Page 77 of Not This Way

The sun glinted off the killer’s hunting knife, casting an ominous streak of light on his twisted face as tried to stab upwards, off his back.

This forced her to make a split-second decision. Rather than risking injury, she released her grip and pushed back.

They both regained their feet rapidly, gasping and sweaty.

Rachel shot a temporary glance back toward the vehicle at the top of the incline.

The lawyer was still in there, bleeding from her neck.

Alive, for now. Rachel remembered with the other victims that they’d had superficial cuts. This man knew how to hurt his victims without killing them. A horrifying thought.

Rachel returned her attention to the knife-wielding maniac.

He stood glaring at her, teeth bared. He kept glancing at the sky, as if fearful it might fall on him at any moment.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered.

She swallowed, stepping back, keeping her distance. “You like the shadows, don’t you?” she whispered.

He moved to the left. She followed. He moved to the right. She countered.

“You hired someone to hide the bodies. Hired someone to place a phone call. And all the while, you’re sneaking around. Well, I see you now!” she said, her voice hoarse. “Iseeyou.”

She glared at him, refusing to look away.

He quailed under her stare and fidgeted uncomfortably, clutching tightly at the knife.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

He snarled and lunged forward.

Rachel sidestepped and kicked his wrist. The knife clattered to the ground, and he stumbled.

She grabbed the knife and held it to his throat.

“Don’t move,” she said, her voice trembling.

He froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the cacti.

“Now,” Rachel said, her voice steady. “Let’s talk about what you did.”

He tensed.

There was a sudden shout behind her. A strangled noise. The woman in the car, pleading for help.

Rachel instinctively glanced back, and the killer jammed his elbow into her gut.

She let out a gasp of air, and he tore the knife away from her.

Her own compassion, fear on behalf of the bleeding woman, nearly cost her her own life.

The knife came whistling toward her neck, but she dodged it again.

She used her agility to evade his thrusts and punches, countering with swift blows of her own. As they circled one another, Rachel searched for any opportunity to exploit his weaknesses.

The killer’s face was twisted into a furious expression, like a grotesque Halloween mask.

His timid, almost apologetic nature had vanished to be replaced by something feral.

---