the recorder Hazel had left for him. He listened to the recorder for a moment then passed it to Hammon. “Get her in the car and stay there with her. Now.”

Hammon grabbed her arm again and pulled her. She stumbled along, feeling in her pocket for a dart, slipping it from its cover. She could easily outrun Hammon, and while one dart might not knock Stevenson out, it would slow him enough for her to reach
RoadKill
.

Hammon stopped to watch as Nelson tried to resist the nozzle Stevenson forced in his mouth. Nelson’s gurgling moans faded to a sickening hiss and then nothing. He writhed, nostrils flared, eyes bugging, mouth moving silently as foam extruded from his mouth like slow, sticky vomit. Hazel’s fingers closed cautiously around the shaft of the dart.

“That stuff expands,” Hammon remarked as a glob bubbled from Nelson’s nose. “A lot. And it hardens.”

Stevenson glared at him. “I said get her in the car.”

Hammon still stood, watching in curious disgust as Nelson’s face turned purple and he convulsed, bucking violently. Stevenson charged over and grabbed Hazel by the arm, yanking her hand from her pocket and turning her forcibly away. She gasped as the sting in her hip registered and the familiar burning, tingling numbness began to spread.

“And him?” Hammon asked behind her.

“Leave him,” Stevenson snarled.

He bumped the gate release with his elbow, revealing the Mercedes parked off to the side. Stevenson opened the trunk and Hazel pulled back in a panic, scratching at his hand to get free. He chuckled darkly.

“That’s probably not a bad idea.” Stevenson laid the guns in the trunk. “But I figured you’d be more comfortable in the backseat.” He held the door open. “Get in the car, princess. It’s over.”

It was. She’d failed. Micah was dead, Atkins as well, and she was utterly alone. It hurt to breathe, and she couldn’t stop shaking as the horrifying inevitable numbness washed over her. Soon she wouldn’t have the strength to stand or exert any control over what happened to her. She climbed in, curling up on the seat, knees to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs, and quietly began to cry.

Hazel didn’t speak as Stevenson carried her into the house, sitting her on a kitchen chair. The effects of the dart were starting to subside, and she wondered groggily what occurred while she was out. Head bowed, she stared down. In the reflection on her watch crystal, she could see Stevenson, and with a minute shift of her wrist, Hammon staring into nowhere.

“Hazel?” Stevenson snapped his fingers. He studied her grimly. “When was the last time she ate or slept?”

Hammon shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

She gazed at the slow-motion sweep of the second hand while her brain gradually reconnected with her body. She would wait. Wait to see what lay ahead. Wait to see what they had planned. Wait for the tranquilizer to wear off. Wait for her chance to kill Stevenson.

As the fog in her head cleared, the events of the night replayed through her mind, reviving the horrible ache in her chest. It was as if her heart had been torn in two, and half remained behind with Micah, dead and frozen. Beneath her hand she felt the shape of the darts in her pocket, one still capped, one empty. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, and she knew she couldn’t stand or walk more than a few steps, if that. Hammon watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable. Was the boy she’d met that night by the river, the one who’d trembled at her touch, anywhere behind those cold eyes?

Stevenson knelt beside her. “Hazel?”

She didn’t answer. There was no answer. There were only the passing seconds and minutes and the reflections on her watch.

Hammon stepped to the sink and washed the dried blood off his hands: his blood and hers. “Nice work, Jake. She’s gone. All trains of thought have stopped running. The tracks are shut, and service’s suspended till further notice. Kinda screws up your plans, don’t it?”

Stevenson’s hands closed in fists, tendons rippling up his arms, and Hazel flinched. In a voice surprisingly steady for someone who looked ready to kill again, Stevenson said, “Talk to her. You might be able to reach her.”

Hammon shut the faucet, wiping his hands on his pants. “It’s over. I’m done. You’re on your own with this.”

He turned and walked out, the kitchen door slamming behind him.

Until that moment, Hazel didn’t think she had a shred of hope left to crush, but as the rumble of the Viper broke the silence and tires screeched away, fading into the distance, a fresh wave of pain flooded through her. Her face burned and her throat tightened as surely as if it were still in Stevenson’s grip. What had she expected? She’d known Hammon was working for Stevenson, yet she’d let herself trust him. She tried to tell herself it didn’t sting, but there was no more pretending or wishing or hoping. This was a nightmare she wouldn’t be waking from, safe and sound in her bunk aboard
Witch
, back in her familiar, secure world. That world was gone, forever destroyed. Her father was lying shattered in a hospital, Micah was dead. It was all for nothing.

The air hung heavy with tense silence, punctuated only by the ticking of her watch and random chirps of crickets. Hazel wanted to scream, to beat Stevenson until he was reduced to a bleeding mass of agony, but she was barely able to stand, let alone attack. A single tear of frustration escaped, dropping to the tile between her feet.

Stevenson slammed his fist on the counter. “Son of a bitch.”

She couldn’t let herself cry. If Travis McGee could do this then so could she, and Travis sure as hell wouldn’t be crying. Her hands stayed on her lap, her eyes on the watch, her mind set on that last sealed dart. The night and this nightmare were far from over.

Stevenson offered her a napkin, but she stared through it. And she didn’t flinch or blink when he cupped her chin, lifted her face, and gently wiped her cheeks, the fury in his eyes mixed with something that almost passed for sympathy. With a weary sigh he rose, taking orange juice and eggs from the refrigerator and pouring a glass of scotch.

“You need to eat,” he said, more to himself than her as he lit the stove.

Hazel felt her way into the pocket, easing out the sealed dart, hiding it beneath her hand.

“Sorry I was so rough on you before.” He downed the scotch. “There wasn’t time to explain, and I figured it was better I be a bastard than risk Nelson shooting you.” Metal banged sharp against metal as he dropped an iron skillet on the burner.

While his back remained to her, Hazel moved her right foot the slightest bit, testing her reflexes. Pins and needles coursed through her veins. She tried her left foot, pausing as Stevenson turned. She continued to gaze down blankly while the muscles in her face tingled as feeling returned. She kept her expression slack and fought the impulse to wipe another escaped tear, itching unbearably all the way down the side of her nose. Stevenson studied her, his features hardening.

“Goddamnit!” He struck his fist into the wall, cracking the plaster, leaving a bloody smear. “Show me Hammon’s wrong. Show me you’re still in there.”

He picked up another napkin and blotted his knuckles. “I know you’re in shock and things haven’t sunk in yet. Unfortunately, it’s only going to get worse. Right now you’re running on hurt and hate; they’re powerful emotions and they’ll keep you going for a while, but they’ll consume you eventually, leaving nothing but bitterness. Trust me, I know.” He shook his head. “We’re already more alike than you realize.”

He knelt down and lifted her chin again, gently drying her tear. As his hand brushed her cheek, her eyes locked onto his and she buried the dart deep into the underside of his arm. He winced and carefully pulled it out, studied the now-empty cylinder…and began to laugh.

“That’s my girl. You were starting to worry me.” He eased himself to the floor and sat back against the cabinets. “I should have known better, right? Pretty careless, not checking if you were still armed.” He regarded the dart with amusement. “So this is it.”

“It is.” She moved to the edge of the chair, testing her balance. “This ends here, tonight.”

“I see.” He gazed at her and massaged his arm. “Now what?”

“To start with,” she rose unsteadily, “you’re going to give me answers.”

Stevenson yawned and tilted his head back against the door.

“Why. That’s the big question, isn’t it? Why was I following you, even before I showed up in Bivalve, and why did I walk away from all that money? Why was Joe helping me? And why would Hammon leave you with a scumbag like me when it’s obvious how desperately he loves you?”

Contentment filled his face, infuriating Hazel beyond words. He was supposed to be panicking; he was supposed to be terrified.

“Revenge. It’s all about revenge.” He sighed. “And I’ll bet you think I mean that goddamned boat. Poor thing. Your world’s been shattered, your heart’s broken, nothing makes sense anymore.” His words were beginning to slur. “Before you start slicing, you might want…” He tried to motion but his arm flopped uselessly. His eyes fixed on his limp hand and he smiled faintly. “Complications.”

His head drooped and his expression softened, but Hazel stood back, waiting. She hadn’t expected one dart would knock him out entirely, but combined with the alcohol in his system, it might. She kicked him with all her strength, which still wasn’t much, but enough for him to feel it. One eye half opened.

“Not quite dead yet…” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth almost curling. “Go look.”

“At what?”

His face relaxed, his body sagged, and he lay there like a sedated lion, breathing slow and even. Hesitantly Hazel approached, watching. She slapped him across the face, hard. It felt good, but he only grunted and her hand stung, diminishing her satisfaction. Using kitchen aprons, she tied his wrists together securely and bound his ankles. Then she gathered the knives.