Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(94)

Clara stayed perfectly still and stared up at Amelia. Amelia looked back at her and smiled proudly. Clara nodded her appreciation.

Emmy headed for the stairs.

“Come out, Clara.”

When she reached the point on the stairs where Amelia was standing, she paused for a second. Amelia had a look of absolute loathing and disgust on her face. She drew back a hand and slapped Emmy.

Of course, her hand just went through Emmy’s face.

But it must have done something. Because Emmy stood there for just a moment; she sucked in her breath.

But then she said softly, “Is that you, Tate, my love? Is that you? I’ll finish what you started. I swear, so help me God, I will finish for you, before I lie beside you in eternity!”

“In hell!” Amelia muttered bitterly.

Emmy couldn’t hear or see her. But, once again, she felt something. She shivered; the gun wavered slightly in her hands.

Amelia ran on up ahead. In the upstairs hallway, she managed to make another sound.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Emmy called. She continued up the stairs.

Clara waited; she rose and nearly flew across the room for the kitchen—and the door from which she had once left the Mansion before...

To run across the snow for her life.

*

Thor arrived at Black Bear Island alone—and not alone.

He had Boris and Natasha.

Jackson and Mike would be heading out as soon as possible, but he couldn’t wait for them. Enfield had wanted to arrange police and Coast Guard assistance—Thor had pretended they’d lost the connection.

He couldn’t wait for anyone.

He’d snagged the first boat he could find; luckily, it was with someone he knew well, a weathered older man of Russian and Native American descent—as rugged, worn and hardy as the landscape itself. Thor didn’t have to say a lot to the man; he moved at the greatest possible speed as they made their way across.

Every minute of the ride was agony for Thor.

He’d quit trying Clara’s cell. She already had a dozen messages from him. If she had her phone, she’d call him back.

He tried to tell himself that Clara was fit—working the theater had kept her so. He realized that neither of them knew yet what each other’s daily routines were like, but he was pretty sure that she was young enough for roles that called for a certain physical prowess, and that she went to a gym on a regular basis. He thought about her when she was at his family compound, playing with the dogs, the laughter in her eyes when she looked up at him with delight. He didn’t know that much about her.

He knew, however, that she meant everything to him now.

Boris and Natasha jumped onto the dock before the boat was even tied; Thor didn’t wait, either. He thanked the man who had brought him across, overpaid him.

And ran, the dogs moving ahead of him.

He didn’t have keys for any of the snowmobiles; he had to run the distance. But he kept pace with Boris and Natasha, glad the snow was no deeper than a few inches.

He felt his lungs burning but that didn’t slow him.

He should have known! Should have known when he talked with Emmy that she had stayed with Kimball because she needed the job to carry out the plan—and that her hatred for him had grown and grown. She was a prime target for a man like Tate Morley. A young woman who was never appreciated by anyone else, who desperately needed love. She would have had all the possible business resources to begin and carry on a correspondence with Tate Morley in prison—scrambled emails, throwaway cash phones and letters...all those coded letters the Bureau had combed through. From so many maniacs corresponding with a killer—Jane Doe or Becca Marle among them and also Marc Kimball...but really, Emmy Vincenzo. As long as she toed the line, Kimball wouldn’t have questioned business expenses; he had enough correspondence himself.

All carried out by his assistant.

He doubted that Emmy had actually committed the murders; she had merely made the arrangements. Maybe she’d fallen in love with him, watching his trial, reading about him, seeing him on television. She had set everything in motion for him to arrive; she had arranged for warm clothing and tools and a place to stay. She’d known timing; she’d known all about the reality show.

And she’d known Black Bear Island.

He should have seen it!

She had killed Kimball, right when help had come. Of course, even the Bureau’s top psychologists would have thought that a normal reaction. Bullets had flown; the moments were filled with high anxiety. She had been terrified; she’d already been beaten and abused.

But he should have seen it.

Running, running, running...they reached the Mansion.

“Boris, Natasha! Secret!” he said.

The dogs crouched low and stayed behind him as they approached the house.

The front door was open; he carefully walked in. He knew almost instantly that no one was there; the house had a feel—cavernous and empty.

“Boris, Natasha—search!” he told them. He said the last with pain.

What if Clara was here? What if she was already...

He wouldn’t say it; he wouldn’t think it.

The dogs ran up the stairs and throughout the house; Thor quickly checked the downstairs rooms. In the kitchen, he saw the open door there.

Clara had found her way out.

She was alive, and she was out there.