She hurt all over. And he’d won.
For now.
“There was a chance she might have survived, but now it’s over.”
“She?” Did she speak aloud? Or, was it in her head?
He was talking nonsense. Trying to rattle Pescoli, but it wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Just leave me alone, she wanted to scream. Leave me be. She couldn’t even muster the strength to try and determine his identity.
“You’re just too dumb to understand, aren’t you, Detective. Too self-centered to think that your actions would affect anyone else.”
She was still having trouble breathing, her body starting to shiver almost convulsively with the cold.
“But I’ll explain it to Elyssa. She’ll get it.”
Who’s Elyssa . . . ? Her mind was shutting down.
“You’re not curious?” he mocked. “Don’t you want to know whose death sentence you just signed?”
CHOSEN TO DIE
283
This is a ploy. Only a ploy. Don’t buy into it. With an effort, she rolled an eye in his direction. Deep down, she wanted to call his bluff, to call him a friggin’ liar, but something in the way he stood near the door, in the superior tone of his voice, gave her pause.
“Elyssa O’Leary . . . surely you have a missing persons report on her.”
Oh, please God, no. The name was familiar. She could almost feel the depravity of his smile crawl through the darkness. “Yes, I see you know her.”
It was all making sense now. Sick, horrifying sense as she remembered thinking she’d heard a woman crying, softly sobbing. Pescoli had convinced herself that the woman’s broken sobs were only the product of her imagination. But how . . . ?
Her heart turned to ice.
Cold, horrifying dread pounded through her brain. Elyssa O’Leary. Missing for several weeks . . . Only child . . . a student of some kind . . .
“I wasn’t sure it was her time. Not yet. I might have given her another week or so . . . let her live through the holidays . . . But you convinced me, Red. She’s ready.”
This wasn’t a bluff. He couldn’t know about the O’Leary girl . . . Pescoli licked her lips. Tasted his repugnant sweat and blood all over again. This was wrong. So wrong. “You’re a liar,” she accused him.
“Only when I have to be, and I certainly don’t have to lie about this.”
With a sick feeling, she knew he was telling the truth. The son of a bitch had picked this bleak moment for a stab at honesty. 284
Lisa Jackson
“When the storm breaks tomorrow, she dies. Christmas Eve.”
Denial tore through Pescoli’s soul. She couldn’t let this happen! Wouldn’t! “Take me,” she whispered.
“Oh, so you do believe me.”
She closed her eyes and repeated hoarsely, “Take me.” Where there was hope, there was life. If she could buy the girl a few more days, Alvarez and the rest of the department might be able to locate this lair.
“You need to think about what you just did. And there are others, before you . . .”
Others? Plural? Oh, Lord, he plans to harvest more and keep me alive, then taunt me with their deaths! He intends to tell me about each one, every innocent woman that I will be unable to save. This could take weeks, or months . . . or years.
Who knew how many women he planned to kill?