Shoots to Kill (32 page)

So far what Oliver had described was an accident, a reaction to being deeply hurt, not a calculated attack. But then what about the wig and the planted key? There were so many questions yet to be answered, but I wasn’t sure how much more probing he could tolerate.

I glanced at my watch, wondering how much time I had before the cops arrived. I wanted to get as much information as I could before they took Oliver into custody. I decided to change topics and come back to the murder later.

“Oliver, do you remember the clerk Tilly? I talked to her this morning and she said that you told her to take money from the cash drawer because it was owed to her. Is she right?”

Oliver shrugged one shoulder as though he didn’t care, so I pressed on. “Did you mean for Tilly to steal from your sister’s shop?”

“It wasn’t Libby’s shop. It was Delphi’s. Everything was Delphi’s. Ask Libby for verification. Delphi would have screwed Tilly out of her salary just like she screwed that kid—Kayla. Just like she screwed me. So I told her to take it. Justice served.”

“I agree. Justice is very important,” I said to mollify him. “But Tilly also said someone put a Corvette key in her purse, which doesn’t seem very just to me. Is she right about that?”

He shrugged again. “The end justifies the means.”

“Did you put the key in Tilly’s purse, Oliver?”

“What if I did?” He rearranged the blanket to cover his head, his movements jerky.

Tom whispered, “Let me try. I think your questions are making him jittery.”

I gave Tom a nod, so he said, “Hey, buddy, were you pulling a joke on the lady? Is that why you put the key in her purse?”

“It was part of the game,” Oliver said, peering at us with hollow eyes from beneath his hood. “Part and parcel.”

“That wasn’t part of any game we played,” Tom whispered to me.

“Oliver,” I said, “was part of the game taking Tilly to a costume shop to buy a red wig?”

“True lies,” he muttered to himself. “Truth or consequences. Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” I said. “Why did you need a red wig?”

“It was a covert operation. That’s the way it’s done. Ask Tom. He knows.”

“Whose covert operation?” I asked. “Did someone order you to buy the red wig?”

Oliver rubbed his head and began to mutter, “Name, rank, and serial number.”

Was Oliver afraid to tell me the truth? “I can’t help you if you’re going to pull that, Oliver. I’m trying to make sense of what you’ve told me, but some things don’t add up, like the bamboo plant. You said you took it to the garage. So who put it under your sink?”

He wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he pushed his fists against his head. “Stop hounding me! Hounding and pounding. I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’d better back off,” Tom whispered. “You’re wearing him down.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll stop lying.” To Oliver I said, “Your gloves were there, too, wrapped in foil. Do you remember putting them there?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Oliver cried, glaring at me. “Why do you keep hounding me? It’s over and done with.”

“You’re right, Oliver. It is over, and that’s a big relief, isn’t it? But there are a few minor details I still don’t understand, like about driving Libby’s car. Did you have two keys made for the Corvette, one to put in Tilly’s purse and one for yourself?”

Oliver began to hit himself on top of his head. “Name, rank, and serial number. Name, rank, and serial number.”

“I’d stop if I were you,” Tom whispered. “He’s gonna bolt any minute.”

“I need to ask one more question,” I whispered back. Then, practically holding my breath, I asked, “Oliver, did you put on the red wig and drive your mother’s body to the alley behind my flower shop?”

“Name, rank, and serial number!” he shouted, saliva spewing as he threw back the blanket, revealing a face red-hot with rage.

“Okay, calm down,” I said, holding up my hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

At once he grabbed my wrist, and before I had time to react, he pulled me toward him, turning me so my back was against his chest, one of his arms around my neck. At once Tom jumped to his feet and backed away, clearly frightened by the way Oliver was spiraling out of control. By the looks of things, I doubted that I could count on him to tackle Oliver for my sake, but I still needed his help.

“Tom . . .” I was thinking as fast as I could. “I brought some bottled water for all of us. It’s in my car. Would you get it for us? Please?” I hoped by playing it cool I could regain some control over the situation. And with a great deal of luck, Tom might be at the car when the cops arrived, so he could lead them right to us.

Tom gave me a surprised look, then nodded and jogged off. I turned my attention back to Oliver, who was holding me much too tightly for me to even hope I was still O.O.T.T.O. “Oliver, why don’t we sit down and relax until Tom gets back with the water? We can chat about whatever you want.”

“Shut up!” he snarled in my ear. “I’m sick of your questions, sick of you hounding and pounding me until my head is ready to explode. I killed Delphi.
I
did it. It was
my
mission and I executed it perfectly.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I realized the true danger of my situation. I had expected him to run, not turn on me. “I—I’m glad you explained it, Oliver,” I rasped, trying to sound calm and commanding, even though he was squeezing my throat. “Now please let go. You’re cutting off my air.”

Instead, he got to his feet, dragging me with him. I tried to twist around so I could use my hands and feet as weapons, but he clamped his other arm around my body and, in the process, squeezed my neck tighter. What was taking the cops so long?

Choking, I tugged frantically on his arm with my one free hand and pinched his skin, but he only pulled me deeper into the forest. I felt myself starting to faint from lack of oxygen and forced myself to go limp, hoping my deadweight would make him drop me. Then I heard a metallic
scritch
, and suddenly the point of a long knife was at my throat.

My heart raced in terror as I eyed the double-edged blade of a bayonet. “What are you doing?” I whispered, afraid to move.

“You’re not fooling me,” Oliver sneered. “I know you’re with
them
now. You went over to their side. Libby was right. I told her you were one of the trusted ones, but she said she was the only one I could trust.” The pitch of his voice had changed; he sounded now like a man possessed. “And you’ve got Tom, too. You
conspired
against me.”

“No, Oliver,” I whispered, trying not to jar his hand, “I’m on your side.”

“You’re lying. Lying and spying. A lying traitor!”

“I’m not a traitor. I came here to help you. You don’t want to hurt an ally, do you?”

“Libby’s my only ally now. You want to control me just like Delphi did. Libby was right. She said you were both traitors. She said you couldn’t be trusted.”

“Please, Oliver,” I cried hoarsely as tears sprang to my eyes, “let me go. Don’t hurt me.”

“I have no choice. You see that, don’t you? Do you see that I have to do it?”

Was he talking about killing me? “You have free will, Oliver. You don’t have to do anything. Please let me go!”

“Don’t you get it yet?” he cried, pushing the tip of the knife against my throat. “There is no free will!”

I flinched as I felt a sharp sting, then something warm and wet began to trickle down my neck. Oh, God, he’d punctured my throat.

“No will!” Oliver ranted. “No say in the matter. Over and done with. Over and out.”

My heart was pounding so hard that the world began to spin around me, but I felt no pain, only a slow slide into darkness as my body sagged against him.

“It’s time to go,” he said in my ear. “Time to go where Delphi went.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Somewhere far away I heard the crunch of boots on brittle twigs. Then suddenly I was jerked upright. “Stay back!” Oliver cried, and at once the pressure on my neck eased enough for me to drag air into my lungs. I forced my eyes to focus, needing to know what was happening.

There stood Marco, tall, straight, steely-eyed, and iron-jawed, his dark gaze fixed solely on Oliver.

“I said stay back!” Oliver cried, pushing the sharp tip against my neck once more, only this time he was trembling as much as I was.

“Take it easy, man,” Marco said in his deep, husky voice. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Liar!” Oliver shouted. “You’re one of them. You want to lock me away, too.”

Marco took a step forward, hands outstretched, palms facing us. “I’m unarmed, troop. Your mission is over now. It’s time to stand down.”

Oliver dragged me back a step. “Stay away or I’ll use this bayonet on her!”

“Listen to me,” Marco said in a firm, compelling voice. “You know we soldiers have a strong moral code. You know that, right?”

“What do you know about soldiers?” Oliver spit out.

“Army Ranger, Third Battalion, Fort Benning. We talked about it at the bar, remember?”

Oliver’s trembles ceased. Marco had his attention.

“You know civilians are not to be harmed,” Marco said, “and Abby is a civilian.”

“She’s a traitor!” Oliver yelled.

“She’s a civilian first, troop. She mustn’t be hurt. That’s our way. Our code of honor. You know we live by that code. We soldiers always obey the law, troop, so it’s time to give it up now. You’ve got to let her go.”

Oliver didn’t move. He wasn’t buying it. Tears blurred my vision and I blinked them away, praying the sting of his blade would be quick when it sliced across my throat. For several long, tense seconds I waited, my gaze on Marco, and his gaze on Oliver. Then, miraculously Oliver took the knife away and shoved me forward. I was free.

As I stumbled toward Marco, holding my hand against the cut on my throat, weakened by the feel of the sticky blood on my hand, he motioned for me to keep back, his commanding gaze never leaving Oliver’s face. “Put down your weapon, soldier, and stand at attention.”

At once, Oliver dropped the bayonet and drew himself up to salute. “Yes, sir.”

I sank to the ground, shaking so hard my teeth were clattering, and watched in awe as Marco walked over to Oliver and kicked the weapon out of his reach. “The authorities are on their way,” he said, putting his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Let’s walk out together as men of honor.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they started toward the parking lot, a swarm of cops in blue uniforms, helmets, and flak vests surrounded them, weapons drawn. “Hands in the air,” one of them shouted to Oliver.

Marco stepped back as they put Oliver on the ground and cuffed him. Then Marco turned, searching for me, and saw me huddled among the leaves. In a few long strides he was on his knees beside me, his arms around me, holding me tight as his strong hands stroked up and down my back. He rested his chin on top of my head and sighed, “Abby.”

I wept tears of gratitude as I slid my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest, soaking up his heat and strength. The feel of him, the scent of his clothing and skin, were safe and familiar. Boyfriend or not, Marco was still my hero.

When the worst of my trembling had subsided, he held me away to examine my neck. When he saw the cut, he immediately pulled a tissue from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. “It’s not deep,” he assured me. “You were lucky. Bayonets are sharp and deadly.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. My brain felt foggy and my muscles lethargic, as if my body had been drained of energy. Marco searched my eyes, then said, “Come on. Let’s go back to the parking lot. The medics should be there by now. I want them to bandage that puncture wound and check you over.”

“Oliver was going to kill me.”

Marco peeled back one side of his leather jacket to show me his gun in its shoulder holster. “I was prepared to take him down.” He let his jacket drop back in place, then put an arm around my shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?” I asked.

Marco said nothing, just helped me to my feet. The cops were in front of us, leading Oliver away. He marched stiff and straight between them like a well-trained soldier.

As we stepped out of the forest, Reilly came toward us. “Are you okay?” he asked me.

“She’s got a wound on her throat,” Marco said, “and I think she’s in shock.”

“There’s the medics’ van,” Reilly said, pointing to a red, blue, and white vehicle.

“Where’s Tom?” I asked, glancing around. “I sent him out here to find you.”

“He was waiting by your car when I got here,” Marco said. “He’s giving a statement to the cops now.”

I sat on a bench in the medics’ van as the EMT cleaned the wound in my neck, covered it with a bandage, and checked out my blood pressure, temperature, and heart rate. I kept trying to sort through everything that had happened, but my thoughts felt disjointed. I glanced out the back of the van where I could see Marco talking to Reilly.

“You’re good to go,” the medic said. He handed me some bandages and a bottle of water. “Drink plenty of fluids today so you don’t get dehydrated, and change the bandage every day until it forms a scab. My advice is to go home and eat something right now, then get some rest. You should be fine by tomorrow.”

I stepped down from the van on legs that felt like wet noodles just as Marco came toward me. “I’m going to drive you home in your car and Sean will bring my car back. Is that okay?”

As if there was any doubt.

As soon as I got into the passenger side of my Vette, I put my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes. I was emotionally exhausted and my body felt as though it had been run over by a steamroller. Marco seemed to understand and let me doze on the ride home. I heard him talking quietly on his cell phone to Nikki, and sure enough, when we reached my apartment building, Nikki was waiting at the front door to take over for him.