CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Ella covered the six-mile journey to Zack’s apartment in a fraction of the time it should have taken. Outside the row of apartments, she saw her partner’s vehicle and prayed it wasn’t too late. Paige could no doubt outfight the man, but battling an unsub on their own territory always put you at a disadvantage. They could hide, blitz-attack, trap, and the fact Paige wasn’t answering her phone was a massive cause for concern.
Ella studied the home’s exterior. No lights on anywhere. She rushed to the entrance, foot-first, obliterating the door and leaving a pile of rubble in her wake.
“FBI!” she shouted as she lurched into the kitchen. She didn’t have time to tread carefully. This was an all-guns-blazing type situation. She smashed her hands against the walls for a light switch and found it near the refrigerator. In the new glow, Ella saw a river of blood leading from the kitchen to a rear door. She trailed it, stopping at the bathroom to see the monstrosity inside.
Irene’s severed leg in the bathtub.
Along the blood trail, she shouldered a door open and found herself in a brightly lit garage. At the opposite end was a battered brown Mondeo, probably with a trunk full of blood.
But next to the car was her partner, eyes flickering, a ring of blood around her neck.
And she wasn’t alone.
From behind, her tormenter held a surgical device around her neck. Ella recognized it as the Gigli Saw.
“She said you’d come,” Zack laughed.
Ella trained her pistol on the man, impossible to get a clean shot with Paige so close.
“Let her go, Zack.”
“You got here just in time. I was just about to cut her leg off.”
Ella strained, trying to find an angle from which she could discreetly take him out. “Why didn’t you?”
“Leverage. Besides, I have no intention of getting out of here alive anyway.”
There was no angle she could safely hit Zack and not her partner. She edged a little closer to the pair.
“Suicide by cop,” Ella said. “Brave.”
“Why don’t you put that gun down?” Zack said.
“You think I’m stupid?”
“A little bit. You fell right into my trap.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Sure. I’ll say it again, why don’t you put that gun down? Otherwise your little friend here will die.”
Ella weighed up her options, not taking her eyes off the young man. She noted his language. Your friend will die, not I’ll kill your friend. He’d not only embraced his identity as a serial killer, but he’d disassociated himself from his own actions. That meant he was dangerous, impulsive, and wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t care if he died.
She could shoot and risk killing her partner.
Or play his game and maybe save her life.
Ella lowered her pistol.
“Alright,” she said.
“Throw it out the window. To your right.”
Ella spotted the window in her peripheral vision. Below it, a surgical table strewn with medical equipment. Scissors, scalpels, retractors, clamps, mallets.
She dropped her gun out of the window as instructed. She suddenly regretted her call for back-up. If Zack heard sirens outside, he’d kill Paige immediately.