Page 82 of The Burning

“Either he’s a thief or this was premeditated.” He frowns at me. “Take me through it.”

As I recount to him the moments in the Explorer, I can still feel the tremendous pressure of the belt at my throat, the blood to my head cut off. “When I hit the tree, the impact threw him between the seats and into the front.”

I almost reach for my throat, think better of it, look down at my hands instead. “That’s it.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said something like: ‘This is your last warning.’”

“Original.” His expression is like ice. “He left you to asphyxiate.”

I shudder. “I was able to get to my Gerber and I cut the damn belt.”

“We found the belt,” he says. “He’d buckled it. If you hadn’t had that knife on you, you’d be dead.”

He says the words with brutal honesty.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“I hit that tree pretty hard,” I tell him. “He may be injured.”

“Definitely did some damage to the Explorer.” Eyes holding mine, he slides his cell phone from his pocket, thumbs something into it. “We’ll check area hospitals and clinics just in case.”

I look over at the tiny closet next to the bed where my coat and uniform shirt hang. I see Tomasetti looking, too, taking in the blood, and he shakes his head. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

“You can start by taking me to the station. I can at least write up an incident report. Get myself a rental car—”

“Said the woman who doesn’t know when to quit.” He strides to the closet, pulls out my shirt and coat, and thrusts them at me. “The only place you’re going is home.”

CHAPTER 21

People were a predictable lot. They were sheep, really, ruled by their emotions and petty needs, their actions based on a lack of courage or some fanatical conviction that was negotiable for the right price. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Kate Burkholder didn’t fit the mold; she’d become an unexpected problem. And he was quickly running out of options.

“What are we going to do about the woman cop?” asked the man in the passenger seat.

He glanced over, took a moment to consider the question and all of its gnarly implications. “I haven’t decided yet. We’ve still some time.”

They’d cruised past the farm south of Wooster three times in the last hour. It was past one A.M. now, and the lights inside had gone dark. Ordinarily, this would have been the ideal time to see things through, to finish it cleanly and permanently. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t going to be that easy this time.

He’d underestimated Burkholder. A serious oversight he knew was probably going to cost him. She was going to force his hand, a move he should have anticipated and countered long before now.

“She’s not going to stop,” said the man in the passenger seat.

On the road in front of the farmhouse, he stopped the vehicle and cut the headlights. For the span of several minutes, they took in the scene, entrances and exits, cover, lights, and the quickest ways in and out of the property.

“I know,” he said. “The problem is, she’s outside the realm of our obligation.”

“And yet you know what has to be done.”

“I do.” He looked away from the house and eyed the man sitting next to him. “Still a risk.”

“Riskier if we do nothing. There’s no other way.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too much time. People like her don’t stop. She’s close as it is and getting closer.”

Nodding in acquiescence, he pulled away from the farm. Killing Burkholder was a last resort. The one thing he didn’t want to do. Not only would it draw a large amount of unwanted attention, but it went against what few ethics he had left. He wasn’t a fool, after all; she was going to back them into a corner. Soon, they would have no recourse.