I draw aim on her head. The vest won’t stop me from putting a bullet through her skull. My hand shakes. I’m going to miss at that distance. I move closer and use the back of a chair to steady my arm. Then I sight on the sheriff and pull the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A shot rang out, the bullet shattering the glass next to the door. Bree dived sideways. After landing in the grass, she rolled to her stomach and belly-crawled up the front lawn until she was behind a railroad tie the homeowner had used in the landscape architecture.
“Give it up, Rhys!” she shouted. “There are guns behind you too. You can’t get away.”
“Fuck you!” Rhys shouted back. “I’ll kill the woman here. You know I will.”
She didn’t doubt it. Probably the only thing Bree could say for certain about him was that he was willing to do the most horrendous things imaginable. He only cared about himself.
“You’ll still die,” Bree yelled.
“You care about this woman. You can’t deny it,” Rhys called.
He wasn’t close to the woman, Bree realized. He didn’t even know about the baby. If he did, he would be using the child as leverage.
Bree inched closer. “Put down the gun, Rhys!”
No answer.
“Sheriff?” Todd’s voice sounded in her ear. “I heard a shot.”
“He missed.” Despite the cold, sweat dripped down Bree’s chest and back. She inched her way up the lawn but didn’t see Rhys. She tapped the mic attached to her earpiece. “Todd, what do you see?”
He responded, “Nothing. Back of the house is dead still.”
Where is Rhys?
Bree popped up her head but saw nothing. He’d been near the front door just a minute ago. She couldn’t take the chance he would hurt the mother and baby. Crouching, she jumped back onto the porch. Staying low, she tiptoed silently up the wooden steps. She went to a front window, but the blinds were drawn. She couldn’t see inside.
She checked with Todd again. “Anything?”
“No, ma’am.”
Bree rose and peered through the side window next to the front door. “I don’t see him. He might be headed your way. We’re going in.”
“Ready,” Todd said.
“On three.” She pressed her back to the doorframe and counted. Her heart set a dizzying pace as she said three, kicked open the door, and leveled her gun into the house. She heard Todd break in the back door and yell, “Sheriff’s department!”
Bree crept down the hall but saw no one. She noticed a spot of blood on the floor. Then another. She followed them to the steps. A trail of dark smears led up the treads. Rhys had crawled up the stairs.
Todd appeared in the darkness. Bree pointed at the stairs. He nodded and fell in behind her. She started up, staying low, beneath where Rhys might expect her head to be. Three steps from the top, Bree stopped and peered over the edge of the landing.
“I’ll kill her.” Rhys stood behind a young woman holding a sleeping baby, a little boy in blue footed pajamas with trains printed on them. He pointed his handgun at the woman’s back. Unsteady, he swayed. “Put down the gun.”
“What do you want, Rhys?” Bree prayed he didn’t fall over and accidentally discharge his weapon. Or shoot the woman and child on his way down out of pure spite.
The woman’s eyes were wide as she rocked the baby in her arms.
Rhys wasn’t restraining her. “I’m going to leave here in her truck, and she’s coming with me.”
“OK.” But Bree didn’t put down her weapon. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“Back up. Slowly.” Rhys stumbled forward. He shoved the gun into the woman’s back. “You, move.”
The woman shuffled forward. Behind her, Rhys tripped. The young woman spun away. Bree hurled herself at Rhys’s leg. He went down hard. The gun hit the floor and slid away.
Todd rushed past Bree, putting his body between Rhys and the young mother.
Bree kept her gun trained on Rhys, but he wasn’t moving. She kicked away his pistol. Then she pushed him onto his side with her boot, cuffed his hands behind his back, and patted down his pockets. She found keys, a wallet, and extra ammunition.
Todd’s shadow appeared beside her. “Is he alive?”
Still catching her breath, Bree pressed two fingers to Rhys’s neck but felt no pulse. “No.” She removed the handcuffs, rolled him onto his back, and began CPR. “Call an ambulance.”
Todd didn’t look concerned with Rhys’s survival. Honestly, Bree couldn’t find enough empathy to care if he lived or died either. He’d tortured and killed two men in horrific ways with zero remorse. He’d tried to do the same to her brother. The image of Adam tied to that chair would haunt her forever. Did Rhys deserve to live?
She had a job to do, and it didn’t include passing judgment. There was a whole legal system to determine his fate. Right now, her responsibility was to put aside her personal feelings and provide first aid to the man in her custody.
“See how badly he’s injured.” She pressed her palms into his chest.
Todd lifted the hem of Rhys’s shirt to reveal the makeshift plastic-wrapped bandage. He peeled up the edge and lifted the dish towel. “Here’s where most of the blood is coming from.”
Bree peered at the long furrow. “The wound itself doesn’t look too bad. Bled a lot, but I don’t see how it could have hit a critical organ.”
Todd replaced the bandage, keeping the wrap tight enough to put pressure on the wound.
“There’s blood on his sleeve too.” Todd used his folding knife to cut off the sleeve of the canvas coat Rhys wore. “Shit.”
Bree counted compressions. “What?”
“Look.” Todd pointed to Rhys’s arm. Instead of a bullet hole, graze, or laceration, he’d found two deep punctures, swollen skin, and a reddish-brown discoloration that streaked across his shoulder toward his heart. “That’s not a bullet wound. That’s a snakebite.”
Rhys’s face, already the color of skim milk, turned to the palest shade of gray.
Bree replayed the chaos in Adam’s place. “Rhys must have been bitten when he fell into the tank.”
Todd touched Rhys’s neck. “Still no pulse.”
“I know.” But Bree continued with CPR.
Todd watched for a minute, then sighed. “Let me have a turn. You can’t keep this up.”
Administering CPR to a serial killer was exhausting, physically and emotionally. Bree’s arms ached after just a few minutes. She moved aside, and Todd picked up where she left off.
A moment later, Bree pressed her fingertips to Rhys’s neck and felt a very faint, irregular pulse. His chest rose and fell with a painful rattle.
“He’s back,” she said.
Todd sat back and wiped his brow with a sleeve.
The baby fussed. The woman bounced and jiggled him, then kissed him on the temple. Watching them, Bree allowed a small surge of relief to wash over her. Mother and child were fine. Propping the baby on one hip, the woman fetched an afghan from the next room. She handed it to Bree. “He’ll be in shock.”
They exchanged a look, two people wanting to do the right thing but not knowing exactly what that was. The woman stepped back, distancing herself from Rhys.