Hundreds of gleaming keys fill the bin, and they’ve been filed into lethal-looking weapons. The edges knife-sharp.
A hiss echoes through the garage, and the hydraulic lift lowers a notch. I look up at London. She’s strong, but her body reacts from the jolting motion, her muscles quaking with involuntary tremors as she sways only feet above the container.
The weighted locks above my head clang together, moving another few inches higher.
“I knew from the moment I found the doctor alive that she was the key to you,” Nelson says. “I admit, for a while, you eluded me. You’re a conundrum. A psychopathic killer in love… Not only is it ridiculous, but it goes against every FBI profile we have.”
“I’m not a profile.”
“You will be now. See, I struggled—with every kill—to get inside your head, but I don’t have to share your obsession to beat you. I just needed her.”
London is so much more than a mere obsession.
“If you try to remove her from the trap,” Nelson continues, “I push the button on the lift controls. She might survive the dunk…but she won’t be very pretty anymore.”
I grit my teeth and whirl around, looking for the man behind the voice. “You could just shoot us both. Save us the trouble.”
Hetsks. “Do you think I’m doing this for you? For her? Idon’t give a fuck how you two twists kill each other in the end. She dies by your hand—by your death trap—that means I get to go back.”
“You’re not going back, Nelson. You enjoy my persona too much. It might have started out as a way to get inside my head, to hunt me, but as time went on, you got comfortable in my skin. Because otherwise, I’m here.” I raise my hands. “You’ve caught me.”
My voice echos around the garage.
I let my arms drop. “You don’t want to capture me. You want me dead. So you can continue to use my methods to kill. It’s the perfect ruse.”
At his intense silence, I have my answer. Nelson doesn’t intend for either me or London to leave here alive.
“Being on the run is exhausting,” I say. “I know. It wears on a man. Shows us what we’re made of. I’m never going to stop hunting you, Nelson. The FBI is the least of your worries.”
Another shrill whistle from the gears on the lift, and London descends lower. A warning that Nelson is ready to start the game.
Even if I save her, we’re not simply walking away. The only way Nelson gets to be the hero is if we die. He’ll become the insulted agent who went rogue to capture an escaped killer.
Except London becomes a victim in the process.
Two deaths have to happen here. That’s what’s needed.
“Only one key unlocks her shackles,” Nelson says. “Dig in.”
I look up at London, beautiful and angelic. Her dark hair tangled in disarray, mascara smudged down her porcelain cheeks. Duct tape covers her eyes and mouth, and yet she’s speaking to me, urging me on.
It ends here, she said in this very place as I held her in my arms. She saw the design before I could recognize it myself.
I start with the locks, inspecting each one. A Houdini lock and three other puzzle locks. I used to solve these as a kid. Icould use the bump key I keep in my pocket to open the locks right now—but that’d be breaking the rules. London would suffer.
Nelson wants blood.
I roll my sleeves up and kneel before the tub of keys, noticing an odd glint beneath the surface. Swiping my hand over the top, I push aside a number of keys.
Razorblades.
“Damn, this is going to hurt.”
I fortify myself, and a sort of calm encases me as I sink my hands into the sharp objects. From my peripheral, I see London kicking her feet, seeking the edge of the container. She won’t reach it. She only has five minutes before her toes touch the solution.
Five minutes is more than enough time.
I can assume Nelson wouldn’t put the keys to the locks anywhere near the top of the pile; he wants me digging, razors shredding my skin. I work my hands all the way to the bottom of the tub, gritting my teeth against the acute pain.
