The Third Victim Part 82

They went down in a tangle of bodies, the gun flying from his grasp.

She heard Mann thras.h.i.+ng and swearing. It seemed his legs and feet were everywhere, and she instinctively tried to protect her head. Her eye, her eye. Oh G.o.d, her cheek was exploding on her. But she couldn't bring her hands up. They were tied behind her back, leaving her churning on the ground like a helpless worm.

Richard went after her with a vicious kick. She barely rolled out of

the way; then he abruptly backed off. s.h.i.+t. He was going for the gun. She rolled back and kicked him as hard she could in the back of his knee. His legs folded beneath him. She went after his shot-up hip with her pummeling feet.

She couldn't see any sign of Danny. Please let him have run. If she could buy time, give him a chance to get farther away .. .

Richard was trying to get to his feet again. She saw his gaze go to the handgun he must have s.n.a.t.c.hed from Danny, which was now lying just four feet away in the dust. He gritted his teeth and lunged. She rolled to the right as quickly as she could and managed to kick him in the side of the head.

"d.a.m.n b.i.t.c.h," he swore. Then he suddenly got a curious smile on his face.

He reached out and curled his hand around a big helping of pine needles and dirt. Rainie ducked her head. She closed her eyes to protect herself, but she had no hands to hide her b.l.o.o.d.y face as he flung the dust and needles at her head.

She spluttered, blinked reflexively, and buried eight tiny needles in her one good eye.

"G.o.ddammit?

It hurt. Hurt worse than she'd imagined pain feeling. Hurt even worse than all those years ago, when she'd been so small and helpless. f.u.c.k that. She would not be small. She would not be helpless.

She went after Richard Mann with her pummeling legs and realized for the first time that he was laughing. He was standing now, not even going after the gun. He just stood there, watching her writhe on the ground and finding it funny.

"Going someplace, Lorraine?"

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

He laughed again.

She rolled toward Richard Mann with a kamikaze yell, and he calmly kicked her in the damaged side of her face.

Lights exploded. She saw blazing, fantastical colors, followed by a white-hot blur. And then the corresponding agony ripped a scream from her lips.

"Had enough yet, Lorraine? Want to taste a little more?"

She started rolling again. She couldn't see. Just felt him coming after her and knew what kind of pain he'd like to inflict next. She wanted to be fierce and brave, but the pain was too much and now she fled in the dirt. Rolling, rolling, rolling, seeking some desperate way out.

Her kneecap smacked into a tree trunk. She howled. Mann laughed.

Footsteps coming closer. Faster, faster. She switched directions suddenly, working on memory only, and ripped her way across the earth.

The gun, the gun, the gun. Somewhere around her, the gun.

"No!" Richard Mann yelled suddenly.

And then she knew she had him. She rolled on top of the 9 mm and grabbed it with her bloodied fingertips.

"What are you going to do, Lorraine?" Mann taunted breathlessly.

"Shoot it with your kneecaps?"

She said hoa.r.s.ely with her back to him, "Halt. Police."

"Hand it over, Lorraine. Be a good girl, and I promise I'll kill you quickly."

Footsteps coming closer.

Her wet, slippery fingers frantically trying to orient the heavy pistol, find the trigger.

The sound of Mann's ragged breath, bearing down on her. She couldn't see him, had little hope of aiming. Just try to find the trigger. Pull it back. Do something, even if she only ended up winging his big toe.

The gun slipped again. She was doomed.

Mann bending over her. Mann rearing back his leg to kick her in the face "Halt!

Police!"

Flashlights suddenly flooded the area. Rainie tried to focus her dirt-filled eyes. The lights were too bright, the voices too far away.

Her fingers reclaimed the gun as she turned her head and saw Richard Mann gazing toward the lights. He was breathing hard. So was she. His face was ugly and mottled with rage. And hers?

"f.u.c.k them," Richard Mann snarled. He reared back to wallop her in the

head And Rainie pulled the trigger.Richard Mann dropped to the earth, just as three other officers opened fire. Rainie rolled over. She lay three feet from Mann's body and watched the hate slowly dim and die out in his eyes.

A moment later, Quincy came forward. Rainie knew him by his smell as he bent down and cradled her against his chest.

"I came as fast as I could," he murmured.

"I told you that I would."

She could see the others now. Abe Sanders. Luke Hayes. Shep O'grady.

And Danny, standing with his father's arm around his thin shoulders and tears on his cheeks.

"How did you find us?" she asked.

"Danny left us a trail with pieces of his T-s.h.i.+rt. He's been ripping them off and dropping them down his pants leg."

Danny said simply, "I'm smart."

Rainie turned her face into Quincy's embrace then. His arms were warm.

His heartbeat strong. He felt so nice.

I'm finally being held, she thought.

And then she started to cry. She wept for Danny, who had caused so much death, and she wept for herself and what she knew she must do next.

Epilogue Two weeks later The sun was out when Rainie descended the stairs of Cabot County's courthouse. She wore jeans and a simple white T-s.h.i.+rt, tucked in and belted at the waist. The days were already warm with the promise of summer, and after four hours in an office, she enjoyed the feel of spring on her still-healing face. In the good news department, the swelling in her jaw and eye socket had finally gone down. In the bad news department, her face was now approximately eighteen different shades of yellow and green. At least Richard Mann had not inflicted as much damage as he'd originally thought. Rainie's doctor a.s.sured her that she'd be fine within another few weeks after he muttered that this proved once and for all that she was thick-skulled.

Wisea.s.s.

The Bakersville task force had been busy in the days since Richard Mann's shooting. Abe Sanders had gotten his wish formal jurisdiction over the case. He'd also gotten more federal agents breathing down his throat than any one man could handle.

The fingerprint results had been stunning. Richard Mann was really Henry Hawkins of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Born to a domineering army lieutenant and his meek librarian wife, Hawkins had moved a dozen times in his childhood. He'd grown up hard, according to his journal, steeped in guns and his father's quick fists. He'd mastered a chameleon personality as he'd shuffled from town to town, school to school. And he'd honed his rage. At his father's harsh ways. At the