Afraid to Die

  She looked at the pictures of the suspect, blown up and pinned to the same wall where the victims were pictured, their personal information noted. How were they connected?

  Johnna Phillips’s photograph had been included, though the question mark beside her name hadn’t been erased.

  In a dark moment, she imagined she saw Alvarez’s name on the wall, a picture of her posted as one of the Ice Mummy Killer’s victims, and in that briefest of seconds, Regan Pescoli’s blood ran cold as ice.

  This was nuts!

  Gabe couldn’t believe what was going on.

  Freezing in the back of the dark pickup, handcuffed to the sides, he and the cop lady were captive of some sick prick. He knew who the freak was. The jerk who had tricked them was the frickin’ Ice Mummy Killer and he was going to kill them both. And the dog, too. It was alive, drugged maybe, and the deputy, she was alive, too, but bound and gagged, and when she’d tried to go for her gun, he’d stabbed her; the freakin’ madman had plunged the knife deep into her side and then taunted both of them with it. She was losing a lot of blood, moaning and out of it. The dog, too, just lay in the cold back of the pickup’s bed, a canopy over them.

  The bastard had made Gabe record the video sent to Alvarez and he’d wangled the knife he’d used to slice the deputy at him to keep him in line.

  Scared to death, huddled in the back of the damned pickup, Gabe wished he’d never left home, never gotten involved with Lizard and his stupid friends. Jesus, God, this was a mess. All those times he’d been mad at his mom, or his little sister had bugged him, or he’d been pissed at Leo for being so damned perfect taunted him now, rolled around in his head, and he wished he could take every one of them back. Even finding his “real” mom because he was mad at Aggie and Dave. How dumb was that?

  His wrists were chafed raw from him pulling and straining against the handcuffs and his fingers and toes felt numb from the cold. While the prick had kept the truck idling here in the woods, keeping himself warm in the cab, the rest of them were freezing. Gabe’s nose was numb, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, though he thought that might be more from fear than the elements.

  This freak was going to kill them. All of them. Gabe had seen it in his dead eyes how he wanted to dispose of them all. The deputy and dog, half dead already, and Gabe, yeah, the guy would love to slice his throat. As for Selena Alvarez, the cop, Gabe wanted to believe in her, to trust that she was smarter and stronger and would be able to kick the bastard’s ass, but the truth of it was that she, too, was going to die.

  And the prick who held them, he was going to love killing her.

  With Alvarez at the wheel, her little car sped up the road that cut through this section of forest where huge spruce and pine trees towered over the mountainsides, reaching upward to the darkened evening sky. Far below, hidden by the night, Cougar Creek, a jagged rush of spring-fed water, had, no doubt, frozen over and was silenced for the winter. Aside from the grind of the Outback’s engine, the forest was silent, deafeningly so. Here the snow was thick, recent tracks from one other vehicle cutting through the powder.

  She wasn’t alone.

  He was here.

  The maniac who had kidnapped Gabe, no doubt the psycho the press had dubbed the Ice Mummy Killer, he was hiding in these thick woods. Did he have Gabe with him? And what about Trilby Van Droz, the deputy who had been charged with driving Gabe to Helena? The killer wouldn’t have let her go ... No, there had to have been some kind of confrontation.

  Trilby’s dead. He wouldn’t have let her survive. He couldn’t. No, he would dispose of her.

  A bit of bile rose up her throat, but she kept driving and held on to the fact that someone in the department would be missing Trilby. When she didn’t show up with Gabe, someone would start looking for her ... a lot of someones in the department and with the FBI and—

  Too late. Yes, they will realize that something’s gone terribly wrong, but it will be too late.

  The same with O’Keefe. He would be wondering what had happened to her when she didn’t show up for dinner. Had been calling her. But he wouldn’t know how to find her.

  No, she was on her own.

  Alvarez felt the weight of the pistol in her shoulder holster. Her sidearm had always given her comfort, even strength, but tonight it seemed a dead weight. She didn’t doubt that she’d be stripped of it immediately.

  She had a backup weapon though and she felt the pressure of a knife she’d slipped into the side of her boot. It was awkward, and probably anticipated, but it was more than nothing; she might be able to use it to gain time or some kind of an edge.

  Other than those two weapons, she had nothing but her brains and instinct to save herself and her son.

  God help me, she thought, though long ago she’d lost her faith in a higher being. Today, though, she second-guessed herself as she hit the gas, speeding through the forest, her tires spinning at times, not gaining traction, the engine of her Outback straining.

  This old mining road hadn’t been plowed, but because of the canopy of trees overhead, cutting the density of the snowfall, and her car’s ability to drive in all conditions, she was able to reach the summit.

  Jaw tight, she stared through the windshield, her heart pounding, the wipers slapping at the snow as she finally crested the hill at Cougar Pass.

  You should call. Now, for backup. Let the department know your latest position. You can’t take him on alone.

  She reached for the phone, then let it drop. She couldn’t take a chance on Gabe’s life.

  And what chance does he have with just you?

  “Van Droz didn’t make it to Helena.” Dan Grayson walked into Pescoli’s office with the bad news.

  “What?”

  “She’s missing. Along with the kid. Her vehicle was discovered on the highway about halfway there, lights flashing, still idling, but she’s MIA.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, but I’m heading out there. Got the place cordoned off. Kayan and Watershed are already on the scene.”

  “She’s an experienced driver,” Pescoli said, thinking aloud. “Even if she slid off the road, why wouldn’t she call in?”

  “Exactly.” His gaze collided with hers and she saw the worry in his eyes, the muscle working near his temple.

  “You think there’s foul play?”

  “Don’t know.” His lips became thin as razors. “But I aim to find out.”

  “I’ll drive up there.”

  “Somebody better call Alvarez, since she’s involved in this. Helena PD is already hunting down the parents.”

  “I’ve already left her a message and a text, neither of which she answered,” Pescoli said, “but I’ll get hold of her.”

  “I’m on my way to the scene now,” he said, whistling to his dog. “I don’t like this. At all.”

  “Neither do I.” She grabbed her sidearm and was reaching for her jacket when her phone jangled. She didn’t recognize the number on caller ID and it didn’t identify who was on the other end of the phone. She nearly didn’t answer because there was a chance that her ex had passed out her private cell number again.

  “Pescoli,” she answered, reminding herself that it had turned out to be a good thing that Carl Anderson had called and alerted the department to the fact that Johnna Phillips had gone missing.

  “Dylan O’Keefe. I’m looking for Detective Alvarez.”

  “I thought she was with you. She left the station, what?” Pescoli glanced at the clock. “Twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago.”

  “That fits,” he said, then told her about spying Alvarez drive into the lot and out. “I thought maybe she got called away, but I can’t get hold of her. She’s not answering her phone.”

  “I know,” Pescoli said, and the worry that had been with her intensified. “Did you try the house?”

  “There’s no electricity there; at least, there wasn’t earlier and I can’t get hold of the maintenance guy that Alvarez uses, don’t
know his number, not that it would help. The complex is out.”

  Something clicked in Pescoli’s brain. “Her maintenance guy? You remember his name?”

  “Jon something ... I think.”

  That was right. She’d mentioned him to Pescoli before. “Jon Oestergard?”

  “I don’t think I ever heard his last name.”

  But Pescoli had.

  “I’ll call you if I hear from her,” she said, then hung up.

  She fell into her desk chair and clicked through some pages until she found the file of parishioners for the Presbyterian church. There, right in the middle of the telephone and prayer directory, were Jon and Dorie Oestergard.

  And there was a note that Jon was the builder of the new church ... This couldn’t be ... Or could it? She pulled up Oestergard’s driver’s license and searched for other pictures of him, all of which showed him wearing shaded glasses.

  Could it be?

  She did a quick history, looking for priors, and in recent years he’d kept his nose clean, but there was an incident, years ago, a woman who’d been caring for him, an aunt, who had died from knife wounds, the result of an attack by “a group of men in ski masks,” according to her young charge ... Jon Oestergard, who had sustained his share of injuries at the time.

  Could he have been so traumatized from the event to have turned into a killer?

  Or could he have killed his aunt himself and no one believed a fourteen-year-old boy capable of such a hideous crime? A crime that had cost him part of the vision in his right eye. “God all mighty,” she whispered. The man was married. No children. Had worked different jobs and inherited a farm, learned to build from his grandfather, or so she gleaned from a few articles about him that had been written as the builder for the new church was being decided upon.

  Was it possible? Was Jon Oestergard the damned Ice Mummy Killer?

  Chapter 33

  The pickup was idling, its headlights beacons in the night.

  A white Dodge with a camper, poised at the highest part of the road. The hills rose above this point, but here the road was a snow-covered S curve that wound down the back side of the mountain.

  Standing in front of the truck, Gabriel Reeve, shackled and handcuffed, was visibly shaking, and at his feet was a lump of fur ... oh, Jesus, her dog!

  Bait!

  This was worse than she thought.

  She had the phone in her lap, and without looking down, texted Pescoli:

  With killer @ Cougar Pass. Help!

  It was too late, of course.

  She hit the send button and mute button, then dialed Pescoli and slid the phone into her pocket and calmly said, hoping her mouth didn’t move too much, just in case she was being watched through some kind of mega nightscope. “I’m at Cougar Pass, on the old mining road. Trying to get Gabriel Reeve. Send backup. ASAP!”

  Her car rolled to a stop.

  “Throw your weapon out of the car,” a voice boomed and she visibly started.

  He was watching!

  Gabriel, shackled in knee-deep snow, started to run toward her.

  Craaack!

  The report of a rifle echoed across the canyon.

  Gabriel tumbled forward.

  “Oh, God, no!” Alvarez yanked her gun from her holster, opened the door of her Outback and, weapon drawn, certain she would find blood blooming across her son’s chest, did everything she shouldn’t. With no idea where the assailant was, she flung herself through the falling snow and across the few feet to her boy.

  “Come on,” she said when she reached him. “Are you hit?”

  “No!” He was already moving with her, awkwardly stumbling toward the Outback, when another shot was fired.

  The back window of her car blew out and she threw them both to the ground again.

  Where the hell was the sniper?

  Higher on the hill, above the road, looking down on them. If so, they were sitting ducks.

  “Crawl to the car,” she whispered, frantically. She thought the sniper was above them on the hillside, but the back window had blown in, so she thought he might be behind them.

  He’s playing with you.

  This is a game. Sport.

  He probably has night vision goggles and God knows what else in his arsenal.

  “Get under the car,” she ordered. “Use it for cover!”

  “Don’t leave.” Gabe was frantic with fear.

  “Just get under the car!”

  She was already moving around the Subaru, hoping to draw fire away from her son, at the very least, to split the sniper’s attention.

  “I will kill the boy!” the voice boomed. It sounded familiar. And determined. “Drop your weapon!”

  “Show yourself, you coward,” she said, holding tight to her pistol.

  “I will kill the boy!” To prove his point, another round was fired, the rifle cracking so loudly it echoed. Another window in her car blew out, glass raining into the snow. The passenger-side window was demolished.

  Gabe let out a frightened squeal.

  She yelled, “Stay down, Gabe!”

  If she could get him into her car, they had a chance, could outrun the guy down the hill. She’d throw the Subaru into reverse and back down the road to the wide spot she’d noticed on her way up, turn around and they might just make it.

  Blam!

  This time she pinpointed the shot. At least audibly.

  The assailant was definitely up the hill, where the ground crested above the road. He was probably hiding behind one of the huge trees for protection, then taking his time picking them off.

  Blam!

  Another shot.

  Gabe covered his head.

  A back tire of the Subaru deflated and Gabe, half under the vehicle, squirmed out from under it.

  “No!”

  Crap! Now her chances of the Outback being the getaway vehicle had plummeted. This was getting them nowhere fast. She had to do something. They were sitting ducks!

  Pescoli got the message.

  She’d just reached her Jeep and slid behind the wheel when the text came in.

  “What?” she whispered, and started to call Alvarez when a call came in.

  “Hello?” she yelled into the phone. “What the hell’s going on? I just got a text that—” Her voice faded as she heard Alvarez’s voice.

  “I’m at Cougar Pass, on the old mining road. Trying to get Gabriel Reeve. Send backup. ASAP!” And then the hollow, terrifying sound of a shot being fired.

  “Shit!” She clicked over to another line, dialed 911, and when the operator picked up, identified herself, all the while wheeling out of the lot.

  “... I said, I’m Detective Regan Pescoli and my partner’s under fire. At Cougar Pass, off of Leland Road, I think. She’s requesting backup. I’m on my way, but we need more units. Make sure the FBI knows. We might need a helicopter and I don’t want to hear about the snowstorm. Got it?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Also,” she barreled on, “I need someone to do a background check and try to locate Jonathan Oestergard. He lives out of town, the old Oestergard place on Eve’s Road, that’s right, E-V-E-S!”

  She didn’t wait for a response, just clicked back, and as she turned on her lights and siren, heard more shots being fired some fifteen miles away.

  By the time she got there and backup arrived, it would be all over!

  “God damn it, Alvarez,” she muttered. “This isn’t the time to go all superhero!” Why hadn’t she informed Pescoli of her plans? How the hell had she ended up alone and under siege?

  Because of the boy, her son.

  That was it. Ever since she found out about Gabriel Reeve, all of Alvarez’s cold, hard cop sense had eroded. The by-the-book cop was now dealing with emotion. And right now that emotion was pure, raw fear.

  “Damn it all to hell!” Pescoli slammed a fist against the steering wheel and, siren screaming, ran a series of red lights as she headed for the foothills.

  It would
take her twenty minutes to get to Cougar Pass, and that was if she was lucky. Probably more like thirty, considering the snow.

  This was all messed up.

  All messed up.

  And she was pretty damned sure she was too late to fix it.

  “Stay down!” Alvarez ordered at her son.

  Drawing fire on herself, she ran, hunched over, plowing through the snow, toward the idling truck. As she crouched, she fired her pistol, shooting wildly toward the area where she thought the guy was hiding, hoping to force him to take cover and pin him down for just a few precious seconds.

  She was halfway to the truck when she spied her dog.

  Lying motionless in the snow because the maniac had killed him.

  You sick bastard, she thought, and as she ran past him, the poor animal let out a whimper.

  Alive? Roscoe was alive?

  Oh, hell. Without thinking, she scooped up the dog and threw herself across the remaining distance toward the idling truck.

  The dog cried, and in that second, bullets rained around her.

  As if he’d realized his mistake, the killer started firing in rapid succession.

  Blam! Blam! Blam!

  Rifle shots echoed down the canyon; snow shook from the trees. She could only hope that the damned fool would start an avalanche that would swallow him whole and crush him with the weight of thousands of tons of frozen white powder. Would serve the prick right.

  No such luck.

  The mountain remained stable.

  Heart beating frantically, nerves stretched to the breaking point, she climbed into the truck on the driver’s side, away from the upper hill. She got behind the wheel and threw it into gear.

  Head ducked, she hit the gas. The big rig lurched forward, down the hill. All she had to do was reach the Subaru, get Gabe inside and then take off down the hill, leaving the creep with only her disabled Outback.

  Craaack!

  A bullet hit the driver’s door.