Chapter Forty
River paused in the shadows beneath the oak standing on the periphery of the clearing, the same tree Vicki had waited under less than an hour before. The fact she’d taken Becca to the hospital relieved a great deal of worry. Her safety was paramount, and after what happened the night before, she deserved the extra protection.
A breeze rustled over the marsh then moved through the trees. A heaviness saturated the air that spoke of impending rain…and other things. River steadied his breath, focused on what would transpire when he met up with Dauscher.
He allowed the heavy canvas backpack strap to slide from his shoulder, down his arm, and hook on his curled fingers. He lowered the pack to the ground a few feet off the trail. In the event he ended up needing it, he could locate it easily enough nestled in the grass.
Pistol clutched in his hand, he left the harbor of shadows and jogged at a confident gait toward his partner. Apprehension sprouted in his gut, growing each time his foot pounded the earth. Tendrils of doubt clogged his throat and squeezed his mind until he questioned every decision he’d made to this moment.
All signs pointed to one logical conclusion. Kent had managed to find a way into another body. And while the evidence indicated the truth, the inference rattled every single one of River’s nerves. Everything he’d believed in—his sense of morality, that justice prevailed, that all problems could be solved if approached with sound logic—had crumbled from beneath him over the last few days. And after what he’d seen last night, he’d started to suspect his sanity.
A self-deprecating chuff of air puffed between his lips. Shit. Who am I kidding? I’m planning to send a demon back to Hell. Doesn’t get any crazier.
Dauscher stood in the center of the sandy clearing, his service weapon in his hand at his side.
“Any sign of our guy?” River skirted a clump of overgrown grass as he approached.
“Not a thing.” The big guy jerked his arm out to the side. “But with all these damned crickets and frogs, an airliner could’ve landed and I wouldn’t have known.”
River grinned. But when he looked toward his partner, he staggered to a stop. During the time it had taken him to run to the car and back, the moon had shifted in the sky. The immense glowing orb hung behind Dauscher, creating an eerie silhouette.
“You okay, River?”
“Yeah.” He jerked, forcing himself to move around the perimeter until Dauscher’s face became visible again. “Tripped over the damned marsh grass.”
“Didn’t take long for you to get back.” He cut his eyes toward the trail and squinted. “Vicki get out okay with her friend?”
He tightened his jaw at the mention of Vicki’s name. “Yep.” Striding across the sand, River stopped at his side. “Long gone.”
“Good.” Dauscher scanned the mix of pines and hardwoods at the far end of the clearing. “Unfortunately, I think our kidnapper is long gone, too.”
“That’s funny.” River tightened his grip on his gun. “Because I think he’s really close by.”
Dauscher rounded on him. “What do you—?”
River jerked his elbow up and back, ramming it into his partner’s face. The crunch of his nose breaking informed River he’d hit his target. Momentary uncertainty spiked to the forefront of his consciousness, but he shoved it aside. He’d started the confrontation. He damn well needed to finish it.
The big guy stumbled back. River pivoted in anticipation and grabbed the top of Dauscher’s weapon. With a quick twitch of his wrist, he wrenched the gun free from his meaty grip and flung it out into the marsh. Not bothering to see where the weapon landed, River took several steps backward and leveled his Glock on his partner—an act he thought he’d never commit.
Dauscher’s large hands covered his nose. His furrowed brow pressed down on his scrunched eyes. A drop of blood trailed over his chin, spattering on the front of his jacket.
“Damn, Riv.” The big guy opened his eyes, his gaze darting from River’s face to the gun pointed at him. “That hurt like hell.”
* * *
Vicki hurried along the trail, ignoring the wet shoe squishing beneath her foot with each step. The uncomfortable sneaker didn’t matter. She needed to get to River to tell him about her vision—the second set of symbols tying him to the killer.
When she reached the oak tree, she paused in the shadows. On the sandy beach, River and Dauscher faced one another. Something about their stances, the way they stared at each other, kept her from running headlong into the clearing.
The moon spotlighted them, the larger detective with his hands held to his nose while River backed away from him. His arms jerked up, aiming the blocky gun at his injured partner. Vicki’s throat tightened. What the hell’s going on?
“Damn, Riv,” Dauscher growled. “That hurt like hell.”
“It was supposed to.” His voice crackled with anger and rang out over the glade.
“I know you’ve been through a lot lately—”
“Cut the shit.” He tilted his head. Even from where Vicki stood, the contempt radiating from his face shone clear. “Kent.”
She gasped. Oh my God. River was right. Kent found a way to survive. He’s invaded Dauscher’s body. The second set of symbols she’d seen made sense—the killer was still alive.
Chuckling, the large man lowered his hands, revealing a nose cocked off to one side. Thick rivulets of blood streamed over his grinning lips and dripped from his chin. “What gave me away?”
“You were dead, you sonovabitch.” River’s hands twitched, and the gun barrel moved up toward his partner’s head. “Twice.”
“What can I say?” The guy smirked. “I missed working with you. And this makes some kind of karmic sense, doesn’t it? I mean, here we are, partners again. You, the logical detective. Me, the psychotic serial killer, making sacrifices to a god that your one-dimensional thinking can’t comprehend.” He dragged his jacket sleeve across his mouth. But instead of clearing the blood away, it smeared over his lips and cheek. “So, tell me. How’d you figure it out?”
“You were sloppy.” River’s shoulders rose and fell. The act appeared nonchalant, except for the fact his index finger stroked the gun’s trigger. “Dauscher doesn’t believe his grandmother can read palms. Doesn’t like her telling other people their fortunes.”
“That’s it?”
“That and nobody but his grandmother calls him Theodore.”
Vicki clutched her purse strap. Was he going to shoot him? She moved farther back into the shadows, her focus locked on the love of her life and his demon-possessed partner.
“That’s what caused you to break my nose?” Dauscher shook his head. “Pretty flimsy evidence, River. I’m proud of you.”
“Shut up,” he growled. “You need to go back to Hell where you belong.”
Vicki tripped on something in the grass, and she lost her balance. Her hand slapped against the oak tree’s rough trunk, keeping her from tumbling to the ground. What the—? At her feet lay the green backpack River had taken from his car.
“What?” Dauscher took a step forward, his mouth twisted in an arrogant grin. “You going to shoot me, River?”
“Yep.”
A sharp crack followed by a thunderous roar filled the air. Fire burst from the end of the gun. Recoil kicked the muzzle up, but River’s tight grip kept the weapon in his hands, the deadly end still aimed true.
Except, he missed.
In a blur of motion that Vicki could barely track, Dauscher avoided the bullet and crossed the distance to River in a single leap. The large detective’s hands wrapped around the gun, and his body slammed into River’s. They tumbled to the ground, each grappling for the weapon.
She took a step toward them and stopped. Fear grabbed her throat, squeezed.
Dauscher shoved River, knocking him halfway across the clearing. The possessed detective rolled to his knees, the gun in his hands. Manic glee warped his features. The bastard enjoyed fighting with his old partner and ending up the victor.
It took all of her self-control not to run from the shadows and jump on the asshole’s back. No. If I did, he’d just flick me away like some annoying insect. I’ve got to be smart.
On his knees, River sat hunched over, his head bowed like a man about to be executed. Yet, when he lifted his gaze and faced his enemy, there was no fear. Anger remained vigilant in his eyes. Blood trickled from his split lower lip, and a bruise darkened his cheek. He spat on the ground next to him.
Helplessness attempted to wrap its ironclad arms around her, but she fought against it. She couldn’t stand by and watch the man she loved get shot. She needed to do something.
The gun.
Hope speared through her. At the restaurant, Matthew had given her a small pistol. Without hesitation, she opened her purse and reached inside. Her fingers met cool metal and wrapped around the handgrip.
You’ll know when you need to use it. Matthew’s words echoed in her ears.
Surely, this was what he’d meant.