The Skin Collector (Lincoln Rhyme 11)

He was gazing at her confused face. He pulled up his, then her pants, and zippered and buttoned them.

'I knew someday I'd get you back.' Billy was gesturing at the tattoos. '"Pamela", "William". Nice touch, don't you think? Our names will be whole when we lie together to make our children.'

He noted her expression of dismay. 'What's that look about?' As if speaking to a daughter upset about a bad day at school.

'I loved you!' she cried.

'No, you loved somebody who was part of the cancer of this country.' His eyes softened and he whispered, 'What about me, Pam? The woman I've loved all my life turns out to be the enemy? They took your mind and heart away from me.'

'Nobody changed me. I never believed what my mother did. What you believe.'

He stroked her hair, smiling, murmuring, 'You were brainwashed. I understand that. I'll fix you, honey. I'll bring you back into the fold. Now let's go pack.'

'All right, all right.'

He pulled her to her feet.

She turned and looked into his eyes. 'You know, Billy,' she said in a soft voice.

'What?' He seemed pleased to note her smile.

'You should've checked my pockets.'

Pam swung her right arm toward his face as hard as she could, holding tight, fiercely tight, to the box cutter she'd used to cut through the duct tape - the same as she'd carried in her hip pocket ever since those terrible days in Larchwood.

The blade connected with Billy's cheek and mouth. Not like the slush sound of a stabbing in movies. Only the silent cutting of flesh.

As he howled and gripped his face, spinning away, Pam leapt over the coffee table and headed for the front door, calling, 'Okay, there's a mod for you, asshole.'

CHAPTER 72

Pam's hands were slick with Billy's blood, but she got the door open and stumbled into the front hallway of the building.

She'd get outside onto the street and start screaming her head off. Maybe there was no one to hear her pleas for help in the building. But there were plenty of neighbors.

Ten feet, five feet ...

Yes! She was going to--

But then fingers grabbed her ankles and she was falling to the lobby floor, with a cry. Her head bounced on the hardwood.

The knife went flying. Pam squirmed around and faced Billy, kicking furiously toward his groin.

His face was a mess - the image both pleased and shocked her. The gash began below his eye and continued to the middle of his cheek. She'd hoped to blind him but he could see all right, it seemed. Still, blood poured from his cheek and bubbled from his lips and she knew the blade had cut clean through to the inside of his mouth. She couldn't understand what he was saying. Threats, of course. Rage.

Blood flecked her jacket, her arm, her hand. The spray spattered her face.

The horrific expression revealed the pain he'd be feeling.

Good!

She gave up fighting. He was weakened but still much stronger than she was. Escape, she told herself. Just get the hell out!

Clawing at the floor, she managed to move a foot or so away from him, closer to the door.

But he stopped her and spun her onto her back, landing a blow in her solar plexus, knocking the air from her lungs again and doubling her over. She broke away momentarily - thanks to the slick blood, he'd lost his grip. She made it up on her knees. But fury possessed him. Billy planted his foot against the hallway wall and lunged forward, wrapping his sinewy hands around her throat. On her back again, gasping for air.

She kicked upward once more and connected, knee to groin. He gasped, inhaling hard, and began coughing blood. He reseated himself on top of her. His grip relaxed and he drew back and pounded her own cheek and jaw, sputtering words she couldn't understand, flecking her with more blood.