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Once more, he called his partner. “Come on, Bentz, this is important.”
Once more, he didn’t get through.
“Son of a—!”
Frustrated, he rammed a hand through his hair, spun on the porch and noticed movement—a flickering in the shadows. Not here at Kristi’s house, but in the alley across the street. In the very spot Kristi had thought she’d once spied someone spying on her place.
“Hey!” Montoya yelled, but as quickly as the figure had appeared, it vanished, racing through the Garden District, almost disappearing between the houses before his eyes.
Montoya didn’t think twice.
He took off at a dead run.
* * *
The car was slowing.
From the backseat of the Impala Sam heard the shift in the rumble of the engine’s motor, sensed the change in movement.
She swallowed back her fear. She had to do this. Silently she tested her fingers and her hands, then shifted her body. Little by little as the time passed, she was gaining control.
Oh, please.
But if he stopped again, he’d zap her, send however many thousand volts through her body.
Or worse.
She didn’t know where he was taking her, but it wouldn’t be any place good and she’d never get another chance to stop him.
She stretched the heavy rosary between her fingers. It wasn’t standard by any means. The stones were sharp, honed by this maniac, and they were strung over something stiff and heavy, like piano wire or heavy-duty fishing line, something guaranteed not to break no matter how taut it was strung, no matter how much pressure was applied, no matter how much his victim fought.
She silently vowed not to be the next victim.
As the Chevy slowed, she gathered her strength.
The car turned suddenly, banking, and once more tires crunched on gravel, the whole car bouncing on what she assumed was a little-used lane. She heard weeds scraping the undercarriage beneath her, felt the entire body of the Impala lurch when a tire struck a pothole or large rock.
Dear God, where was he taking her?
She knew she’d have one shot and one shot only. If he caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror, he’d be able to react, so she kept a low profile.
She smelled the swamp. Stronger here, the brackish water, wet earth, and realized that wherever he was taking her, it would be the last place she would ever see.
Unless she killed him.
And she could. She was certain of that harsh fact.
But she’d have to act soon.
Before it was too late.
She took in a quick breath, praying her body would comply with the commands of her brain.
The car slowed even more, creeping now, brambles with limbs scraping its sides.
Now, Sam! You have to do it now!
It was now or never.
