Page 65 of The Survivor
Blake, where are you?
Fear paralyzed every muscle in her body, that strong front she’d tried holding on to slipping away as each agonizing second ticked by. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to talk to this insane killer whose empty eyes scared her and tugged at her sympathy at the same time. She didn’t want to go through this again. She didn’t want any of this.
“I probably would never have found out about Ted, you know,” he said pensively. “If the idiot hadn’t decided to send you flowers frommyshop, I would have never known what you were up to, Anne.”
He rose, his too-big shirt rustling. She understood now why the uniform didn’t fit him. It wasn’t his.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she wondered if he’d killed a cop to get that uniform.
She watched as he headed for the door, praying that he was leaving. Maybe this was all he’d wanted, to talk to his dead wife for a bit, and now he was gallivanting off to do something else, like go bowling, or ice skating.
Right.
A strangled laugh tore out of her throat as she lay there, inhaling the scent of roses and staring at the doorway. She’d almost convinced herself that he’d left when he reappeared. He held a knife in his hands.
No. No, no, no! Her heart pounded violently against her rib cage. She flailed on the cot, blindly grabbing at the ropes on her hands while hot tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t have this happen to her again.
Shecouldn’t.
* * *
In the large conference room, Blake turned to Hodges and snapped, “Have you managed to track down the address of that greenhouse yet?”
“No, but Samson is on it as we speak. I’ll go see if she’s made any headway.”
Hodges left the room with hurried strides. When he returned a few minutes later, with Detective Carol Samson by his side, he wore a victorious expression. “We’ve got it,” he announced.
Running her hand through her curly hair, Samson spoke. “The greenhouse was purchased under Grant’s mother’s name.”
She recited the address and before she could get another word in, Blake took off.
“Blake, wait,” Rick called after him. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m going after her.”
As he slid out the door, his partner scrambled to keep up with him. “You can’t just charge in there.”
“Like hell I can’t.”
Looking as if he wanted to shoot something—namely his partner—Rick grabbed his arm. “For God’s sake, just wait a second. Let me talk to Fantana and then I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll be in the car.”
In the driver’s seat of the SUV, he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as adrenaline continued to pour through him in bucket loads. He didn’t want to wait for Rick, didn’t want to wait one more second when he knew Sam might not have that much time. But going in alone would be reckless, irresponsible. He couldn’t risk making a mistake, because one wrong step could be the difference between Sam living and Sam dying.
“Fantana’s team will follow us in an unmarked car,” Rick said as he slid into the passenger seat. He held a sheet of paper in his hand. “Samson printed out a map for us. We won’t be able to approach the greenhouse from the road. The area’s too open. If he’s near a window he’ll spot us coming.”
Blake pointed to another section on the map. “We can come in from the woods over here.”
“The detectives will park down the road and we can radio for backup if we need it. Fantana’s also arranging for the paramedics to be nearby, in case…” Rick never finished his sentence.
Blake’s lips tightened. No, there would not be “in case.” Sam wasnotgoing to be hurt.
He was about to say that when Rick’s cell rang. Blake watched as his partner listened, then hung up.
“That was Fantana. They tracked down Paul Benson, the officer Grant was impersonating.”
“And?”
