The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(80)

“Am I? I know all about your murder of Eddie Simmons when you were fourteen. And I know about your love affair with Booker Gaines.”

He swung his right arm around and slugged her in the face, a quick, powerful, fisted backhand that stunned her. It hurt. A lot. She saw stars and she lost consciousness for a brief second. At least she thought it was a brief second. They were still driving and her head was extended, resting against the back of the seat.

Obviously that’s a sore subject. Certainly for me. She stretched her mouth open to make sure her jaw still worked.

“You asked what I have planned for you. I’m going to take you somewhere and then we’re gonna talk. You’re going to tell me what you know about the search for me, what approach your task force is taking. Then you’re going to tell me where Jasmine’s staying. When you’ve told me what I want to know, well, we’ll see. I’m very angry for what you did to put me behind bars.”

Translation: he’s going to kill me.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t—”

“We’re done talking. For now. When we sit down, that’s when we’ll clear the air.”

Vail could not let it come to that.

She desperately wanted to hear what he had to say—her years-long curiosity was screaming at her to press forward, to ask him the questions she’d wanted to ask … the ones she hoped she would get the opportunity to ask back at Potter.

But that desire to know the answers did not outweigh her wish to live a long life.

She could feel that her Glock was no longer in its holster. No surprise there—it was now probably in Marcks’s waistband. But Tzedek, the dagger-like tanto she kept sheathed in the small of her back, was still there. And that was not surprising, either: Marcks was a career criminal but he was not a law enforcement officer trained in the proper ways of frisking an individual for hidden weapons. He likely checked her for an ankle holster—she was not wearing it today—but he had no reason to suspect she had anything other than standard-issue police weapons: a service pistol and perhaps a smaller backup piece. Vail was not aware of any FBI agents who carried such atypical weapons—well, other than she and her friend, Aaron Uziel.

Her bindings were tied tight but she was able to get her fingers on Tzedek’s handle. She worked the knife out of its scabbard a quarter inch at a time, keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching Marcks to see if he checked on her. He had not as of yet. Clearly he did not see her as a threat so his concern was focused on the more likely immediate danger: cops who by now could have a description of the vehicle. And him. And her.

He’s going to either ditch the Buick soon or we’re close to his secret interrogation site. Hurry up, Karen.

Vail cleared leather and had the tanto in hand. Now she had to turn it blade side up and start slicing. But manipulating it into position with her fingertips was more difficult than she thought—and she almost dropped it … which would’ve been disastrous.

She got the tip reoriented and started working on the twisted fibers of the rope. Even not restrained it would take some effort to cut through this material. But there was no choice. She had to do it.

“Do you really intend to kill your daughter?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

“I told you. We’ll talk later. On my terms.”

“She’s your daughter. How can you do that?”

For the first time, Marcks looked at her in the rearview. She saw intense anger folded into the creases around his eyes and across his brow.

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll drop it.” A moment passed. “When we sit down to talk, will you at least answer some of my questions? The ones I wanted to ask you at Potter?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward and peering down the road. “Why not?”

Vail followed his gaze and saw a police cruiser on the right.

Marcks slowed. “Don’t try anything, Vail. Or I may have to slug you again.”

More fibers gave way.

“Once was enough,” she said. “Oh, wait, you hit me twice. I lost count.” And consciousness.

They passed the cop. She watched as he sat in his car, looking at his radar gun, apparently more concerned with catching speeders than apprehending fugitives.

“Maybe third time’s the charm.”

Vail flexed her neck left and right. “No thanks.”

Marcks turned onto a secluded side street—no houses in the immediate area—and no other vehicles.

Shit. Now or never.

Vail pressed harder and felt the fibers of one of the loops of the knot give way.

Keep going!

A minute later she felt the rope loosen. Got it! Her wrists popped apart and she grabbed the knife’s handle firmly in her hand, then rotated it to get it into position.

She whipped it around and slapped it against Marcks’s carotid, then grabbed a handful of hair protruding from beneath the hat. “Pull the f*ck over! And keep your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”

He laughed. “Go ahead. You don’t have it in you to slice my neck open.”

She pressed the blade into his skin and a thin line of blood oozed. “You wanna test me? You think you know who I am and what I’ve done, but you’ve got no f*cking idea.” She knocked his hat off and gathered up a full-fisted clump of hair, yanked back hard. He winced. “No one’s going to question me killing you. No one. Because it’s justice. Understand, *?”