Split. Part 27

"Me either. I met a few professors, that's it."

"Antisocial, were we?"

"Very funny."

"Yeah, I guess you were a little distracted," Bob said.

"Yeah, very funny, ha, ha. Anything else?"

"No. That's it. Just wondering if the name rang a bell."

"No bells, Bob. Sorry."

CHAPTER 43.

A black Ford pick-up truck sped along the Sea to Sky Highway, the tyres spitting filth onto pavements cleaned by recent rains. The man behind the wheel was hurried but sober, his driving almost reckless, his eyes glued to the road.

The Hunter had borrowed his brother's truck. It was faster than the one Roy always left for him at the cabin.

He had to get into the city fast.

He had a mission.

CHAPTER 44.

"I can see how it could be an awkward position," Makedde said sympathetically. She sipped a cup of peppermint tea. "I really appreciate you telling me what you can." She shook her head.

Ann pursed her lips together and clasped her hands. "I'm sorry that I can't be more forthcoming about Daniel's condition. I have to consider the confidentiality of my patients, and if you know nothing about him, then that's that."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to compromise yourself professionally," Mak said.

"The brothers are an odd pair, though." Ann said, shaking her head. "They are actually tw-"

Thump.

Makedde and Dr Morgan looked up in unison, snapped alert by the noise directly behind them.

"Did you hear that?"

Thump-thump.

There it was again.

The sound was coming from outside the door. There was no mistaking it; someone was moving on the front porch.

The doorbell rang and Ann got to her feet. "Oh," she said with surprise and stood quiet for a moment.

Makedde slowly got up and watched the doctor move towards the front door. It seemed to take forever. It was only Ann answering her own doorbell, but Makedde's stomach twisted into a tight knot at the sight of it.

Something is wrong.

"Are you expecting anyone?" she called out, but Ann was at the door now. Makedde wanted to yell something to her-wanted to tell her to watch out, to get away from the door but Ann was already looking through the peephole, and then she turned, puzzled, "I don't see anyone..."

The next sound was the thunderous crash of breaking gla.s.s. The racket was not coming from the front door, however-it was coming from behind Makedde. She spun around and faced the kitchen doorway.

Someone was there. They had rung the door and snuck around the back.

Makedde's hands were empty-no protection-no weapon. Get the gun, she thought. No, it's in the car outside...Get the purse...Use the pepper spray...

Mak grabbed the small purse off the floor beside the couch and managed to unzip the main pouch with unsteady hands...she reached inside...

Where is it!?

Within seconds she found the pepper spray and whirled around to face the kitchen again, instinctively unlocking the spray cap as she moved. She extended the pressurised container in front of her with both arms, as if she were aiming the business end of a pistol at the kitchen doorway. She had imagined using the spray many times, particularly in the past year, never quite knowing under what conditions she would need it.

Oh G.o.d.

Roy appeared in the doorway.

Roy Blake!

Makedde inhaled sharply. Her heart dropped into the acid of her belly, and her throat seemed to freeze, filling her mouth with a sharp metallic bite.

There was a horrible sense of inevitability in what was happening, and she couldn't place why. It was almost as if she had been expecting this.

Roy was wearing a ski mask, but Makedde was sure it was him. Those large, familiar brown eyes looked straight at her-straight into her. But Roy had no smile for her this time, no chocolates that would split on the ground, no roses, no romantic sentiments. He was not trying to impress her. He was not trying to convince her of anything. He clearly had other ideas.

Roy lunged for her hand as soon as he saw the spray she was holding, but she depressed the b.u.t.ton first, releasing a strong pressurised stream of pepper solution directly into his face. She had been told it would accurately shoot up to fifteen feet, and Roy was well within that range. The problem of course, was the ski mask. With his face largely protected, she had to count on Roy inhaling at the right moment, or his eyes being open when the pepper spray hit.

Negative on both counts.

In an instant he was on her, twisting her arm behind her in a cla.s.sic hold that she had even been taught herself. Despite Makedde's best efforts, the manoeuvre caused her to drop the spray can in an unavoidable physical reflex. She heard it hit the ground and bounce with a tinny sound, and her heart sank.

Roy was behind her, one of her hands was free, the other pinned painfully between them and no longer holding her self-defence spray. He had locked one arm around her neck, his elbow below her chin. His grip was tight. The air smelled strongly of spray and Makedde's eyes began to water. Her nose would soon start to run as well. She wondered how badly Roy had been hit with it, and if it would affect him at all.

She used her free arm as best she could, attempting to punch out behind her, clawing and scratching at him, but she knew her efforts could not amount to much in that position.

I need the use of my other arm to throw him, she thought. I need my other arm!

"Let me go..." she growled at him, and then her right shoulder cried out in pain as he yanked it further backwards. She screamed more loudly than she needed to, harbouring some thin hope of a concerned neighbour calling the police, and an even more remote hope that Roy might actually release his grip a touch if he knew it was causing her a lot of pain.

But he did not ease his hold by even a fraction.

Please don't let him break my collarbone...or my rib...

It would be easy to snap her bones where they had been broken before. The injuries were little more than a year old. Makedde thought of Ann near the door-everything had all happened so fast, in seconds-and she wondered where the doctor was now.

Roy spun the two of them around to face the front of the room, and Makedde's question was answered. Ann was coming at Roy with a sharp poker from her fireplace. How she had it in her hands so quickly Makedde didn't know, but she was glad to see it. Makedde sensed that Roy was no longer as focused on her. He released his grip ever so slightly, and she stole the opportunity to free her right arm. She pushed her hips forward and squirmed down a bit and his arm tightened around her throat as soon as he realised what she was doing.

Makedde straightened her body and raised both arms back to grab her attacker. One hand firmly grabbed Roy's hair through the knitted mask that covered his head. If her hand slipped and she only had his mask, her grip would be useless. Her opposite hand grabbed his shoulder at the same time, and just as she had practised so many times, she pulled down and forward in a strong arc with all of her might. With a cry that might almost have been a roar, Mak flipped Roy onto his back, and he fell to the ground by her feet, his considerable weight causing her to fall heavily to one knee.

Makedde had always been told that it was leverage and not size that mattered with that move, but still she was amazed that it could work so effectively on a man of Roy's size.

Not missing a beat, Ann struck down with the poker in a half-moon, the end aimed straight at Roy's face. It was a perfect strike, but he rolled away in time and it only glanced the side of his head. Mak had leapt sideways to avoid being in the way of Ann's blow, and she supported herself against the end of the couch, the side table knocked over, her gla.s.s of water broken in wet shards across the wooden floor.

She heard a crashing sound as the poker flew from the doctor's grasp and hit the floor. She turned to see Roy grabbing Ann. And then, horrifyingly, there was a m.u.f.fled bang-a silencer, and the flash of the muzzle lit up the room.

For a second Makedde thought she had been hit, but when she saw Ann fall to the floor, she realised what had happened.

"No!" Makedde cried out. "No!"

My G.o.d! It's my fault! I rejected him and he couldn't take it! He followed me here and now Ann is dead!

Roy looked up.

Their eyes locked.

You're sick. I never knew you at all...

Mak turned and bolted, leaping across the tops of the cushions of the couch, but he was behind her, s.n.a.t.c.hing at her back as she fled. She reached the other side without hindrance, and hit the ground running. The force of her departure caused the couch legs to squeal along the floor.

There was a gun in her glove box. It was her unregistered Sat.u.r.day Night Special and she knew it was loaded. She needed it-now. She needed to get outside and open that pa.s.senger door. Was it locked? Yes, she had locked it. Could she smash the windows?

Roy was shouting, "Where do you think you're going..." and Makedde was still running, but now her foot was caught by a hand like a vice around her ankle. She fell to the floor hard, barely lifting her arms in time to catch herself on her elbows.

She screamed for help as loud as she could, and in an instant she was silenced by huge hands around her mouth. He was on her now, gagging her brutishly as he kneeled on her shoulders and upper arms. She tried to kick him in the back with the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, but she barely made an impact. She struggled against his weight but it was impossible to win from her position on the floor. He was too big. Once she was gagged, her arms were soon tied behind her back and she was hoisted upright, red-faced and kicking madly.

My G.o.d, what will he do to me?

CHAPTER 45.

Andy was watching the news in his hotel room when a thought struck him.

UBC...the conference...

He grabbed for the phone and dialled Bob's room.

"The guest you are trying to reach is not answering their phone. If you would like to leave a message, please do so after the tone..."

Beep.

"Bob, it's Andy. A thought just occurred to me. I think Makedde is going out with someone named Roy. I found his name..." On a card attached to some roses for Mak the morning after we made love... "Well, never mind how I found his name, but if he is the guy I think he is, he's a security guard at UBC. Remember her going off with a guy in a uniform that first day at lunch? Coincidence? G.o.d, I hope so. Give me a call as soon as you get this..."

CHAPTER 46.

Makedde Vanderwall was roped to a chair in Ann Morgan's living room, bleeding from a cut above her eyebrow where a nasty bruise was finding its way to the surface. She was gagged with an old rag that smelled faintly of gas and made her want to retch.

Behind her, Ann Morgan was dying-or already dead.

She could feel the doctor's body against her back. If she was still breathing, it was too faint for Makedde to detect. A small pool of blood was spreading around the floor beneath their feet, and that was enough to tell Makedde that she had to fight this battle alone.

The house was in disarray and Roy was busily putting the finishing touches on his efficient job of ransacking and trashing. Every picture had been wrenched from the walls and smashed on the floor. Every drawer had been opened and the contents spilled. He had thrown some expensive-looking items into a couple of large garbage bags. The mirror over the fireplace lay in sharp pieces on the floor where the women had been sitting less than fifteen minutes earlier.

Roy untied Mak and hauled her up, still gagged, her wrists tied behind her back. She fought the grogginess and numb disbelief, and lashed out once-twice-three times, managing only one effective knee strike to the hip flexor of her attacker, missing her real target by a good couple of inches. To her dismay, she found that Roy could control her with ease.

Makedde was hauled out of Ann's house and dragged through the darkness to a black truck, the toes of her boots barely touching the ground. One strong hand remained across her mouth the entire time, working with the foul gag to keep her from screaming. She tried though, but only managed a m.u.f.fled cry. No one would hear that. No one was on the quiet residential street to see, either.

She tried to think of a way she could get to Zhora. If she could only reach the glove box-the gun. But she needed the keys, and they were in her purse in the house. Could she trick him? Suggest that they take her car instead? No, he would never fall for that. Not Roy. He was many things, that much was clear, but stupid was not one of them. Drawing attention to her car would only force him to move it, removing that telltale sign that Makedde had been at the scene, and had not left of her own accord. Perhaps he was already planning to do just that.

Once I am in his truck and out of this neighbourhood, I am dead.

Makedde fought desperately and unsuccessfully to free herself as she was transferred to the truck, aware that he had a gun, but that he would not easily be able to use it while his hands were occupied with her. It all amounted to nothing, however, and soon she was inside, forced to kneel in the pa.s.senger side footwell, her face pressed down into the seat like a doomed prisoner about to face the guillotine.

The door slammed.

She wriggled towards the door on her knees, reached for the handle with arms tied behind her back, straining to make contact with her fingertips, but it was too late, the driver was in the other side now, watching her.