Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(85)

Putting the knife to Olivia’s neck, he said, “Say goodbye.”

From the corner of his eye, Lance saw Sharp leap onto the other end of the dock and draw his gun. “Put down the knife, Stephen.”

Stephen’s head snapped around. His eyes narrowed as he assessed Sharp. “Who are you?”

“A private investigator,” Sharp said.

“A PI?” Stephen snorted. “Don’t come any closer, Private Dick. One slice is all it’ll take.” He caressed Olivia’s throat with the KA-BAR. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck.

“Then what?” Sharp asked. “I’ll be a witness. Are you going to kill me too?”

“Why not, old man? Doesn’t look like it’ll be that hard.”

“Come and try it.” Sharp extended his empty hand, palms up, and curled his fingers in a come here gesture. “What’s the matter? It’s easy to best a girl. Are you afraid to take on a grown man? Are you a coward?”

Stephen dragged Olivia to her feet and held her in front of him, using her as a human shield. “Go ahead. Shoot. She’s only a woman. No big deal if you hit her.”

Sharp didn’t move. He kept his gun leveled at Stephen. “Put down the knife.”

“I don’t think so,” Stephen snapped. “One more step, and I will slit her throat. She’ll bleed out before you can dial 911.”

Sharp eased forward one tiny step. “Why did you kidnap her, Stephen? Why?”

Keep stalling, Sharp.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to confess and tell you my life’s story?” Holgersen mocked. “Fuck that. I’m not telling you anything.”

Chest-deep in the lake, Lance went up another rung. Between Stephen’s and Olivia’s legs, he could see Sharp. Did Sharp see him? Slowly, silently, he pulled his body from the water until he crouched on the dock.

Lance needed a few inches of space between Olivia’s throat and the blade. He couldn’t risk attacking Stephen with the knife so close. Sharp needed to make him move. Just an inch or two. That’s all Lance needed.

Come on.

“You don’t have a chance,” Sharp yelled. “I didn’t come alone. The cops are already on their way.”

“It’ll take them forever to get way the fuck out here. Put down the gun!” Stephen shouted at Sharp. The knife remained pressed against Olivia’s neck.

“OK. OK,” Sharp said. “I’ll put it down. But you have to move the knife away from her throat.”

“Fuck you. I’m making the rules here.”

“Know this.” Sharp’s voice went harsh. “If that knife touches her again, I will shoot you. From this distance, I won’t miss. If she gets hurt, you die.”

Stephen hesitated. “I guess this is a stalemate.”

“Guess so.” Sharp’s voice was cool. But Lance could hear Olivia wheezing from six feet away.

Stephen glanced sideways. Before Lance could move, Stephen flung himself and Olivia off the dock. They hit the water with a splash. Lance lunged across the dock and looked over the edge, searching for Olivia.

Ripples on the dark surface of the water sparkled in the moonlight. He saw no heads, just bubbles. Sharp rushed down the dock toward him.

Splashing drew his attention to the right. Lance jumped off the dock toward the sound, hoping he had heard Olivia and not Stephen.





Chapter Forty-One

Morgan held the phone to her ear. Her connection with 911 was still open. Lance and Sharp had found Olivia, but they needed help.

“Olivia Cruz has been found. She was kidnapped and held here.” Morgan gave the dispatcher the address. “I don’t know what condition she’s in. Please send an ambulance.”

“There’s a unit en route. ETA is twelve minutes,” the dispatcher said.

“There are two former SFPD officers on-site. Both are armed.” Morgan didn’t want the Redhaven police to shoot Lance or Sharp.

“Yes, ma’am.” The dispatcher asked, “Can you please stay on the line?”

Considering how far out in the country the camp was located, twelve minutes wasn’t a bad response time. But Lance had texted that they’d found Olivia and were in trouble. That was all Morgan knew.

What kind of trouble?

Stephen had kidnapped Olivia. He was clearly capable of doing terrible things. What was happening to Lance right now?

She paced the grass. The sound of an engine brought her gaze to the road. She peered out from behind an evergreen. Headlights approached. She asked the dispatcher, “Do you have another unit closer? Someone is here.”

“No, ma’am. The closest unit is en route. ETA is eleven minutes. Please stay on the line. It’ll help if you flag down the officer when he arrives.”

The approaching vehicle slowed and turned into the camp. The sleek BMW was definitely not a cop car. Morgan stayed hidden.

“Advise the responding officers there could be multiple suspects,” Morgan said to the dispatcher.

If it wasn’t a law enforcement officer turning into Stephen Holgersen’s driveway, then who could it be? Was Stephen Holgersen coming home from somewhere? No. Stephen drove a white van.

A client? A buddy? His sister?

She sent Lance a text letting him know a car had turned into the entrance but the police wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes, at least. She didn’t want him to be surprised.