Chapter 25
Eddie caught another punch to the stomach. The air in his lungs burst from his body. He doubled over in pain. Desperately, he kicked out, felt contact. Nicholas was momentarily shoved back, off balance, and went down to his knees.
No time to go for the shotgun in the closet.
Eddie ran, jerked the bedroom door closed behind him as he fled the room, and flipped on the living room lights. Gasping for breath, he spotted the cordless phone sitting on the armrest of the couch. Dial 911. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He could use his cell phone to dial 911, but the house phone would be more reliable. Turning to face the bedroom door, Eddie backed toward the phone. He had to get some space between Nicholas and him.
Eddie clutched at his chest. The pain was intense. He fought to catch his breath, wheezed in air. Almost unbelievably, the .45 was still locked in his grip. Thank you, Dad! If his father hadn’t had all the extra checkering work done to the pistol, he was sure he would have lost it.
He hit the enlarged eject button, dumped the clip loaded with the dead Black Talon rounds onto the floor. He kept his eyes on the bedroom door and continued to retreat from it. He jerked the second clip out of his back pocket, slid the fresh magazine into the .45, and pulled the slide back loading a hollow-point round into the chamber.
Eddie reached the cordless phone and picked it up with his free hand. Tapping the off hook button, Eddie punched 911 and tossed the phone back onto the couch. He knew the police always answered 911 calls even if they didn’t hear anyone on the other end of the line.
He backed up to the wall and sidestepped into a room where he kept an old pool table. Eddie stopped in front of the pool cue rack putting the table between him and the bedroom. He wanted to keep as much distance between him and Nicholas as possible.
Eddie’s nose and face throbbed. He touched his hand to his mouth, his fingers came away smeared with blood, but it didn’t feel too bad. He’d live.
Nicholas still hadn’t come out of the bedroom. Maybe he was playing possum. Or maybe he had bailed now that his would-be victim had escaped his grasp. Or maybe he was just taking his time, enjoying the hunt.
Regardless, whenever Nicholas opened the door, Eddie would be prepared. He slid a pool cue down from the rack and sat it on top of the pool table in front of him in case he had another problem with the .45.
But Eddie wasn’t going to wait for Nicholas to show his face again to find out if there was a problem with the gun. Pointing the pistol directly at the bedroom door, aiming chest high, Eddie squeezed the trigger. The hammer dropped with another clink.
What the hell? He couldn’t believe it.
Chambering another round, he pulled the trigger again and then again and then again. The pistol spit each dead round into the air and they clattered on the wood floor.
Eddie quickly examined the exterior of the .45. He couldn’t see an obvious problem, not that he really expected to see one. If something was wrong with the pistol, it was most likely an internal problem. It certainly couldn’t be the bullets. Just no way he could have had that many misfires in a row. Not from two different sets of ammunition. The odds on that were beyond astronomical. They weren’t misfires. There had to be problem with the pistol.
But what was wrong with it? Had Nicholas gotten to it? Eddie always kept the .45 in the small box safe. He couldn’t have. It was impossible. Maybe he had reassembled the pistol incorrectly the last time he’d cleaned it? He must have. It was the only logical explanation. Whatever the problem, the firearm was useless.
Nicholas opened the door to the bedroom and stepped into the living room. He stopped, stared at the pistol in Eddie’s hand.
Aiming the .45 at Nicholas, Eddie pulled the trigger one more timealthough this time he actually expected the pistol not to fire--and it didn’t. The hammer just fell with another sickening clink.
“Looks like you’re having trouble,” Nicholas said. “That’s a real shame. You could have had me there.”
Nicholas glanced down at the top of the pool table, then at the pool cue. He took a step around the table toward Eddie.
Eddie dumped the chambered round and the clip from the .45 onto the floor and tossed the pistol on the table. He picked up the pool cue, held it like a baseball bat with the thicker end up high. The .45 might have had more weight as a blunt force weapon, but the pool cue had far better reach.
Nicholas strode around the pool table.
Eddie backpedaled away from him, keeping the table between them. Nicholas reached into his back pocket, and Eddie expected him to pull out the razor. He prayed the bastard didn’t pull out a gun. If he pulled out the razor, Eddie felt like he would still be in good shape. If he pulled out a gun, the jig was up. He’d take a pool cue over a knife any day. But against a pistol the pool cue would be worthless. Thankfully, Nicholas didn’t pull out a gun or a knife. Instead, he pulled out another photograph and tossed it in front of Eddie.
“We can dance all night if you like,” Nicholas said. “But while we’re dancing she’s dying.”
Eddie glanced down at the photo. It was another picture of Paige. She was nude, handcuffed to a tree, and bleeding. A wide stream of blood ran down her chest to her navel. She looked unconscious.
Eddie’s throat constricted. His worst fears realized. The psycho had Paige, had hurt her. Eddie’s grip tightened around the pool cue. He hoped the 911 operator was fast, hoped the police would be faster, but until they arrived he was going to use every second to make Nicholas pay for his photos.
“She’s not dead yet,” Nicholas said. “But she’s running out of time.”
“You bastard.”
He might be lying. She could be dead already. His heart went into freefall at the thought.
“Are you willing to take a chance? Roll the dice.” Nicholas asked.
Was the man reading his mind? If he was, then Nicholas knew he wasn’t willing to take that chance.
“It’s now or never,” Nicholas said. “Are you going to be the coward or the hero?”
Nicholas was baiting him.
They had traded places around the pool table now. Eddie had his back to the bedroom. Nicholas had his back to the rack of pool cues. For a moment Eddie worried he’d made a huge mistake, that Nicholas might grab one as a weapon of his own, but instead he ignored them and continued to move around the table coming toward Eddie.
Behind Eddie, the hallway led back into the bedroom and the shotgun. If he could only get to it, he could put an end to this. But if he sprinted for it, and Nicholas followed, he wouldn’t have enough time to get to the closet, open it, and pump the shotgun before Nicholas was on him. He needed to slow Nicholas down, to give himself enough time to get to it. And he wanted to make the man pay for what he’d done to Paige.
At least the police were coming. Backup. But it might take them a few minutes to get out to Eddie’s rural home and in a few minutes the fight could be over.
Eddie stood his ground again, this time fear for Paige’s life locked him to the floor. She needed him. Based on the amount of blood he’d seen in the photo, he didn’t think she had a lot of time. He wouldn’t give up access to the bedroom and the shotgun.
Nicholas continued around the pool table, stalking him.
A glancing blow wouldn’t be enough. Nicholas would expect him to swing, he knew that, but one well-placed hard shot was all he needed and he intended to make use of the reach advantage.
Nicholas reached the edge of the pool table and cautiously took a step toward Eddie.
Nothing but air between them now. Taking little half steps with his hands chest high, Nicholas was obviously trying to anticipate the blow.
Eddie cocked back the cue, ready to make the first swing count. One more step. Just one more step. If he caught Nicholas solid then he would make a break for the closet and the shotgun.
Nicholas took the step.
Eddie swung for the fences.
The crack of the pool cue was hard and crisp. Eddie thought he’d hit a homer the second the pool cue connected. His hands rang with the force of the blow. Nicholas howled and dropped to one knee holding his arm. Eddie raised the pool cue and brought it down again and again, thinking of the photo of Paige bleeding as he did. The wood connected with Nicholas’s forearm, then his shoulder, then his thigh.
Eddie smiled, glad he wasn’t on the receiving end, and for an instant he considered beating Nicholas to death with the pool cue right then and there, but he didn’t. He needed to know where Paige was, and Nicholas was the only person on the planet who could tell him.
He bolted through the door to the bedroom, slamming it shut as he went. He dropped the pool cue, opened the closet, and snatched up the 12-gauge. The steel and wood felt good and heavy in his hands. He pumped the shotgun, and the room was filled with the sound of a shell loading into the chamber. Man, he loved that sound. It was the best sound he’d ever heard. A universal sound that would stop even the most violent of intruders right in their tracks.
With the shotgun held waist high and his finger on the trigger, Eddie approached the bedroom door prepared to unload a round of 12-gauge buckshot into Nicholas’s ass.
Kicking the door open, he raised the shotgun to his shoulder. Nicholas was exactly where Eddie had left him, sitting on the floor, holding his arm. The man would be lucky if it wasn’t broken.
Eddie aimed the shotgun at Nicholas chest.
Nicholas looked up at him. “What are you going to do? Shoot me?”
Lowering the shotgun back to waist height, keeping the muzzle aimed at Nicholas’s chest, Eddie said, “I’m going to wait for the cops to get here, and then I’m going to let them deal with you.”
Nicholas sniffed, as if amused. “By the time you get to a phone, and the cops get here, she’ll be dead.”
Eddie shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I already called 911. The cops will be here any minute.”
“Really?” Nicholas said. “So I guess my cutting the phone line didn’t stop you from getting through?”
Eddie frowned. He backpedaled to the couch and the phone, kept the shotgun leveled at Nicholas’s chest.
“Shoot me in the chest with that shotgun,” Nicholas said, shifting his weight, starting to stand. “And you’ll never see Paige alive again.”
Eddie lowered the barrel of the shotgun to Nicholas’s knees and said, “Make a move without me telling you to and you’ll never walk again.”
Crouching down, Eddie had to balance the barrel across his forearm so he could pick up the cordless phone. He glanced down at the display. It was blank.
Eddie put the phone to his ear. Nothing. No dial tone. No 911 operator. He hit the off button then the dial button. Nothing. He looked at the display again. It was still blank. Tossing the cordless phone back on the couch, Eddie pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He hadn’t used it to call 911 because he’d wanted to keep his hands free, and in the rural community where he lived, 911 calls from cell phones couldn’t always be pinpointed. If that happened the 911 operator wouldn't know where to dispatch an officer. Now that he could stay on the line and give them an address it wouldn’t be a problem.
Eddie dialed 911 on the cell phone and pressed the send button.
“What makes you think I’ll tell the cops anything?” Nicholas said. “Without my help they’ll never find her. You’ll never find her.”
The cell phone let out a series of alternating high to low tones. Eddie glanced at the display. A red stop sign symbol appeared along with the words ERROR IN CONNECTION. Eddie hit the end button and dialed again, but got the same message. Damn.
“She’s dying, and you’re jacking with your phone.”
Eddie mashed the end button and shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t like it was the most reliable piece of equipment he owned. He’d had problems getting a signal from inside the house before. But that would change once they got out on the road.
“Get on your feet and turn around,” Eddie said. “We’re going for a drive. You’re taking me to her.” He didn’t see where he had any other choice. He wasn’t going to sit around while Paige bled to death.