Cross (Alex Cross 12) - Page 80
He turned to Sampson and me.
Chapter 117
STALEMATE—AT LEAST FOR THE MOMENT. A couple of seconds? And then what happens?
I realized that Sampson’s car wasn’t a shield between Sullivan and me anymore. His sons had finally stopped running toward him. Caitlin Sullivan had the two smaller ones wrapped in her arms. The oldest boy stood beside her, looking protective, looking a lot like his father. I prayed the boy didn’t get into this now too.
“I’m Alex Cross,” I told Sullivan. “You came to my house once. Then you killed my wife. A long time ago, Washington, DC.”
“I know who you are,” Sullivan called back. “I didn’t kill your wife. I know who I killed.”
Then the Butcher took off on a dead run for the woods. I aimed at the square of his back—this was it—but I didn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t do it.
Not in the back. Not with his wife and kids here, not under any circumstances.
“Dad!” one of the boys screamed again as Sampson and I took off after his father. “Keep running! Keep running!”
“He’s a killer, Alex,” Samp
son said as we ran over uneven ground covered with high grass, jutting rocks, tree roots. “We need to put him down. You know we do. Don’t show mercy to the devil.”
I didn’t need a reminder; I wasn’t going to get careless.
But I hadn’t taken the shot when I had it. I hadn’t brought down Michael Sullivan when I had the chance.
The woods were dark, but there was enough moonlight to make out shapes and some finer detail. Maybe we’d be able to see Sullivan, but he’d see us too.
The stalemate continued. But one of us was going to die tonight. I knew it and hoped it wouldn’t be me. But this had to be finished now. It had been building to this for so long.
I wondered where he was running—if he had an escape plan or if an ambush was coming.
We hadn’t seen Sullivan since he’d gotten to the tree line. Maybe he was fast, or maybe he’d taken a sharp turn in another direction. How well did he know the woods?
Was he watching us right now? Getting ready to fire? To spring from behind a tree?
Finally, I saw movement—someone running fast up ahead. It had to be Sullivan! Unless it was the remaining mob guy.
Whoever it was, I didn’t have a shot. Too many tree trunks, branches, and limbs in the way.
My breath was coming in short, harsh gasps. I wasn’t out of shape, so it had to be the stress of everything going on. I was chasing down the son of a bitch who had killed Maria. I’d hated him for more than ten years, and I’d wanted this day to come. I’d even prayed for it.
But I hadn’t taken the shot when I had it.
“Where is he?” Sampson was there at my side. Neither of us could see the Butcher. We couldn’t hear him running now, either.
Then I heard an engine roar—in the woods! An engine? What kind of engine?
Headlights shone suddenly—two blazing eyes aimed right at us.
A car was coming fast, Sullivan or somebody else crouched at the wheel, down a track the driver knew well.
“Take the shot!” Sampson yelled. “Alex, take the shot!”
Chapter 118
SULLIVAN HAD STASHED A CAR in the woods, probably for an emergency escape like this one. I held my ground, and put one, two, three shots into the driver’s side of the windshield.
But the Butcher kept coming!
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