Quinn (33 page)

“Around that bend?” Joe pulled to the side of the road. “Then we go the rest of the way on foot. We still have to use the lights and we don’t want to scare him off.” He got out of the car. “I can do this alone, Eve.”

“No, you can’t.” She jammed her hand in the pocket of her Windbreaker and gripped her .38 revolver. A weapon to protect Joe as Joe had always protected her. Would it do any good? The more time that passed, the greater the cold dread that was icing through her.

She got out of the car and joined him as he strode into the brush bordering the bayou. “You said together, Joe.”

*   *   *

HE
HAD
HIM.

A man in a dark wet suit, tall, thin, moving quickly along the bank toward the gleam of metal that Gallo had identified as a vehicle.

Yes.

Gallo unsheathed his knife as he stood up in the shallow water near the bank.

Dammit.

The prey had disappeared as a fresh billow of fog descended.

No, there he was again. He was moving with a lithe jauntiness as if he had all the time in the world.

You don’t have any time at all, bastard.

Bring him down permanently or just wound him? Gallo thought as he raised the knife and lined up the target. It would depend on how long he had before the fog settled once—

Oh, my God.

No!

His hand holding the knife fell nervelessly to his side as he stared in horror at the man in the wet suit.

No. No. No.

Not prey at all.

But the man had sighted prey of his own, Gallo realized. His stance had changed, and now he was in stalking mode. He’d drawn a knife from the holster at his waist.

Stalking whom?

Catherine.

Catherine, standing at the edge of the trees. Catherine, setting her own trap for the man in the wet suit, the man who had killed Jacobs, the man who had killed Bonnie.

Dammit, what is wrong with me, Gallo thought in agony. Throw the knife.

*   *   *

IT WASN’T A NEW VEHICLE,
Catherine noticed as she cautiously approached. It was a beat-up blue Chevy truck, and the tires looked worn, almost bald.

No sign of the driver of the truck.

She’d been listening and hadn’t heard anyone come out of the bayou.

But she might not have been able to hear him. She didn’t have quite as keen perceptions as Gallo. And he had said this creep was good. She trusted Gallo’s judgment.

When it didn’t concern his damned chauvinistic attitude toward her.

She stopped. She’d been tempted to check out the license plate and the glove box of the truck. Not smart. Better to wait and do all that later. Now she should wait and watch and listen.

Not much watching with this fog, but she could listen.

No sound.

The fog had come in again, and the truck was only a hazy outline before her. But she’d probably have company soon. Just wait and pounce when he came on the bank.

She stiffened. Something was wrong. She felt it. The hair on the back of her neck was tingling.

*   *   *

“THERE’S SOMEONE OVER THERE
in the trees.” Joe grabbed Eve’s arm and pulled her to a halt. His eyes narrowed. “I think it’s Catherine.” He froze. “Oh, shit.”

She could see why he was cursing as she saw the tall man in the wet suit directly behind Catherine. Nothing could be clearer than that he was on the attack.

“I can’t get a clear shot,” Joe said with frustration as he put his gun down. “He’s right behind her. I’ll shoot
her,
dammit.” He moved to the side. “I’ll see if I can get him from another angle. Don’t call out and startle him. I don’t want to have him move on her before I can get my shot.”

If there was enough time.

It was going to be Catherine, Eve realized in agony. Catherine was the one who was going to die. And Eve had to stand there and watch it happen. She couldn’t even cry out and warn her.

But Catherine had been with Gallo in the bayou. Why wasn’t he there?

Dammit, where was Gallo?

*   *   *

THANK GOD, THAT BASTARD WAS
moving slow, Joe thought as he ran quickly through the brush. He just had to hope that nothing would startle him into leaping forward toward Catherine.

But the angle where he was standing now was still bad for an accurate shot, and he couldn’t get closer because the bank curved there.

The cypress tree. He should have a chance of a clear shot from there.

He shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants and started to shinny up to the first branch.

Fast.

Faster.

The man in the wet suit was starting to move more quickly toward Catherine.

Joe was drawing his gun as he pulled himself onto the branch.

Clear shot.

But Jacobs’s killer was almost on top of her.

Get the shot off.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of another figure standing in the water several yards from the bank.

Gallo.

What the hell?

Forget it. Level and fire, or he’d be too late to save Catherine.

Hell, it could be too late now.

*   *   *

THROW THE KNIFE.

Take him down.

Gallo’s hand was frozen on the hilt as he watched the man who had killed Jacobs glide toward Catherine.

Gallo had to move, but he couldn’t do it. Not this time. It was as if everything was going in slow motion for him.

He could see Catherine stiffening, and knew that those wonderful instincts with which he’d become so familiar were in play.

She
knew.

Even as he watched, he saw her whirl and start to drop to the ground as she saw her attacker.

Too late.

He was already on Catherine, a thin dagger gleaming as he raised it.

It was coming down!

She was going to die.

“No!”
The agonized cry tore from Gallo’s throat.

He threw the knife.

*   *   *

DEAR GOD, HE’S FAST,
Catherine thought as she reached for the knife on her thigh.

Fall. Roll. Then stab the bastard in the gut.

But he was over her, his dagger coming down and—

He screamed as a bowie knife pierced the hand holding the knife and came out the other side!

Gallo’s bowie knife. She recognized it. And Gallo standing in the water several yards away from the bank.

It gave her enough time to get her own knife out of the thigh holster.

“Dammit, get out of the way, Catherine.”

She glanced toward the trees. Joe. Trying to get his shot.

She rolled to the side.

The man in the wet suit was cursing as he turned and ran toward the bayou, bent low, and zigzagging in the underbrush.

A shot.

Missed.

He jumped into the water, reached out, jerked out the knife piercing his hand, and threw it aside. He dove beneath the surface.

Catherine jumped to her feet and was at the bank of the bayou in seconds.

“Gallo, get him!” she called as she slipped off the bank into the water.

Gallo didn’t answer, and she couldn’t see him. The fog had come down again.

“Catherine, no!” Joe was suddenly standing on the bank beside the cypress tree. “Come back. Don’t take a chance. Don’t trust him.”

Of course, she wasn’t going to trust that murderer. He’d just tried to kill her. “It’s okay, Joe. Gallo’s somewhere out here, too. We’ll get the bastard. He’s wounded and losing blood.” She was starting to swim away from the bank. “Gallo!”

“Catherine, listen to me.” Joe’s voice was harsh, his fists clenched at his sides. “It’s Gallo I’m talking about. I saw his face. He wasn’t going to throw that knife. He wasn’t going to save you. Gallo didn’t care if you lived or died.”

Shock went through her. “No, you’re wrong, Joe. He did save me. Look, I can’t talk.” She began swimming faster. “I’ll blow my chance of getting that bastard. You’d better jump in the car and patrol the road. He might try to get out of the water as soon as he can. The blood is going to draw alligators.”

“Catherine!”

She couldn’t see him any longer. She was surrounded by the thick, heavy mist that felt as if it was going to smother her. She suddenly felt very much alone.

But she wasn’t alone. There was a murderer out there who had been within an instant of killing her. Was he close? He could be only yards away from her and she wouldn’t know it. It would be smart of him to lie in wait and ambush any pursuers. It was probably what she would have done.

Her heart was beating hard, she could feel her pulse jumping in her throat.

She stopped swimming and listened.

She heard something, a displacement of water … Where had it come from? Dammit, where was Gallo? She could have used someone to watch her back.

Gallo doesn’t care whether you live or die.

She heard the sound again. Closer.

She tensed, her hand reached down and grabbed her knife.

Come and see what’s waiting for you, you son of a bitch. I’ve been on my own all my life. What was I thinking? I don’t need any help from Gallo or anyone else.

Come and get me.

ALSO BY IRIS JOHANSEN

Eve

Chasing the Night

Shadow Zone
(with Roy Johansen)

Eight Days to Live

Blood Game

Deadlock

Dark Summer

Quicksand

Silent Thunder
(with Roy Johansen)

Pandora’s Daughter

Stalemate

An Unexpected Song

Killer Dreams

On the Run

Countdown

Blind Alley

Firestorm

Fatal Tide

Dead Aim

No One to Trust

Body of Lies

Final Target

The Search

The Killing Game

The Face of Deception

And Then You Die

Long After Midnight

The Ugly Duckling

Lion’s Bride

Dark Rider

Midnight Warrior

The Beloved Scoundrel

The Magnificent Rogue

The Tiger Prince

Last Bridge Home

The Golden Barbarian

Reap the Wind

Storm Winds

Wind Dancer

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

QUINN. Copyright © 2011 by Johansen Publishing LLLP. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Johansen, Iris.

  Quinn / Iris Johansen.—1st ed.

          p.   cm.

  ISBN 978-0-312-65121-3

1.  Police—Fiction.   2.  Duncan, Eve (Fictitious character)—Fiction.   3.  Women intelligence officers—Fiction.   4.  Missing persons—Fiction.   I.  Title.

  PS3560.O275Q56 2011

  813'.54—dc22

2011005978

First Edition: July 2011

eISBN 978-1-4299-8753-0

First St. Martin’s Press eBook Edition: July 2011