no suggestion of foul play.”
“Then why do you leave those coins?”
“Proof that it wasn’t an accident,” he says. “Proof that only certain people in my society would understand and believe.”
“I thought they tracked people. I thought that’s why Josh left one at the convenience store.”
“A rookie error, I assure you.”
In my peripheral vision, I see a flash of black and white under a billboard. Hope surges through me as I realize it’s a police cruiser waiting for a speeder. What do I do? Flash the brights? Hit the brakes? Speed like hell?
I go with plan C and smash my foot on the accelerator, the engine screaming.
“What are you—” He sees the cop and instantly leans forward. “Don’t even think about it.”
The cop pulls out but doesn’t put on his lights. Next to me, Jarvis pulls Molly’s sleeping body a little higher.
“You go one mile an hour over or under the speed limit, blink your lights, touch your brakes, or so much as think about signaling that cop and I will put this blade five inches into this girl.”
I say nothing.
“Isn’t one death on your conscience enough, Quinte?”
Does he mean the other girls, or Conner? How would he know I feel guilty about my brother’s death? Nausea threatens to rise and I fight the feeling.
“You really didn’t think you were on the list because of your looks, did you?” he adds.
I can barely breathe as we approach the bridge. The cop is letting us get ahead, and he still hasn’t turned on a siren or flashed his lights. If he does, surely this madman wouldn’t risk being pulled over and having a cop find a dead body? Should
I—
“Did you, Quinte?” he demands. “Did you think you earned a spot thanks to your great beauty?”
Oh, God. This has to do with Conner. I’m on the list because of Conner. My whole body shudders like I’ve just dropped off a ten-story building. I sneak a look in the rearview mirror; the cop is still back there. Way back there.
“If you’d done your research, you would have seen that many of the girls on the list fall into the category of not so hot, but so very … vulnerable. Like you, they also have weaknesses and tendencies and allergies and histories. I’m very careful who I pick. Turn here. Right here. And use your signal. I see the damn cop.”
I follow the orders and we head back up a hill, away from the bridge. That’s good news. The bad news: the cop doesn’t follow.
“Stay on this road. I have another plan.”
Of course he does. “Where are we going?”
“No more questions. You can’t keep doing this to me.”
“Doing what?”
“You escaped the cut brakes, you found the gas leak, and I couldn’t flatten you on your bike. But your luck has run out. Memento mori, Quinte. Memento mori.”
I don’t have to dig too deep into my translation well for that one. Remember to die … or, figuratively, remember you’re going to die. Yeah, how could I forget?
CHAPTER XXX
I’m not completely surprised when Jarvis directs me to Nacht Woods, although we’re far from the Collier property. This section of the woods is at least a mile from any homes, a desolate and dense forest that only the most seasoned hiker would attempt to enter. I don’t know what to expect, except that it can’t be good.
Next to me, Molly grunts softly, surely coming out of her sleep. Two of us can take him down. Molly and I can silently communicate and beat this nutcase at his game … unless he kills her first.
No matter what, I have to protect Molly. I have to outsmart him because he might be crazy, but he’s smart. That’s what I have to be, too.
“Up that hill,” he orders. “Cut through those trees and find the path.”
My lights slice through the densest section of evergreens. “Through them?”
“You’ll make it. Might scratch your pal’s nice ride, but she and her car are about to go through worse.”
Not if I can stop you.
But how? I have to gun it to get up a steep embankment, the path carpeted with slick leaves that make the tires skid. I manage the climb and cringe when the needles scrape over the car like nails on a chalkboard.
Then I realize we’re driving up to Stony Creek Cliff, the very place a hiker was …
“Stephanie Kurtz.” The woman’s name pops into my head and out of my mouth. She wasn’t a teenager, but a young mother who graduated from