The Sleeping Doll (46 page)

Win Kellogg skidded the car to a stop beside the two deputies, sprawled on the sidewalk in front of the cabin.

“See how they are,” Kellogg told her and pulled out his cell phone to call for backup.

Gun in her sweating hand, Dance knelt beside the deputy, saw he was dead, his blood a huge stain, slightly darker than the dark asphalt that was his deathbed. The other officer as well. She glanced up and mouthed, “They’re gone.”

Kellogg folded up his phone and joined her.

Though they’d had no tactical training together, they approached the cabin like seasoned partners, making sure they offered no easy target and checking out the half–open door and the windows. “I’m going in,” Kellogg said.

Dance nodded.

“Just back me up. Keep an eye on the doorways inside. Scan. Constantly scan them. He’ll lead with the gun. Look for metal. And if there’re bodies inside, ignore them until the place is clear.” He touched her arm. “That’s important. Okay? Ignore them even if they’re screaming for help. We can’t do anything for anyone if we’re wounded. Or dead.”

“Got it.”

“Ready?”

No, not the least bit. But she nodded. He squeezed her shoulder. Then took several deep breaths and pushed through the doorway fast, weapon up, swinging it back and forth, covering the inside of the cabin.

Dance was right behind him, remembering to target the doors — and to raise her muzzle when he passed in front of her.

Scan, scan, scan …

She glanced behind them from time to time, checking out the open doorway, thinking Pell could easily have circled around and be waiting for them.

Then Kellogg called, “Clear.”

And inside, thank God, no bodies. Kellogg, though, pointed out bloodstains, fresh ones on the sill of an open window in the bedroom Rebecca had been using. Dance noticed some on the carpet too.

She looked outside, saw more blood and footprints in the dirt beneath it. She told Kellogg this and added, “Think we have to assume they got away and he’s after them.”

The FBI agent said, “I’ll go. Why don’t you wait here for the backup?”

“No,” she said automatically; there was no debate. “The reunion was
my
idea. And I’m not letting them die. I owe them that.”

He hesitated. “All right.”

They ran to the back door. Inhaling deeply, she flung it open; with Kellogg behind her, Dance sprinted outside, expecting at any moment to hear the crack of a gunshot and feel the numbing slap of a bullet.

My Daniel hurt me.

Why?

The pain in Linda’s heart was nearly as bad as the pain in her side. The good Christian within her had forgiven Daniel for the past. She was ready to forgive him for the present.

Yet he’d
shot
me.

She wanted to lie down. Let Jesus cloak them, let Jesus save them. She whispered this to Sam, but maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was in her imagination.

Samantha said nothing. She kept them jogging, Linda in agony, along the twisty paths of the beautiful yet stern park.

Paul, Harry, Lisa … the names of the foster children reeled through her mind.

No, that was last year. They were gone now. She had others now.

What were their names?

Why don’t I have a family?

Because God our Father has another plan for me, that’s why.

Because Samantha betrayed me.

Mad thoughts, rolling through her mind like the nearby sea cycled over the bony rocks.

“It hurts.”

“Keep going,” was Sam’s whisper. “Kathryn and that FBI agent’ll be here any minute.”

“He shot me. Daniel shot me.”

Her vision crinkled. She was going to faint. Then what’ll the Mouse do? Lug my 162 pounds over her shoulder?

No, she’ll betray me like she did before.

Samantha, my Judas.

Through the sound of the troubled waves, the wind hissing through the slippery pines and cypress, Linda heard Daniel Pell behind them. The snap of a branch occasionally, a rustle of leaves. They hurried on. Until the root of a scrub oak caught her foot and she went down hard, her wound burning with pain. She screamed.

“Shhhhh.”

“It hurts.”

Sam’s voice, shaking with fear. “Come on, get up, Linda. Please!”

“I can’t.”

More footfalls. He was closer now.

But then it occurred to Linda that maybe the sounds were the police. Kathryn and that cute FBI agent.

She winced in agony as she turned to look.

But, no, it wasn’t the police. She could see, fifty feet away, Daniel Pell. He spotted them. He slowed, caught his breath and continued forward.

Linda turned to Samantha.

But the woman was no longer there.

Sam had left her yet again, just like she’d done years ago.

Abandoned her to those terrible nights in Daniel Pell’s bedroom.

Abandoned then, abandoned now.

He approached slowly.

She winced at the pain. “Daniel, listen to me. It’s not too late. God will forgive you. Turn yourself in.”

He laughed, as if this were a joke of some sort. “God,” he repeated. “God forgives me … Rebecca told me you’d gone religious.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Please! You don’t need to do this. You can change.”

“Change? Oh, Linda, people don’t change. Never, never, never. Why, you’re still the same person you were when I found you, all red–eyed and lumpy, under that tree in Golden Gate Park, a runaway.”

Linda felt her vision turning to black sand and yellow lights. The pain ebbed as she nearly fainted. When she floated back to the surface, he was leaning forward with his knife. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve got to do it this way.” An absurd but genuine apology. “But I’ll be fast. I know what I’m doing. You won’t feel much.”

“Our Father … ”

He pushed her head to the side so that her neck was exposed. She tried to resist but she couldn’t. The fog was burned away completely now and as he moved the blade toward her throat, it flashed with a red glint from the low sun.

“Who art in heaven. Hallowed be —”

And then a tree fell.

Or an avalanche of rock crashed onto the path.

Or a flock of gulls, screaming in rage, landed on him.

Daniel Pell grunted and slammed into the rocky ground.

Samantha McCoy leapt off the killer, climbed to her feet and, hysterical, swung the solid tree branch onto his head and arms. Pell seemed astonished to see his little Mouse attacking him, the woman who scurried off to do everything he told her, who never told him no.

Except once …

Daniel slashed at her with the knife but she was too fast for him. He grabbed for the gun, which had fallen to the trail. But the rough branch connected hard again and again, bouncing off his head, tearing his ear. He wailed in pain. “Goddamn.” He struggled to his feet. Lashing out with his fist, he caught her in the knee with a solid blow and she dropped hard.

Daniel dove for the gun, grabbed it. He scrabbled back, rose to his feet once more and swung the pistol muzzle her way. But Samantha rolled to her feet and struck with the branch again, two–handed. It connected with his shoulder. He stepped back, flinching.

Two words from the past came back to Linda, seeing Sam fight. What Daniel used to say when he was proud of someone in the Family: “You held fast, lovely.”

Hold fast …

Samantha lunged again, swinging the branch.

But now Daniel had a solid stance. He managed to catch the branch with his left hand. For a moment they stared at each other, three feet apart, the wooden stick connecting them like a live wire. Daniel gave a sad smile and lifted the gun.

“No,” Linda croaked.

Samantha gave a smile too. And she pushed toward him, hard, and let go of the branch. Daniel stepped backward — into the air. He’d been standing on the edge of a cliff, twenty feet above another nature trail.

He cried out, fell backward and tumbled down the rough rock face.

Whether he survived or not, Linda didn’t know. Not at first. But then she supposed he must have. Samantha glanced down with a grimace, helped Linda to her feet. “We’ve got to go. Now.” And led her into the dense woods.

The woman was pale, but the bleeding wasn’t bad. The wound would be excruciating but she could at least walk.

A whisper.

“What?”

“Thought you left me.”

“No way. But he had the gun — I had to trick him.”

“He’s going to kill us.” Linda still sounded amazed.

“No, he’s not. Don’t talk. We have to hide.”

“I can’t go on.”

“Down by the water, the beach, there’re caves. We can hide in one. Until the police get here. Kathryn’s on her way. They’ll come after us.”

“No, I can’t. It’s miles.”

“It’s not that far. We can make it.”

They continued for another fifty feet, then Sam felt Linda start to falter.

“No, no … I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Sam found some reserve of strength and managed to get Linda another twenty feet. But then she collapsed — at the worst possible place, a clearing visible for a hundred yards from all around. She expected Pell to appear at any moment. He could easily pick them off.

A shallow trough in the rocks was nearby; it would hide them well enough.

Whispers floating from Linda’s mouth.

“What?” Sam asked.

She leaned closer. Linda was speaking to Jesus, not her.

“Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“No, no, you go on. Please. I mean it … You don’t need to make up for what happened. You just saved my life a minute ago. We’re even. I forgive you for what happened back in Seaside. I —”

“Not now, Linda!” Sam snapped.

The wounded woman tried to rise but then collapsed. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Jesus’ll take care of me. You go on.”

“Come on!”

Linda closed her eyes and began to whisper a prayer.

“You are not going to die here! Stand up!”

She took a deep breath, nodded and, with Sam’s help, climbed to her feet. Together they staggered off the path, stumbling through brush and over roots as they made their way to the shallow ravine.

They were on a promontory about fifty feet above the ocean. The crashing of the surf was nearly constant, a jet engine, not a pulse. Deafening too.

The low sunlight hit them full on in a blinding, orange wash. Sam squinted and made out the ravine, very close now. They’d lie down in it, pull brush and leaves over themselves.

“You’re doing fine. A few more feet.”

Well, twenty.

But then they closed the distance to ten.

And finally they reached their sanctuary. It was deeper than Sam had thought and would be perfect cover.

She began to ease Linda into it.

Suddenly, with the sound of crackling underbrush, a figure pushed out of the woods, coming right at them.

“No,” Sam cried. Letting Linda slump toward the ground, she grabbed a small rock, a pathetic weapon.

Then, gasping, she barked a hysterical laugh.

Kathryn Dance, crouching, whispered, “Where is he?”

Her heart slamming, Sam mouthed, “I don’t know.” Then repeated the words louder. “We saw him about fifty yards back that way. He’s hurt. But I saw him walking.”

“He’s armed?”

A nod. “A gun. And a knife.”

Dance scanned the area around them, squinting into the sun. She then assessed Linda’s condition. “Get her down there.” Nodding at the ravine. “Press something on the wound.”

Together they eased the woman into the depression.

“Please, stay with us,” Sam whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Dance said. “I’m not going anywhere.”