Without responding, she darted forward toward the knife lying on the gangplank grate. She saw Pierce look down and register the weapon for the first time. She rushed forward too, closing the distance between them fast.

  Hannah threw herself to the floor and got there first, grabbing the hilt of the knife. Her momentum sent her rolling over onto her back, just as Pierce arrived, landing on top of her, smashing down on Hannah’s chest and squishing the air out of her.

  Hannah clung to the knife as she gasped desperately for breath. Pierce, straddling her now, wrapped her hands around Hannah’s and tried to rip the knife free, but her bloody, sweaty fingers slipped off. Rather than try again, she punched Hannah in the midsection. Hannah gasped again but gripped the knife tightly.

  “Just so you know,” Pierce spat, leering down at her with rage-filled eyes, “once I’m done with you, I’m going after your sister next.”

  But as the words left her lips, her hand shot up to her forehead her face contorted in obvious agony. Hannah looked at the woman above her, who had tried to kill her, to torture and kill Kat, and now threatened to do the same to Jessie. The fury she felt coalesced into one simple directive that echoed through her brain: end this.

  Almost without instruction, her right hand rose up hard and fast and jammed the blade of the knife into the side of Ash Pierce’s neck. It pierced her flesh just above the collarbone and embedded there even after Hannah released her grip.

  Pierce looked down at her, dumbfounded, even as a scream escaped her lips. The sound quickly became garbled as blood filled her throat and shot out of her mouth. More blood spewed out of the wound, down onto Hannah.

  As Pierce clutched at the knife, Hannah shoved the woman off her and rolled away to the side. She watched in horror as the assassin pulled the knife out of her neck with one hand and used the other as a makeshift bandage, pressing down on the gaping hole left behind while blood flowed through her fingers. Despite all that, she stood up and took a step forward.

  Hannah scrambled to her feet but found that she couldn’t do much more. Her ribs were screaming, and she could barely catch her breath. Pierce took another step forward, but Hannah held her ground, less out of bravery than exhaustion.

  Then she sensed movement to her right and glanced over. Kat had somehow gotten to her feet and was now standing beside her with a determined look on her face. Her hands were out, ready to fight. She seemed oblivious to her bleeding forehead.

  A moment later, Gila appeared to Hannah's left. She curled her raw fingers into fists and assumed a combat posture. The three women stood there, a united front, waiting for Pierce's next move. The assassin paused for a second to take them in.

  “I still like my odds,” she muttered, her words hard to understand because of her voice’s raspy wetness.

  She lunged forward, the knife high in her hand. Both Kat and Gila stepped in front of Hannah to create a human wall as the knife came down. Then a shot rang out and Pierce flew backward, landing on the metal grate. A hole in the right side of her chest began to fill with blood.

  Hannah looked behind her. Rufus Harrington was at the top of the stairs, his gun still pointed at Pierce. She turned back around to Pierce, whose expression could best be described as bewildered. She seemed not to believe that she was in this position, lying on the floor, with everyone she’d tried to kill standing over her.

  Her fingers fumbled as she tried to re-grip the knife, as if she was trying get a better grasp on it to come at them again. Gargling gasps, more animal than human, came from her throat. Then all at once they stopped. At the same time, her fingers released their grip on the knife, and it dropped from her hand, gently landing on the grate and making a soft “ping” like a bell going off.

  Hannah, who realized she'd been holding her breath this whole time, exhaled.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  Jessie felt helpless.

  As Mark Haddonfield hobbled toward her, she wracked her brain for anything she could say that might hold him off, but she came up empty. He was at the foot of her bed when her cell phone buzzed. She glanced over to where it was sitting on the bedside table but couldn’t see who the call was from.

  “Let me help,” Haddonfield said, glancing at the screen. “It looks like it’s from your friend, Kat. I’m sure whatever she has to say is super important. Unfortunately, you’ll never get a chance to find out what she wanted to tell you. I wonder if there’s something soothing about that.”

  “About what?” Jessie asked, flailing for anything to delay the inevitable.

  “Knowing that you don’t ever have to worry about voicemails or meetings or any of that stuff ever again. Where you’re going, all you’ll have to worry about is the worms burrowing around in your lifeless corpse. And by then, even that won’t matter to you.”

  Jessie saw movement in the semi-darkness behind Haddonfield, and a glimmer of hope filled her throbbing body.

  “Is that what your imaginary friend told you to say?” she taunted, trying to keep his attention focused on her.

  He looked momentarily surprised by her words, then smiled condescendingly.

  “Is this really how you want to go out?” he asked. “With petty insults?”

  “She’s not going out,” Janice Lemmon said from behind him.

  Haddonfield spun around, just in time to get whacked in the face by the wooden handle of the cane she swung at him like a baseball bat. He stumbled backward as she hobbled toward him, raising the cane to deliver second blow.

  But he regained his footing quickly and caught the cane in his hand as it came down. He ripped it out of her hands and lifted it over his head. Jessie wanted desperately to get up and help but she couldn’t even push the help button to get her IV changed, much less get out of the bed.

  “Are you really going to beat a frail, old woman?” Lemmon demanded. “Is that what you’ve been reduced to now, young man?”

  The challenge gave Haddonfield pause.

  “You’re right,” he said. “No need.”

  He tossed the cane to the side, then stepped forward and shoved Dr. Lemmon in the shoulders, sending her toppling to the floor. Jessie was appalled at the act, but she didn’t have time to linger over it. An idea had popped into her head, and she only had seconds to act on it.

  While Haddonfield limped toward Dr. Lemmon to finish the job, Jessie focused on the one weapon she did have access to: her IV. As quickly as she could, she moved her left hand up to her chest. Then, with her right hand, she tore off the tape that was keeping the needle in place and, ignoring the sharp sting, pulled it out of the vein in the back of her hand.

  She looked up at Haddonfield, who appeared like he was about to kick Dr. Lemmon.

  “Really?” Jessie said disdainfully. “You’re going after the old lady who hit you with the cane when I’m right here?”

  Haddonfield looked over at her, startled by the scorn in her voice.

  “No,” he said. “I’m here for you.”

  He pulled a switchblade out of his scrubs pocket, opened it, and started back toward her. As he got closer, he extended it, ready to bring it down.

  "What a coward," she said derisively, stopping him in his tracks. "You're just going to stab me from arm's distance like that? Afraid to get up close and messy? What does your friend think about that? Why don't you prove what you're made of and finish the job with some panache? Here, I'll make it easy for you."

  She tilted her head back and extended her neck forward so that it was completely exposed. Haddonfield paused for a moment, seemingly unsure how to proceed.

  "Too real for you, Mark?" she wondered. "You could never have been my protégé, and you're certainly no nemesis. You're too simple, ready to poke me like a pin cushion when you could turn this murder into a work of art. Here I am, offering myself up to you, but you're too scared to get down here and look me in the eyes as you do the deed."

  That seemed to push him over the edge. He lowered the knife and leaned in close to her. She could feel his hot, bitter breath on her face. He brought the blade up to her neck.

  “This is what you wanted, so this is what you’ll get,” he growled. “Any last words?”

  “No thanks,” she said as her hand shot upward.

  The IV needle made perfect contact as she stabbed it into his left eye. He howled in pain as he stumbled backward, toppling to the floor and dragging her IV pole down on top of him. As he flailed about, she thrust her whole body rightward and pounded the “help” button with her open palm.

  Then she looked back at Haddonfield, who had ripped the needle out of his eye and was struggling to his feet. He threw the IV pole into the corner, then wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. After several deep breaths, he started for her again.

  At that moment, a loud thump at the door grabbed her attention. She looked over to see Ryan trying to shove open the door. But the unmoving body of the downed officer made it difficult.

  Haddonfield, oblivious to the noise, was almost on her. He had lost his knife but still had his hands, which he wrapped around her neck. She tried to reach up to bat them away, but she didn’t have the strength. As his grip tightened, breathing became hard and her head began to scream.

  She glanced to her left and saw that Ryan was no longer at the door. A moment later, she heard a gunshot. The glass window to her room shattered. Then a figure leapt through the opening, ripping the curtains from the wall.

  Jessie's vision was just starting to blur as she saw the figure emerge behind Haddonfield and punch the man in the kidney. Her attacker's hands released her neck just before he was grabbed and thrown into the wall by the now glassless window.

  As Jessie’s eyesight cleared, she saw her husband step over to Haddonfield, who was splayed out on his back. Ryan grabbed Haddonfield by the hair with his left hand, holding his head up. Then, with his right fist, he started punching the man in the face. He pummeled him repeatedly with blow after blow until Haddonfield’s face was a pulpy mess.

  “Captain Hernandez, that’s enough!” Dr. Lemmon shouted from her own prone position on the floor.

  Ryan’s fist froze in mid-air, just before it was about to land another strike. It hovered there, inches from what used to be Haddonfield’s face, before finally dropping to his side. Then he released his grip on Haddonfield’s hair. As it was the only thing holding up the semi-conscious killer’s head, he immediately collapsed to the floor.

  Ryan pulled out his handcuffs, slapped them on Haddonfield’s wrists and began reading him his Miranda rights. As he finished up, a nurse arrived and tried to push open the door. Ryan grabbed the officer’s limp body and pulled him to the side so she could get in.

  “My god,” she said, her eyes wide, “who do I help first?”

  “Him,” Jessie and Lemmon said in unison, indicating the downed officer.

  The nurse nodded and knelt down beside him. Ryan stood up and started toward Jessie. She shook her head.

  “Help her first,” she told him, pointing at Lemmon. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” Ryan said reluctantly.

  He turned to assist the psychiatrist. As he bent down to check on her, Jessie felt herself start to relent, giving in to the pain that consumed both her body and her head. It was as if she was sinking into a deep, clammy hole.

  She knew the feeling well. It meant she was about to pass out.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  “It’s been far too long.”

  Jessie had to agree with the psychiatrist.

  “Nearly a month, if you don’t count your regular visits to see me in the hospital,” she replied.

  “I don’t count those,” Dr. Lemmon said. “That was me checking in on a recovering friend. This is couples’ therapy, not a hospital room. The kid gloves are off in here.”

  "Yes, ma'am," Jessie replied, saluting elaborately.

  “Don’t be obnoxious,” Ryan chided playfully from his spot beside her on the couch in Lemmon’s office.

  “That’s okay,” Lemmon said. “First time under the microscope since the attack, I’d expect our dear Jessie to have a few sharp edges that need sanding.”

  “I’m a human woman, Doc,” Jessie teased, “not a cabinet.”

  “That has yet to be determined,” Lemmon countered. “We’ll have to see if you’re wooden or open to your feelings.”

  “Boo!” Jessie replied. “That was terrible.”

  “Let’s move on from the witty repartee, shall we,” Lemmon said.

  “We’re just going to dive right back in?” Ryan asked, surprised.

  “Not quite yet. First, I’d like to hear how everyone has been doing in the last four weeks.”

  “Okay,” Jessie replied, “but you go first. How are you feeling?”

  "Other than the aches and pains of being almost seventy, quite well, thanks," she said. "All of the bumps and bruises from my altercations have healed up nicely. It'll take more than being assaulted by two serial killers to take me down."

  “You are a medical miracle,” Jessie marveled.

  “Indeed,” the doctor agreed. “The question is, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m getting there,” Jessie told her. “My sprained shoulder is a lot better now. And the first skin grafts I had after jumping out of that car have taken well. The surgeon says we’ll wait another couple of months before doing the last one.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Lemmon said, “but it feels like you’re burying the lead.”

  “What do you mean?” Jessie asked.

  “I think she’s referring to, you know, your brain surgery,” Ryan suggested.

  "Oh, that," Jessie said. "Well, it went well initially. Dr. Varma was able to reduce the swelling that had her so concerned. I've also been on medication and in physical therapy."

  “Has that helped?” Lemmon asked.

  “Somewhat,” Jessie answered. “I had some balance problems right after the surgery and the rehab had helped with that. I’ve also had some intermittent confusion and dizziness. We don’t yet know if that’s a side effect of the surgery or the injuries I suffered.”

  “Is there a treatment plan should those continue?” Lemmon wanted to know.

  “Dr. Varma says it’s too early to tell if anything more will need to be done. I have an appointment in two weeks to run another battery of tests, so we’ll know more then.”

  “And the headaches?” Lemmon asked.

  “They’re not gone, but they’ve definitely gotten better,” Jessie conceded. “I haven’t had one that made me think I was going to throw up in a couple of weeks now. Ryan says it’s because I’m still on leave, but I don’t know. Sometimes the time off creates so much frustration that I wonder if it’s counter-productive.”

  “But you haven’t been bouncing off the walls, I hope?” Lemmon pressed.

  “I’ve found ways to keep busy,” Jessie told her, smiling sheepishly.

  “Care to explain that?” the psychiatrist ask.

  “I’ve resumed my criminal profiling seminars at UCLA,” Jessie explained. “I had my first one last week.”

  “This is the same seminar that Mark Haddonfield claimed getting excluded from led to him coming after you?” Lemmon checked.

  Jessie shrugged.

  “Yeah,” she admitted, “but I made sure that my admission policies were very clear, so I’m sure that there won’t be any problems from now on.”

  “Your husband looks less certain,” Lemmon noted, looking at Ryan.

  He shrugged noncommittally.

  “I’m not hugely concerned about another psychotic student hunting her,” he said, “but I do worry that she might be pushing it by taking this on too early.”

  “I get that,” Jessie replied, “but like I said, I’ve got to keep busy, so I don’t tear my hair out.”

  “Speaking of UC universities,” Lemmon said, moving on from that for now, “How’s Hannah doing at UC Irvine?”

  “Really well,” Jessie said. “She really only had to miss the first week of class to recover from the severely bruised ribs she suffered in the incident with Ash Pierce. She moved into the dorm and seems to be handling her classes. She had a test in Biology last week and got an A-, which pissed her off, so I’d say she’s her old self in that regard.”

  “And emotionally?” Lemmon wanted to know. “She did stab a woman in the neck, and we all know about her past…taste for violent vengeance.”

  “She hasn’t mentioned it,” Jessie said. “I don’t know if she’s keeping it in or just so focused on school that it hasn’t come up.”

  “It’s possible that she doesn't feel the weight of what happened so much because Ash Pierce survived,” Ryan said.

  “Maybe,” Jessie mused, “although that outcome could still change.”

  “What’s Pierce’s status right now?” Lemmon asked.

  "You already know that Kat administered CPR once Pierce lost consciousness," Jessie said. "I'm still amazed at that, considering this was the woman who tortured and tried to kill her. Anyway, she got a pulse back, but even though all this went down at a hospital, Pierce still ended up in a coma on a breathing tube. They're not sure what her level of brain function is."

  “That’s actually a great sign for Kat’s emotional recovery,” Lemmon said. “She could have just let Pierce die, but she didn’t give in to that instinct.”

  “I’m not sure I would have made the same decision,” Jessie conceded.

  The psychiatrist let that comment linger in the air for a moment before moving on.

  “I know she hurt her head in the fight too,” Lemmon said, “How’s that?”

  “Good,” Ryan said. “She didn’t have a concussion but needed fourteen stitches.”

  “She is literally and figuratively one of the most hard-headed people I know,” Jessie added.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22