A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(77)

The shore was in plain sight of the road, and it was the same for a long stretch to the west. But to the east, the shoreline got further from the road, the foliage blocking the line of sight. Glover wouldn’t have raped and strangled her with the road in plain view; that much was certain. She turned to her left and began to pace the shore, the foliage between her and the road thickening until she could hardly see the gray asphalt through the leaves and branches. The shoreline was tricky to navigate, the ground dotted with bushes and trees. It was hard to spot some of the obstacles in the shadowy gloom, and she nearly tripped on a thick root.

She looked out onto the water again. The air was calm, and there was hardly any wind, the water nearly a straight plateau. The sun was getting lower, the blue shades of the pond water getting darker, nearly black. It was time to leave. She resolved to ride back to the motel and talk to Tatum about the envelopes. The thought filled her with trepidation. She hadn’t mentioned the envelopes to anyone in years. But it definitely wasn’t something she could keep to herself anymore.

She turned around and froze. A man walked toward her, his face intent on the ground as he stepped around a small bush. He paced slowly. Was it because of the growing darkness?

No. He was trying to make no noise.

He was only ten yards from her, the grass and the muddy shore masking his steps. He raised his face from the ground, and their eyes met.

Twenty years older, putting him in his midforties, the once thin, lanky man now had a sagging belly; his face was a bit fatter as well. He was vastly different from the memory ingrained in her mind, a teenager’s memory of a killer. But his eyes were the same. Those childish, mocking eyes, hiding a mind brimming with violence. It was Rod Glover.

Her feet were already moving, her reflexes faster than her mind. Glover blocked her way back—she could only go forward, farther away from the road. Leaping over a low bush, she dashed as fast as her weary muscles could take her, the surge of adrenaline rushing into her brain, masking the fatigue, a single message pounding over and over. Go. Go. Go.

He ran behind her, a heavy man, his steps thudding much harder than hers. She was in good shape. He didn’t seem to be. She glanced backward, saw he was farther back, and dove left into the tree line, toward the road.

It was the reasonable course. The right course. The road meant safety. If she could get to the road, get back to the cab waiting for her, she’d be safe.

She underestimated how thick the foliage would be. Six feet into the foliage, she ran into a bush, veered left, nearly collided into a tree, veered again, tripped on something, stumbled. Disoriented, she got up and turned around, and he was upon her, hitting her in the face with a blunt object.

She floundered back gasping, half-blind, spots swimming in her field of vision, darkness surrounding her. It took her several seconds to figure out she was lying on the ground, staring at the dark sky. Something cold and metallic pressed against her neck. Her left ear rang, a constant high-pitched sound.

“Scream and I’ll cut your throat, bitch,” a voice rasped in her ear.

She breathed heavily, something sticky trickling on her forehead. Blood? What happened?

He had hit her with something, she remembered.

A viselike grip grabbed her under her armpits, pulling her up. She began struggling, and the blade pressed harder against her skin. She bit back a whimper of pain as it broke her skin. Glover had cut the side of her neck, the knife tearing into muscle. More blood trickled on her shoulder and chest, soaking into her shirt.

“Let’s try again,” he whispered in her ear, his voice vicious, hungry. “Stand up.”

He pulled, and she complied, standing up on wobbly legs, nausea overwhelming her, nearly making her gag. The blade never left her throat, Glover’s other hand grabbing her arm, twisting it behind her back.

“Move,” he rasped, pointing her toward the water, away from the trees. Away from the road.

She stumbled forward, walking slowly, buying time, trying to think through her clouded mind, through the pain shooting up her neck and forehead. Glover wanted to get her away from the road, away from her cab and possible witnesses, where no one would see her, no one would hear her scream. Once he got her far enough from the road, her fate would follow the fate of his other victims. The thought was chilling, and she shivered involuntary. Even that small motion made Glover tense, and he pushed the blade against her.

“Please,” she said through gritted teeth. “I—”

“Quiet,” he whispered. “I’ve heard your voice enough for a lifetime. Now walk.”

Three more small steps, Glover pushing her onward. She nearly lost her balance, her head spinning and pounding. Glover pulled her up by her arm, twisting it further. A small scream emerged from her, and the blade flashed, cutting deep through her shoulder this time.

“Three strikes and you’re out,” he said.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“I want you to move,” he said and shoved again.

Step after step, he pushed her out of the shadows of the trees. She couldn’t let him take her, had to fight. It was better to die now, throat cut, than to let him get her far enough away to do whatever he wanted. And yet her muscles refused to obey, her heart and head pounding together as she walked another step. And another. And another.

He began talking, his tone mocking. “Fancy meeting you again, Zoe, after so many years. We have so much to talk about, so much catching up to do, right? How is your sister? And your parents?”