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Her vision was going black.
Leigh stretched her hands out to either side. Boucher’s sidearm. It was right there. Just out of reach. The chance the gunpowder had been submerged too long ran high, but she had to try. Clamping a hand on his wrist, she tried to push herself deeper. Her fingertip brushed the textured grip, shifting it farther away. She tried again and managed to move it again. Still not close enough.
The harder she fought, the faster precious oxygen burned up in her chest.
She had nothing left to give. And stilled.
Her legs lifted of their own accord, breaking the surface of the water. She pried her hand from around his. The darkness had taken over, and there was a sense of peace that came with it. She’d done the job Livingstone had recruited her for. She’d found the killer. She’d fought for this town, knowing it’d never do the same for her. That acceptance—that clarity—was all she needed. She wouldn’t ever be strong enough against him. But she’d studied enough killers to know how they thought.
And to convince them they’d won.
Boucher let go.
She fought the urge to surge upward. Instead, she expelled the rest of her oxygen and forced herself down.
Leigh secured her hand around the gun, brought it forward, and pulled the trigger. Then again. Both bullets found their mark. Getting her feet underneath her, she thrust upward, weapon in hand.
Boucher stumbled back. Both hands locked on his chest, he raised his gaze to meet hers. Then fell into the depths.
She stood frozen for a series of labored breaths.
A beam from overhead swung within two feet of her position and slammed into the wall behind her. Fighting water now up to her waist, Leigh tried to run for the exit. Chandler Reed—unconscious and unmoving—was there, and she tossed the gun to get the investigator out.
She made it through the opening where a door had once stood, but the collapse left little room between the structure and the riverbank to fit through. And it was sinking deeper right in front of her eyes, cutting off her only escape. “Think skinny thoughts.”
Leigh hugged the investigator to her front and took a deep breath. Submerging them both, she kicked with everything she had. She pulled them through the doorframe and onto the other side to resurface. Her shoulder gave out as the earth swallowed the old mill brick by brick. Mud and weeds provided leverage the farther up she managed to drag his body one-handed.
She released Chandler’s hand and fell onto her backside into the snow. On her knees, she fisted both hands right below his sternum and pumped hard chest compressions. Two. Three. She fed air into his mouth and airway. Then again. A funnel of water spit from his mouth and nose, and Leigh turned Chandler onto his side to give him more oxygen. His gasps nearly overrode the echo of sirens piercing through the night.
It was over. Leigh’s gaze settled on Chandler, noting the blades used to torture him and four other victims were now gone. She hadn’t failed him.
It was finally over.
THIRTY-TWO
Lebanon, New Hampshire
Wednesday, April 2, 2004
11:45 p.m.
Her arm burned where Mr. Ellingson held on.
She tried to pull away, but he was so much stronger than he looked. Every step took her farther away from the house where she believed Troy was being held. Although, she hadn’t seen any evidence of that in her short time in the basement. There had to be somewhere else Mr. Ellingson was hiding him. Because she wouldn’t accept the alternative. She wouldn’t believe her brother was dead. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’ll pay for the window. It was just a stupid dare. You don’t have to?—”
“I know what you were doing, Leigh.” His thumb pressed into her elbow as he marched her back through the woods. His flashlight lit the path ahead but blinded her to everything else. “And I understand. Really, I do.” He pulled her to a stop, staring down at her with all the care in the world, and it made her uncomfortable. Him touching her, looking at her. “Your brother was just found murdered beneath your own home. I can’t imagine what that feels like, but I do know the toll grief can take on a young mind.”
Except that hadn’t been her brother’s body, and he knew it.
Dropping to one knee in front of her, Mr. Ellingson set both hands on her arms. “You don’t want to believe the truth. In reality, your brain is too undeveloped to even comprehend all the emotions you must be feeling, but I want you to know I’m here for you. If you ever want to talk, day or night, I think I can help.”
The sincerity in that statement tempted her to ask if that was what he’d done for Troy before he’d abducted him, but despite her undeveloped brain, she knew when to keep her mouth shut. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course.” Surprise creased the wrinkles around his eyes. He’d expected her to keep arguing. “I’m here for all my students, especially you high school kids.”
She bet he was. “Then do you really have to escort me home to my parents? They’re already grieving. I don’t think they can take me screwing up.”
“You know what? I think you’ve learned your lesson.” Mr. Ellingson got to both feet, crushing the dead leaves scattered through the woods. He handed over his flashlight. “I assume you know your way back?”
