The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(91)

Lucy stood on that bridge, frozen with fear.

Frankie shouted. “Lucy, it’s not real.”

But to Lucy, it was real. She was there. On the bridge. Living her nightmare.

“You!” Lucy screamed, her voice rising over the music. She stared directly at Frankie and knew exactly who she was. She’d been waiting for Francesca Stein. She’d been programmed for this exact moment. “You did this to me!”

“Close your eyes, Lucy. Close your eyes. We’ll make it go away. Together.”

The Night Bird’s singsong voice chanted from overhead speakers. “Luuuucy . . . Luuuucy.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Frankie called to her. “You’re safe. Just close your eyes. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“The knife is the key . . . set yourself free.”

“No, Lucy. Close your eyes. None of this is real.”

From the doorway in the corner, the police stampeded into the room. Frost. Jess Salceda. Four uniformed officers. They saw the body and the blood; they saw the knife in Lucy’s hand; they drew their guns. Chaos descended. Shouts rang out. The music throbbed.

Everything began to spin out of control.

That was just what he wanted.

“You did this to me!” Lucy screamed again at Frankie. She stared down at the bridge under her feet, which looked as if it would give way when she took a single step. She swept the knife away from her throat and brandished it like a weapon with her arm held high. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”





46


Frost saw the gun in Jess’s hand, pointed at Lucy’s chest. “Jess, don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. All of you, back off.”

He knew none of them would stand down. If it had been a stranger standing there, not Lucy, his own gun would have been in his hand. They wouldn’t let her out of their gunsights. Not while Lucy held the knife. Not while she was threatening Frankie. Not while there was a stabbed body in the middle of the room.

“Put down the knife right now!” Jess barked.

Lucy didn’t hear her. Her eyes were locked on Frankie. Her hand quivered around the knife.

For a long, fragile moment, nobody moved. Frost sized up the room. He saw Todd Ferris in the corner, watching the events unfold from behind fixed eyes. He saw Darren Newman sprawled on the chair, his chest a sea of red. Newman wasn’t moving or breathing.

Frost looked down. He felt as if he were standing on a glass platform suspended from the mountaintops, with the winter landscape below his feet. Frigid air rolled over his skin. If it felt real to him, he knew how it felt to Lucy, locked inside her trance. Lucy, with her fear of bridges.

He gestured to one of the officers. “There must be a control panel in one of the other rooms. Get out of here and find a way to shut off this damn music and turn off the cameras.”

The officer glanced at Jess, who nodded. He holstered his weapon and retreated from the room.

Frost took a step toward Lucy, but Frankie lifted a hand to stop him. She shook her head, but she kept her eyes on Lucy. “Don’t do it, Frost,” she called. “Anything could set her off.”

“Lucy,” Frost called, trying to cast his voice above the pounding music. “Lucy, it’s Frost.”

“She can’t hear you,” Frankie said.

He didn’t care. He needed to reach her. The guns were still trained on her heart. “Lucy, come on, let’s get out of here. Shack wants to see you. You can stay at my place tonight. We can watch the city lights through the window. We can just sit there. You and me. Talking. What do you think?”

Somewhere inside her head, he knew that she had to hear him, but nothing he said reached her.

“Lucy,” he pleaded again.

He thought he saw a glimmer of hesitation in her face, but then the Night Bird’s voice interrupted from the speakers. The awful, singsong cadence rose over the music. It was too late. He watched Lucy’s mind breaking into glass pieces.

“Can you fly? Can you fly? Will you die? Will you die?”

“Stop it,” Frost hissed under his breath. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

“It’s up to you, you know what to do.”

High on the imaginary bridge, Lucy shook her head back and forth, over and over. “No, don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”

“It’s up to you, you know what to do.”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“You know what to do. You know what to do.”

“I can’t. I can’t. No, please . . . please . . .”

“The knife is the key . . . set yourself free. The knife is the key . . .”

“Put it down,” Jess called again, her low voice a warning. She knew they were running out of time. “Put the knife down right now, Ms. Hagen. Nobody wants to hurt you.”

“Luuuucy . . . the knife is the key, set yourself free.”

Then everything happened at once.

Lucy screamed like a war cry. She pushed off her feet and charged at Frankie. Lucy was on her before the police could take action, and with the two women locked in a knot, no one could shoot. Lucy stabbed with the knife; Frankie held her arm back. They twisted, circled, and stumbled, battling hand to hand. Frankie was taller and stronger, but Lucy had a fever of adrenaline.