The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(121)

Underwood held up Vail’s Samsung. “Got it. I see the beacon on the map.”

Vail glanced over at the screen but could not keep her eyes off the road long enough to make anything out. “Is it near the location where she killed Carla Rackonelli?” Vail asked.

“Looks like it,” Underwood said. “He’s headed right for it.”

“We’re minutes out,” Hurdle said. “Curtis and Tarkoff are meeting the rest of us en route, so sounds like you’ll get there first.”

“Understood.” Vail tightened her grip on the wheel. “Problem is, Marcks is gonna get there before me.”





67


Jasmine was concentrating on the dark streets, looking for one particular location. Every minute or so, she glanced back at Jonathan—who, she figured, would be waking up very shortly.

She had been thinking of how she needed to approach the coming hours. If Vail had discovered Underwood’s body in the basement, they would have left him there until the medical examiner arrived. And that meant her first impression—bolstered by the message she heard on Jonathan’s phone—was correct: Underwood had somehow survived. And that altered the dynamic of all that would need to come.

It was a fatal error, one of the few she had ever made. Perhaps the only one. Everything had been so well calculated, so well planned. Her execution was almost always near flawless—and even when it was not, it still worked. Her father landed in prison but she was free to continue killing.

True, she had to modify her methods, using crime concealment fires to hide her handiwork. But even that had gone well. She enjoyed the fires more than she thought when she came across the idea in Underwood’s book.

And then her father had called, letting her know he had escaped and was coming for her. He thought it would scare her. Intimidate her. But it was exactly what she had been planning all along.

While she had not yet disposed of him, she figured she had plenty of time to do so—because he would forever be looking for her. He was like that, to a fault. Fixated, unable to let go of a grudge. And this was more than a mere grudge. This was more than personal. She knew that. She constructed it that way. She would either kill him or a cop would kill him. She doubted he would allow himself to go back to prison.

Now, however, the entire equation had changed.

Time was no longer hers to manipulate. She might not be able to get to him before the cops did—because with all the publicity surrounding her father’s escape and now the revelation that she was the Blood Lines killer, she had to believe that law enforcement would spare little to track her down.

Sticking around increased the likelihood she would be captured.

She had to take what she could, what was in reach. And right now, that meant Jonathan. It would destroy Vail. She was sure of that. Like Superman’s kryptonite, killing her son would zap her of her essence, emasculate her like nothing else could. The more she thought about it, this was the better call, far better than killing Vail herself.

As Jasmine approached the wooded neighborhood, Jonathan stirred. She wanted to dose him again because he would undoubtedly attempt to fight back, and it would be easier to get rid of him without all the drama.

Jasmine now realized that this kill would not be as enjoyable as the others had been. It couldn’t be. With Vail and Curtis and the task force now likely looking for her, she would have less time with the body.

This pissed her off—but she knew the smarter thing would be to get it over with and get away. Another city, another state. Maybe Canada or Mexico. She did not know how big the net would be, but she was sure they would make it difficult.

She had a contingency plan in place with a neat little diversion—a pipe bomb along with a phony tweet and Facebook post replete with a bombastic radical Islamic claim of responsibility. If she timed her escape right, in the minutes and hours after the explosion, she might be able to make it work. A serial killer did not warrant the attention and resources a terror group did.

She pulled down the tree-lined street and slowed opposite some densely wooded parkland. Flurries were still fluttering this way and that, making the icy ground even more slick.

Jasmine found the spot she was looking for and brought the Toyota to a stop.

Jonathan moaned as she shoved the gearshift into “park.” She dug into her purse to ready the ether and reached for the door handle—

But the driver’s side window shattered, showering her face with glass.

“What the f—”

She felt two hands on her neck

Looked up and saw

Her father

She grabbed his forearms, knowing instinctively not to try to pry his fingers away from her skin.

She heard him yelling something—“I’m gonna f*ckin’ kill you!”—and for the first time in her life, she believed him. Dug her nails into his muscle-taut flesh, had to be drawing blood.

But he did not yield.

She slid her arms down to his wrists. With all her body weight, she yanked suddenly and forcefully to the right.

Marcks was not expecting it and lost his balance, striking his head on the door frame. She leaned left and again pulled hard right and again slammed his face into the metal, the jagged remains of glass slicing his nose and eyes.

One more blow to the head and his grip loosened and his hands left her neck and he dropped out of sight.

Unconscious.