Zero Escape Page 27

  “Right behind.”

  “Okay. Yes.”

  He spun back to looking out the window, and she glanced from Marshall to the car and to the weapon. Each second was simultaneously too fast and too slow. If it was Noah in that car, he was early.

  Marshall had planned for everything except that.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Noah cursed at the sight of the woman jumping into one of the small booths at the entrance to the crumbling theme park. It meant they’d thwarted his plan to beat them to the site and set a trap. He needed a plan B, and he needed it fast. Slowing the car to a crawl, he bounced through dozens of potholes as he drove toward the middle booth.

  For two decades, the wretched Cuban disaster had been a cloud over his life. It was time to put an end to it and to put an end to all those involved in it—Claudia, and whoever the man was that she’d shacked up with.

  He scanned the area. The empty parking lot surrounding him was worthless as cover. He’d have to use his car. Lucky for him, he’d chosen one with nearly pitch-black windows that’d make it difficult for them to see him inside.

  Now all he had to do was lure them from their cover.

  He eased the car to within ten yards of the booth and parked sideways, so they couldn’t see through the front windshield. He didn’t shut off the engine, nor did he get out. Instead, he unbuckled and climbed into the passenger seat. If they assumed he was in the driver’s seat, they’d be wrong. Once he was in position, he pressed the button to open the sunroof and was immediately blasted with both the oppressive heat and the blazing sun.

  Then he waited.

  As did his quarry.

  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he felt the now-familiar rush that preceded each of these life-changing moments. His senses were heightened. He heard the rustling of leaves as they tumbled over the barren concrete. He smelled the mangy scent of the surrounding swamp. He felt the unbearable heat and cranked up the air-conditioning.

  A commanding feeling of calm washed over him, and every second passed in slow motion.

  He used the time to analyze the situation.

  They wanted something from him. Which meant he had the upper hand. It would only be a matter of time before they spoke. Barely three seconds later, they did.

  “Get out of the car, Noah.” A man’s voice boomed from within the booth.

  “You take me for a fool, Mr. . . .” Noah hated not knowing his name.

  “You are a fool.” A woman’s voice this time, and he knew it would be Claudia.

  “Why don’t you come out, Claudia? We can talk.”

  “So you can shoot me like that woman in Cuba?”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “You killed my mother.” Her voice was shrill, unhinged.

  He paused long enough to infuriate her. “Your mother?”

  “Benita Álvarez.” Claudia’s voice rose to a strangled scream.

  Noah knew they’d be recording this conversation. But it was futile, as it would be inadmissible in court. Not that it would ever get that far. Once he eliminated the pair of them, he’d save the footage for himself. He was going to enjoy watching his performance later. His lips curled into a grin. “You have me mistaken for someone else.”

  “No, I haven’t. You strangled her to death twenty-two years ago.”

  “Ahh, but you have no proof.” He was pleased to note that his voice retained the air of authority that he’d practiced to perfection.

  “You’re wrong.” This time it was Claudia who paused, and the infuriating wait had him clenching his fist around the butt of his gun.

  “My mother bit off your finger.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Instead, he analyzed the feasibility of shooting either of them through the murky glass of the booth. The wind howled as it tumbled leaves and debris over the wasteland between them. He’d need to take that breeze into consideration when he pulled the trigger.

  “Just before you strangled her.” Claudia screamed at him.

  Noah’s heart thumped at how much Claudia knew. He adjusted his position on his seat so he could aim the gun out the sunroof.

  “Do you know what she did with your finger?”

  He raised his left hand up and stared at his missing finger. His mind shot to the moment when it was bitten it off. The pain had blinded him to everything but the blood pouring from his finger and the shock of what she’d done. After that, it was pure rage that had dominated everything.

  “My mother swallowed your finger!”

  Excruciating pain shot through his missing finger as though the rotten bitch was biting it off again. His heart erupted in a blaze of fury, and he squeezed his fist around the gun and eased up onto his knees.

  “That’s right . . . you stupid bastard.” Claudia burst out laughing. “The Cuban coroner was so fascinated by it that he still has your puny little stub in a jar of formaldehyde in his office.”

  In that single, bracing instant, he knew he was in trouble.

  They had irrefutable proof.

  The holy grail of condemnation.

  A parade of images flashed across his mind. Him standing in the courtroom . . . on the wrong side of the lawyers. His wife and father-in-law glaring at him with hate in their eyes. His hands cuffed behind his back and a hundred reporters jostling to photograph his demise.

  Then he pictured himself siting in a putrid concrete cell and the metal bars slamming shut.

  His brain jolted into focus. He was not going to jail.

  When Claudia’s accomplice joined in with her laughter, Noah wrapped his hand around his weapon, stood up through the sunroof, and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty

  The glass exploded, and Marshall tumbled backward with a spray of blood that burst from his shoulder. Charlene screamed, and icy fear ripped through her as she realized he’d been shot. “No!” She raced to his side. “Marshall!”

  “I’m okay.” His eyes were wide. His expression morphed to one of excruciating pain, and his hand clutched his shoulder, where thick blood oozed through his fingers. He was not okay.

  A bullet slammed into the wood, inches from her head, and Charlene ducked.

  “Run, Charlene!” Marshall spoke through clenched teeth.

  “No!”

  Marshall hurled backward with a howl of agony, and the gun flew from his hand. Screaming, she crawled to him.

  “Marshall!”

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck.” Marshall’s eyes bulged at his forearm.

  Fresh blood oozed from a second bullet wound.

  “Oh, Jesus! Marshall.” Her world titled out of control as she reached for him.

  “Charlene, run! Get out now!”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Another explosion rained glass over them, and she was thrown sideways. A heartbeat later, searing pain shot up her left arm, equally sharp and blunt. It took her a couple of seconds to realize she’d been shot, and an ear-splitting scream tore from her throat.

  “Charlene!” Marshall crawled toward her, spilling blood onto the dirty floor between them.

  Every movement was in slow motion, as if she’d fallen into a pool of jelly. A line of blood spewed from her left forearm. Marshall’s mouth opened in a cry of desperation. Wood and glass exploded around her as bullet after bullet slammed into the surrounding walls.

  Marshall gulped mouthfuls of air, obviously fighting pain as he reached for her. “Run, Charlene. Run!”

  She’d brought Marshall here. She’d put him in danger.

  Another bullet slammed into the wall near her ear.

  An inch closer, and Noah would have finally succeeded in killing her.

  An odd feeling zapped through her, like a blast of frigid air, and in that very second, she knew what she had to do. Years of training took over. Her movements became robotic, as though she were watching somebody else take action.

  Marshall’s gun was just outside the door. She scrambled to it, clutched her fingers around
the weapon, stood up, and fired a few shots out the window.

  With Marshall screaming at her to run, she raced to the next booth along and dove inside.

  Her knees hit the concrete, and rocks and glass tore her skin to shreds, but she didn’t falter. Ducking beneath the cover of the front wall, she raised the weapon and peered just high enough to see and pulled the trigger.

  The car’s side window exploded in a million pieces, and a nanosecond later, Noah howled. She fired twice more, then, hoping he was distracted enough, she dashed from that shelter to the next booth. Ducking for cover inside, she again peered over the countertop. But Noah was impossible to see. She raised the weapon and fired another couple of shots, punching holes in the windshield and the passenger door.

  “Jesus Christ!” Noah bellowed.

  Charlene raced out the door again, but this time, rather than run for cover, she held the gun directly ahead with her uninjured arm and ran straight at the car. She’d never felt so exposed in her whole life. Rage filled every vein in her body, and as it built to the bursting point, she used Marshall’s agonizing groans to drive her determination. Her fingers squeezed the trigger over and over as she ran faster than she’d ever run in her life.

  Two more bullets slammed into the windshield, and the rear passenger window shattered. One of the headlights exploded, as did a front tire.

  The car was closer than she’d anticipated, and within seconds of leaving the booth, she dove for cover at the front fender and rolled to a crouching position with the gun aimed and ready to shoot. Her heart slammed into her throat as she tried to calm her ragged breathing and listen for signs of Noah. Her forearm screamed in agony, blood pouring from the burning bullet wound. She sucked in a huge breath, and using that pain, she moved again.

  Crouching down, she inched along the passenger side beneath the window, and with her hand on the gun and her finger on the trigger, she stood.

  Noah was right there, head between his knees, a bloodied hand pressed against his temple.

  She aimed the barrel at the back of her father’s head. “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t shoot.” He held his hands out, and she spied his trembling fingers. The rank odor of his sweat dominated his sickly cologne.

  “Give me the gun. By the handle. Do it steady, or I’ll shoot you again.”

  He reached between his legs, and when his right elbow drew back, a gun was between two fingers. “Toss it out.”

  The gun clattered to the asphalt, and she kicked it across the parking lot.

  Charlene stepped aside and yanked the door open. “Get out.”

  “Don’t shoot.” Half his ear was missing, and a bloody gash carved a gruesome line through his silver hair.

  “Get out!”

  He turned in the seat, placed his feet on the ground, and held his hands above his head as he stood.

  Her heart froze at the evil standing before her.

  Charlene had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

  She clenched her jaw and fought the urge to put a bullet into his belly as she studied his icy-blue eyes . . . searching for something recognizable. Something to link him to her as her father. But there was nothing. Nothing but evil behind those eyes. It didn’t matter if she had the same DNA as this monster, she refused to admit she was related. “Get on the ground.”

  Noah groaned as he lowered to the asphalt. He sat with his legs out before him and glared up at her. “What do you want?”

  Charlene squeezed her fingers around the gun and took a step closer. She intended to look right into the bastard’s eyes when she asked her next question. “Why did you kill my mother?”

  An evil grin formed on his lips. “Because I could.” He said it with a cocky, you-can’t-touch-me attitude, and a sick cackle rumbled from Noah’s lips as he began laughing.

  It was all true. Noah was a monster.

  Charlene aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger.

  A shrill scream burst from his throat as he tumbled sideways, clutching his knee. Blood squirted through his fingers, his face flushed red, the veins on his temple bulged blue. He howled in agony before he turned to her, his eyes glaring with hate. “You fucking bitch.”

  Charlene stepped forward and placed the barrel of the gun against his temple. Every ounce of her being wanted to kill him. Her hands trembled. Every muscle in her body was on a knife edge.

  “Steady, Charlene. Give me the gun.” She glanced sideways to see Marshall standing at her side. He glided his fingers down her arm and pried the weapon from her hand. It came away easier than she thought it would.

  Noah groaned as he sat up and tilted his head at Marshall. “Thank you.”

  Charlene took a step forward and kneed him in the head. Noah tumbled over in a whimpering mess.

  Satisfied he wouldn’t get up again, she turned back to Marshall, and the look of pride on his face had her heart swelling.

  The sound of a car had them both turning to look at the approaching police cruiser.

  Marshall huffed. “Now he arrives.”

  Charlene glared down at Noah with triumph coursing through her veins. “Looks like you’re finally out of luck. Asshole.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Charlene watched the news from the hospital chair for the third time that night. It was amazing how much information they added to the story with each broadcast. When they interviewed the Cuban coroner, she chuckled at the man’s proud grin. After he’d found that severed finger in Benita’s throat, he’d kept it in the jar for over twenty-years.

  Apparently, he’d always known the owner of that finger would one day be found. After that scene, the news flicked to a photo of Noah: the hand with the missing finger was circled.

  The footage of Noah’s pained face as he was lifted onto the ambulance stretcher was her favorite part of the segment. According to the reporter, Noah was now out of surgery and being kept under police guard. Thankfully, he was in a different hospital from where she and Marshall had been taken.

  Once the segment shifted to something less sensational, Charlene stood to turn down the volume. When she turned back to the bed, Marshall had his eyes open. She stepped to his side and placed her hand on his arm. “Hey, you’re awake.”

  “Hey.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good.” He swallowed, and smacked his lips together.

  Charlene held a cup of water with a straw toward him, and after he drank a few gulps, she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “You’re missing all the action.”

  “Hmm, what did I miss?”

  She wove her fingers into his and kissed the back of his hand. “I’ve missed you.”

  A smile curled on his lips. “How long have I been out?”

  “Most of the day. They tell me the operation went well, and you should have the full use of your arm again once you recover.”

  “What about you?” His eyes fell on her bandaged arm.

  “It was just a graze. I’ll be fine.” Compared to Marshall’s wounds, she’d gotten lucky. All she needed was a dozen or so stitches, Marshall had required surgery to both his shoulder and his bicep.

  He huffed. “It wasn’t just a graze. I saw it.” A frown corrugated his brow, and he shook his head. “Can’t believe he got me.”

  “Yeah, well, I got him back.”

  Marshall grinned. “You were amazing. I’m glad you didn’t kill him, though.”

  She nodded. “I thought about it.”

  “I could tell. What stopped you?”

  She thought about that moment when Noah’s life was in her hands. If she’d pulled the trigger, she would have become a monster too, just like him. She wanted to be nothing like him. Ever. “He needs to suffer. Death would be too easy.”

  “I bet he’s wishing you did kill him.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Have you spoken to Detective Chapel?”

  “Yes. He’s viewed our video, and he spoke to Alejandro Castillo. The news has been f
eaturing the Cuban coroner holding his jar with Noah’s finger floating inside. He looks like one happy man.”

  “I bet he is.” Marshall chuckled and then groaned in pain.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. So, what about Montgomery?”

  “Noah’s facing a series of charges, including rape, attempted murder, and first-degree murder. He’s all over the news. Do you want to watch?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I’ve seen enough of that asshole.”

  Charlene chuckled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  Despite the trauma he’d been through, his masculinity shone through. Marshall was all man, and it broke her heart that Noah had brought him to his knees. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. It was just a brief kiss, but a lovely tingling heat permeated her body as she marveled at how perfect it felt. “Stay here.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Alrighty.”

  “You missed dinner. But I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  Babe. Charlene was riding a wave of delight as she drifted out the door. At the nurses’ station, she informed them that Marshall was awake, and they promised to look in on him. But they couldn’t help her with food and suggested she try the vending machine on the lower level.

  She made her way down the stairs and found not just one, but seven vending machines lining the length of one wall. She moved from one to the next, studying the options.

  “Hello, Claudia.”

  Charlene spun to the voice and froze. The woman in front of her was Peter’s murderer. She gasped and started to run, but the woman clutched her arm. “Please, wait. I want to tell you everything. Please, I won’t harm you.”

  Charlene contemplated screaming. She also contemplated ramming her fist into the woman’s throat. But the look in the woman’s eyes stopped her. It wasn’t the tears that pooled in her eyes. Nor her look of utter despair. It was that her eyes looked exactly like her own.

  “I am so sorry for what happened to Pueblo. I never meant to hurt him.”

  “Who are you?” Charlene snapped her arm back.

  “My name is Juaneta Álvarez. I am your mother’s sister.”