Lonesome Lawmen

Six-4

“Rushdie was right,” Hayes muttered, “our lives do teach us who we are. Even better, your life will teach me who you are, Dani Gwynne. Once it has, I’ll end it.”

For a moment his temper had almost gotten away from him when his contact inside the police department had let him know too late for him to get Gwynne at Ryan’s house. He would have enjoyed doing her in the suburbs. He had always hated his parent’s milieu. Lucky for his snitch the Feds had gone away empty-handed, too.

What would she do next, he wondered, fingering his knife in anticipation. It was an interesting problem. Absently he tested the blade, leaving a beaded, red trail along the edge of his finger. He sucked the cut as he read a photocopy of Gwynne’s file detailing her interest, among many others, in the Internet.

The first thing Gwynne had done was turn to someone she’d met online. Quite a clever idea really. It added an interactive dimension to the hunt. If she stayed connected he could hunt her and talk to her. Assault her mind while he hunted her body.

He turned to his computer and logged on to the Net. He had already arranged to read her email, to get any replies she sent. Now he read Kirby’s email with interest. How would she respond to its commanding tone? It would tell him a lot about her when she did. Then he would know how to act. Where to act. Another bead of red blood formed along the cut he had made on his finger, hovered briefly, then dropped onto the keyboard in a perfect, quivering circle.

He smiled, thinking of her blood falling like rain. It would flow softly at first, but soon it would turn into a rushing red river sweeping her life away. Then the fire would lick at the river, swallowing red moisture in a flickering, healing flame. Heat made a shaft through his middle, quickening his breathing.

His hands settled on keys slick with sweat and his own blood. Breath came in short, panting gasps as he formed his first words to her. In a sharp crescendo, he finished and sagged back in the chair, his thoughts centered on the two women in his life.

Dani Gwynne. The one he had to kill.

Willow. The one he had to love.

Soon he would have both where he wanted them.

* * * *

Dani exchanged her grandma attire for tattered jeans and a Stones tee shirt before approaching her next kindly stranger. The smart little hat was now a “gimme” variety put out by the Denver Nuggets, the briefcase replaced by a ratty backpack.

With the sun beginning a hurried decline in the western sky, she studied the junk yard/garage combination across the street from her, then checked the address against the one on her print out. This was the place.

She just hoped the stranger was more kindly than his digs.

After hitching her backpack to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder, she crossed the dusty street and cautiously pushed the rusted door. She winced at the protest the sagging metal hinges made against movement, then slid through the gap. Before her eyes could adjust to the light change, her nose identified—and wrinkled against—a pungent mix of grease, paint, dust, beer and old sweat. Dani took a step back, then stopped. Retreat was not an option.

“I’m closed,” a deep voice rumbled at her out of deep shadow. It took her a minute to separate the massive figure lovingly polishing a Harley-Davidson motorcycle from the shadowy chunks of equipment.

“Meathook?”

“Who wants to know?” He stood up, sending an already impressive shadow spreading across the cluttered floor.

She grinned, recognizing the “voice” of her online friend, even if the figure wasn’t familiar. “I want to know.”

He started toward her, getting bigger with each step. The meager light outlined each bulging muscle and the bush of a beard that obscured the lower half of his face.

“Who the hell are you?”

She held her ground. “Willow, that’s who.”

“Willow? Internet Willow?” She nodded. Like a spring thaw, a smile cracked the severity of beard and face, splitting his battered face into less menacing lines. “Well, I’ll be damned.”