"So romantic," the brunette said dryly.
As the woman stayed fixated on the serial killer, Veck decided to hedge his bets: He put one of his guns away ... and palmed up that glass dagger he'd been given. None of this was making sense - which gave some credibility to Adrian's advice.
"Where the f**k is she?" he growled.
"I'll tell you - but you have to do something for me."
"What."
The brunette smiled and stepped back from Kroner. "Kill him."
Veck narrowed his eyes on the woman.
In response, she smiled more deeply. "It's what you were going to do all along. You waited for him in those woods, biding your time until he showed up among the trees next to that motel. You were going to act ... but you were denied your chance."
Facing off at her, Veck's body began to vibrate, that rage that had sprung loose at the prison coalescing in his torso, tightening his muscles.
"This is my gift to you, little Tommy. You kill him, and I'll show you where your woman is. It's what you want. It's what you're here for. It's your destiny."
From out of nowhere, a reflection of light pierced the darkness, and illuminated the shadows, revealing ... Bails.
The guy was sitting on the floor of the cave, leaning back against the wet wall. A gunshot marked his forehead between his wide-open eyes, the smallest trail of blood seeping out and dripping down his nose. His mouth was lax; his skin pale gray.
"Don't worry about him," the brunette said dismissively. "He was nothing but a pawn. You, on the other hand ... are the prize. And all you have to do is act. Kill him ... and I'll make sure you see your girl."
Abruptly, Veck realized where the shaft of light was coming from.
His hand had risen up, and that glass dagger had caught the butter soft candlelight, sending a shaft of it across the cave to zero in on his supposed friend.
"Time's wasting, little Tommy. Let's get through this, so we can come out the other side. Listen to your gut. Do what you know is right. Take out this piece-of-shit, amoral killer and find what you seek. It's such an obvious path, such a simple trade - everything that Reilly is, for this murdering madman. It's all in your hands... ."
"Is Reilly alive?" he heard himself say.
"She is."
"Will you let us both out of here alive?"
"Probably. Depends on what you do, doesn't it." The brunette's voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "You can see her the moment you take care of business. I swear to it. It's all in your hands... ."
Chapter 47
As Reilly hung from the cave's ceiling, she still could not believe the image she was showing to Veck: The hospital johnny and the flat chest and the dangling legs were not her own.
Yet through the screaming pain in her head, through her confusion and panic, she could move these limbs that were not hers, could draw breath through a throat she did not know, could fill lungs that were someone else's.
All of which gave credibility to what Veck thought he was looking at.
And so he was going to kill her, she thought in horror and disbelief.
Struggling to speak, she whispered in a rasping voice that was not her own, "I'm ... me ... please ..."
"... It's such an obvious path, a simple trade - everything that Reilly is, for this murdering madman. It's all in your hands... ."
The brunette who was talking was not in fact a woman. Reilly had seen what that thing was - it had shown her its true vileness while Bails got Veck on the phone, and that was why she had screamed.
Then afterward, she had watched as it had gotten into Bails's mind and made hm turn his own gun on himself.
The great liar, she thought. Who knew that that was so true about the devil.
"Veck ..." Reilly tried to marshal more breath, dragging air down into a frozen rib cage. "Veck ... no ..."
But she wasn't reaching him - and she wasn't going to: The louder she spoke, the more she sounded like Kroner, as if his voice box had replaced hers. And she was losing what little strength she had: Bails had dragged her down the quarry's slope, and her lower legs were contused badly - to the point where she knew she'd lost blood. She was also very sure she had a concussion, and she had grown weak from having hung in the cold for God only knew how long.
A hot tear slid down her cheek, and then a second ... and then a rush of them.
At one time or another, like most people, she had entertained morbid thoughts about what death was waiting for her: A slow-growing disease? A quick car accident? Some genetic weakness that predisposed her to a bad heart? Or maybe an attack from a criminal where she'd fight back, perhaps shoot him as he shot her. Real blaze-of-glory stuff.
What was happening in this frigid, damp cave? Not it.
Staring across at Veck's cold, furious face, she started to see double, and her eyes were incapable of bringing the two halves of him together ... so she had more than enough opportunity to find that there was no compassion, no emotion, no doubt in his expression ...
As that glinting crystal dagger lifted, she realized she was looking into his father's face.
This was the son living up to the father's legacy.
Images of her own parents made the tears come harder. She hadn't had a chance to say good-bye. To tell them one last time that she loved them, and that they'd changed not just her life, but so many others'... .
And she hadn't been able to tell Veck properly that she believed him, that she knew he was innocent ... and that she loved him.
Of course, the grand irony was that he was about to kill her under the guise of saving her.
"I know you didn't do it," she said on a harsh breath that didn't carry far. "The evidence ... it was Bails... ."
Why that was important to say given the amount of time she had left - which was nearly none - she hadn't a clue.
Better get on with it: "I love ... you... ."
And then she closed her eyes, turned her head away, and braced herself. He was going to go for the heart. With a dagger - that was the most efficient way - and Veck was not going to want to waste time if he thought her life was hanging in the balance.
Terror choked her and her body began to shake.
Her mouth opened as she started to sob.
Tears flowed ... as her blood soon would.
Nights ago, in those woods, by that motel, Veck had been prepared to take this piece of shit Kroner out.
Granted, it hadn't been for society's benefit - although he'd been prepared to maintain that it was. And after the opportunity had come and gone, he'd been relieved that he hadn't done it.
Now? He had the only justification that mattered: his Reilly didn't care that she thought he'd tampered with evidence or that she wouldn't have anything to do with him after this.
Saving her life was enough.
The brunette was right; such a simple trade.
Veck focused on his victim. As Kroner hung from the cave's ceiling, his mouth was moving, and given the tears that were pouring out of his eyes, he was no doubt begging for mercy, the killer reduced to begging for everything he hadn't granted his prey.
Christ, he was so f**king pathetic, that hospital gown marked with blood as if he'd been pulled headfirst down the slope, his skin so white it had slipped into snow territory, his face all distorted from swelling.
Veck had a passing urge to put the dagger away and punch the guy until the motherfucker had a coronary. The man's victims had had to go slowly ... had been conscious as he'd taken his godforsaken bits and pieces from them ... it seemed like karma to have him know on an up-close-and-personal level what it felt like to be out of control, in pain, and at the mercy of another.
But Reilly's life was at stake.
Veck craned his arm up higher over his shoulder and angled the glass dagger's point at Kroner's chest. One vicious stab was all it was going to take, and f**k knew that Veck had the strength to get the job done -
Just as the weapon reached the apex of the arc, in the second before he was going to put all his upper-body power into the downward thrust, one of the weapon's facets caught the candlelight and shot a beam onto Kroner's face.
Veck frowned as he got a clear picture of those ratlike features: Kroner had closed his eyes and turned his face to the side, his frail body trembling as he braced himself for death.
"What's the matter," the brunette barked. "Do it - and you'll have her."
This is not my life to take, Veck thought with a sudden, inexplicable conviction.
"Do it!"
This is ... not my life to take.
His father ... Kroner himself ... men like that ... they thought that all lives, all people, all things, were theirs for the taking, and it was just a case of whim-based design who they decided to choose, who became the next notch on their belt. And the trophies were about keeping a slice of this moment now, when they had all the power, when they were in control, when they were God - because like an orgasm, this pleasure point was fleeting, and the memory wasn't a patch on the actual experience.