Killer Pursuit: An Allison McNeil Thriller Read online

  A chill passed through her.

  She knew the man’s silhouette from hours of studying photos of him.

  She knew him from the nightmares she’d had for the last six months she’d worked the case.

  Samuel Kraw, in the flesh.

  Allison pulled her Glock from her side, raising it in a two-handed stance.

  “FBI,” Allison shouted. “Let me see your hands.”

  Kraw turned the binoculars her direction. Her skin crawled as she imagined the killer looking her over.

  Kraw's mouth turned up in a smile and he raised a finger off the binoculars, as if waving hello. Then he spun to his right around the tree.

  Allison fired two quick shots and chunks of wood splintered from where Kraw’s head had been only seconds before. She knew instantly that she'd been too slow.

  "Garret!" she bellowed as she sprinted forward.

  "I saw him," he shouted. "I’m behind you. Go. Go."

  She didn't need to be told, she just wanted to know whether she was on her own or not.

  Head down, she charged toward the spot where she'd seen Kraw run into the woods. The bulletproof jacket felt like a suit of armor, hampering her movement. Still, she took some comfort from wearing it, knowing Kraw could be crouched in the bushes behind the tree, ready to pepper her with gunfire the second she turned the corner on the path. Of course, anything outside her torso and she was still a goner. But the adrenaline roaring through her veins pushed all that aside. She was so close to the son of a bitch, she didn't care about anything except taking him down, no matter the cost.

  There were two trails behind the tree, branching out in different directions, each walled in by heavy brush. Kraw had to be on one of the paths, there was no way to go into the overgrowth without it being obvious. She had to choose.

  Garret ran up behind her. She didn't stop to ask, but just pointed down the path to the right and said, "You check that way."

  She sprinted to the left. It quickly narrowed so that it was only shoulder width, the thorny brambles on each side of her ripping through the lightweight FBI windbreaker.

  She ran hard, one arm in front of her to push back the branches. But fifty yards into the chase, the path narrowed so much that it basically disappeared, no more than an animal trail through a heavy thicket.

  She stopped, trying to listen for Kraw’s footsteps over the sound of her own heavy breathing. Nothing.

  She spun around, her gun in front of her. She couldn’t see more than a few yards in any direction.

  Adrenaline had brought her to that spot but now, once she stopped running, her instincts were telling her she’d made a terrible mistake.

  She was being watched. Or at least, every part of her told her that she was.

  Whether it was paranoia or instinct, she couldn’t stop a rising panic from building in her chest.

  A twig cracked behind her and she spun around, pointing her gun wildly back and forth at the bushes. Her breathing sped up, panting now, but she didn’t care. She’d made so much noise that he would already know where she was.

  The forest closed in on her. Pushing in around her. Kraw could be standing only feet from her in any direction. Staring at her. Silently waiting for his chance to attack. She wouldn’t know before it was too late.

  The shouts and screams of dying men carried through the forest, but they sounded far away now. Her brain screamed at her to run toward the sound. To get help. To seek safety.

  Suddenly, birds flew up into the air twenty or thirty yards ahead of her, startled by something.

  Kraw.

  Allison bolted forward, her gun trained on the path ahead of her. Soon, she saw that the trail opened up to a meadow. She slowed, resuming her two-handed grip on her gun. A muffled grunt came from the meadow and she dropped to a knee, hopefully giving Kraw a smaller target if he was waiting there with a gun.

  Another grunt came.

  Sounded like Garret.

  Allison crab-crawled forward, staying close to the brush. It wouldn't stop a bullet but at least she could keep out of sight for as long as possible.

  She turned the final corner and had to stifle a cry.

  Kraw stood in the middle of the clearing, holding Garret in a chokehold in front of him, a gun to his head.

  "Oh shit,” Allison said.

  Garret struggled but Kraw was a massive man and controlled him easily. There was a new cut over Garret's eye and he looked a little disoriented. Kraw had gotten the drop on him and clubbed him in the head.

  "Drop your weapon, Kraw," Allison shouted.

  Kraw looked totally calm. Even now, under what had to be enormous stress, he looked like he was just taking a hike through the woods with some friends. That wasn't a good sign.

  "Why don't you drop yours?" Kraw said. "Then I'll walk outta here nice and easy like."

  "You know that's not happening," Allison said. “And I know you’re not going to just walk away, not when you have someone’s life in your hands.”

  Kraw smiled. “You’ve been studying up on me. I’m flattered. You being such a pretty thing and all.” He licked his lips. “Bet you was twice as cute when you was a little girl. Woulda liked to have met you then.”

  Allison readjusted her grip and took aim. Garret looked horrified.

  "N…no…w…w…wait," Garret managed. "McNeil. Just wait, OK?"

  “’Cus if I’d met you back then, Agent McNeil, I coulda made some use of you,” Kraw said.

  “Stand down, McNeil! That’s an order,” Garret shouted.

  Allison barely heard the words over the blood pounding in her head.

  “When you were eleven or twelve, you probably had men looking at you, didn’t you?” Kraw said. He smiled. “Ohhh yes, I can tell I’m right. Some of them try to touch you? I bet they did. And I bet you liked it too, didn’t you?”

  Hate burned inside her.

  “You don’t have to be ashamed to admit that. It’s natural,” Kraw said. “All my little girls liked it. I didn’t hurt them. They all wanted me to—”

  Allison fired.

  The bullet tore through Garret’s shin and bent him forward with such force that Kraw's upper body was left exposed.

  Her second bullet buried itself between Kraw’s eyes. The back of his head blew out in a puff of red mist. He let go of Garret and fell backward. His hulking body jerked a few times. Then stopped. Dead.

  Allison stood in place, her gun still trained on the body lying prone on the ground. After a few long seconds, she realized she wasn’t breathing. She drew in a sharp inhalation, the emotion of the moment turning it into a ragged, half-sob. The gun in her hand began to tremble and then shake, the adrenaline overwhelming her system.

  Garret was on the ground, grabbing his leg, screaming something at her, but her ears rang from the gunshots and he sounded far away. It was probably for the best. She knew he was going to be pissed, but she also knew she’d saved his life. Whether he was going to see it that way remained to be seen.

  3

  Catherine Fews’s clients liked their sex rougher and dirtier than they could get through more respectable avenues. For most of her high-powered DC clientele, a simple blowjob was dirtier than their pearled, blue-haired wives living back with the constituency had given them in a few decades, so she seldom had to get too creative.

  This man was different though. Young, strong and hung, she found herself looking forward to his visits. He didn’t talk much, but what he lacked in conversation he made up for in other ways. But she meant to warn him about the bruises she received last time they were together. Marks on her skin weren’t exactly good for business. The upper crust, after all, liked their meat unblemished.

  But he never gave her a chance to bring it up.

  The second she opened the door to her Georgetown apartment, he pushed his way inside, grabbing her arm painfully and forcing her to the side. He kicked the door shut behind him then pushed her face-first up against it.

  She tried to turn around to encour
age him, but he grabbed her hair and pushed her back into the door.

  Clever boy, she thought. You know where the camera is.

  She felt him hike up her skirt and his strong fingers were between her legs. But she was ready for him. Sure it was rough but it was a hundred times better than the wrinkly Viagra soldiers she usually had to cajole into action. She moaned and arched her back as he pushed into her.

  Catherine owed this particular client a favor. His entrance into her life a year earlier had changed everything for her. His proposition had sounded ridiculous at first, so outlandish that she’d thought it was some kind of role-play to help him get off. But twenty grand in cash convinced her it was the real deal. Even then, she refused. It wasn’t like she was turning tricks at a truck stop out on the highway. Her clientele included some of the most powerful men in DC. She knew that was exactly what made her so valuable.

  But the man was charismatic and a smooth talker. Eventually, he won her over and she made the deal. For the first time she had a plan for her life that didn’t include moaning encouragement to old men as they did their clumsy work on top of her. She had a lucrative exit strategy that would both get her out of hooking and set her up in style. Not only her, but her sister too. And that one thing made it all worth it.

  But she’d learned in her short but eventful life that men could not be trusted. Men with money least of all. That was why the day after he installed the camera, she installed the second one in the other wall. Call it an insurance policy. Besides, even though she took the man’s money and the new clients he sent her way, Catherine only worked for herself.

  It seemed like such a simple thing, secret sex tapes of mid-level politicians and bureaucrats, but it had gotten out of hand. The stakes were suddenly too big when one of her clients climbed onto the national stage. Sure, most of her visitors had some level of name recognition, even if only among CSPAN and Politico-junkies. But this was different. He was everywhere. In the papers. On the news. Catherine went from being shocked, to being nervous and then scared. Really scared. Having someone with a little power on video was one thing, but this was dangerous and she knew it.

  The man paid her more, a lot more. He spoke soft words to her, convincing her there was nothing to worry about. It worked at first. He convinced her that it wouldn’t be a problem. When asked what he intended to do with the videos, he didn’t give specifics, just assured her that leaking them to the press or to TMZ wasn’t part of the plan. They were too valuable for that.

  Catherine understood the implication. She didn’t like to think of the word blackmail. It seemed too much like a word someone could go to prison for. She preferred the term the man used when he explained his purpose.

  Leverage.

  Releasing the videos wasn’t necessary, he explained. Their existence was all he needed. Just their existence gave him power.

  But no matter his assurances, her intuition told her she was in over her head. In time she reached the conclusion that she needed out, no matter the cost. The man would find out that he’d taught her too well. But by then it would be too late for him to do anything about it. She had leverage of her own.

  She had enough money saved up, so even if the FBI wouldn’t pay anything for the information she sent them, she’d be OK. She would cut a deal and get the hell away from the East Coast and the rat’s nest of politicians and lobbyists. She thought LA might be a good fit for her. She had the face and the figure to be in movies. And she didn’t lack the ambition or street smarts.

  In the meantime, it was clear that tonight’s visit was a social call. She didn’t mind giving the man a send-off. The plan had almost worked. In fact, the only problem was that it had worked too well. He’d treated her fairly, paid her well, and she was about to totally screw him over. Catherine figured that after she cut her deal with the FBI, the man would be sitting in a prison cell while she was basking in the California sun. She appreciated everything he’d tried to do for her. She didn’t mind paying for the service he had provided her, especially since it wasn’t going to work out the way he hoped.

  But then she didn’t fully understand what full payment entailed.

  <><><>

  The man forced Catherine’s head against the door as he continued to work his fingers deep inside of her. She moaned, shifting her hips against him.

  “Did you cancel the rest of your night like I told you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she gasped as he plunged deeper into her.

  “Have you ever told anyone about me?” he asked.

  He waited for any sign of tension in the woman’s body, a telltale sign that she was about to lie to him. There was nothing.

  “No, of course not.” She ground her hips harder against him. “Did you come here to talk?”

  The man reached into his coat and took out a ski mask. He flattened his body against hers until they were both pressed against the door, her arms pinned down by his elbows, his head next to hers, breathing into her ear.

  “No. Not really.”

  He pulled the mask over his head. She glanced back and saw it.

  “That’s new,” she said playfully. “I like it. What do you say we—”

  He pushed against her harder, making sure she didn’t turn around.

  “Hey, you’re hurting me. Get off.”

  The man ignored her struggling beneath him. He leaned into her ear and said, “All right. I think I’m ready now. How about you? Are you ready?”

  He felt her body tighten beneath him and he marveled at the level of intuition in the human psyche. The sexual excitement that had oozed from the woman a few seconds earlier was gone, replaced by a fundamental sense of the danger he represented.

  A shudder passed through her body and he thought for a second that the tangible expression of pure fear might make him climax.

  To fight the sensation, he tore the knife from the sheath strapped to his belt and plunged the blade into the woman’s throat.

  Blood sprayed across the door in an arc as he yanked her head backward and away from him.

  Catherine’s legs kicked violently as frothy red drool poured down the front of her chest.

  Her arms flailed wildly as if grabbing hold of something would somehow fix the gash opened in her flesh.

  The man held the gushing wound away from him to keep the blood off his clothes. Although necessary, he found it unfortunate that he couldn’t see the woman’s face. It was, after all, his favorite part of the kill.

  With a handful of hair and the other hand holding her left arm, he dragged her to the full-length mirror on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. There he held back her head and watched the mirror in fascination as Catherine Fews stared in bewilderment at her own violent death.

  The man held on, watching, waiting patiently for the money shot.

  Ah, here it comes.

  A convulsion rippled through the woman’s body. Every muscle tensed at once, as if making one last bid to escape what fate obviously had been decided for it.

  Then, in a violent thrashing that caught him off guard, she clawed at his face and ripped off the mask. Then she went limp and hung dead in her murderer’s arms.

  The man stood and stared at the image of himself in the mirror. It was the first real mistake he had made in a long time.

  He let go of Catherine Fews and her body slumped to the ground, the back of her head hitting the corner of her bed with a dull thud. He stood looking into the mirror, trying to decide how big of a problem he had just caused.

  The man mopped up the sweat that had collected across his brow, cussing himself for his sloppiness and lapse in judgment.

  After he caught his breath, he reached up and lifted up what he knew was a two-way mirror, the same kind used in interrogation rooms in police departments across the country. Once he removed it, he looked into the small cubbyhole carved into the wall behind it, just enough room for a video camera, the red light flashing to indicate that it was recording.

  With gloved hands he fl
ipped open the camera’s display and rewound the video. He watched it once, enjoying it despite the trouble he’d caused himself. He pressed pause just as the mask came off. Even on the small screen, he could clearly see his own face. He resisted the temptation to smash the camera on the floor and took a steadying breath.

  His first thought was that he just needed to take the camera with him. But no, the point was for the camera to be found and for all the politicians who’d had fun in that room to stew in their own sweat knowing that a sex tape of them was out in the world. He thought about recording over the section, but discarded the idea. It would show that whoever killed Catherine Fews knew where the camera had been the entire time. And that was no good. He thought about deleting the section and then just letting the battery run out, but he didn’t trust that option. He was no tech expert but he knew enough to know there were entire FBI labs dedicated to recovering supposedly deleted information from computers and phones. Sometimes after they’d been shot up, burned down and thrown in the water. He wasn’t about to trust his freedom to a delete button.

  Flipping the camera over, he popped the memory card out of the camera and pocketed it. It was the easiest solution. The best ones often were.

  He reached back to the small of his back and removed a plastic case. He opened it and removed a surgeon’s saw.

  With the tool in his hand, he felt his nerves calm. He was back in control. He was on the job. And, like his pops always used to tell him growing up, do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.

  So, working in a medium of blood, skin, bone and cartilage, the man set about doing what he loved best.

  As he worked, he periodically looked at the mirror on the sidewall next to the bed to get a different angle on his creation.

  Behind that mirror was the camera Catherine Fews had installed as her insurance policy and her ticket to a better life.

  A red light blinked, indicating the webcam was on, taking in all the man’s horrific handiwork. There was no memory card in this camera. Instead, a jumble of cords trailed out of the machine and disappeared into the wall behind it.