“Knew it would frighten you.A little psychological warfare.”He let out a mirthless laugh and took another step closer, now within three feet.His face twisted in deep animosity.An inhuman shimmer fired his eyes.“Scared,Super Sarah?You should be.”
Pulling her leather handbag up to shield her chest, she had to figure out how to get her own knife, somehow lift her skirt, slide it from the sheath.Against the taller, unhinged man she’d have little chance.It was obvious he was intent on murder.Her only hope was surprise.
Think, she told herself.And she remembered Ben’s instructions.
Keep your weapon in close.Face your attacker.Go for his knife hand.
Suddenly, Colin lunged.She wasn’t ready.
Slamming into her with all his weight, he used the heel of his hand to shove her cheek sideways to the tile.With a cruel grip, he laid his blade against her throat.
Instantly, her mind snapped back to the day Ridley Kemper had pressed his knife into her flesh.Inside her, full blown panic threatened to explode.
“Is this your nightmare?”Colin demanded.“Poor, poor Sarah.Have you had bad dreams about dying from the cut of a knife?”
Like a banging drum, her heart pounded.She gasped.
With her left arm crushed between his chest and her purse, she wriggled her right hand down, scrabbled for the hem of her skirt.Colin’s hot breath smelled of rank hatred.It fanned her face.His grip was strong, painful.She could feel his evil intent coming at her in waves.He was going to kill her.Now.
****
This was taking toolong.Ben let his gaze scan the sparsely populated street in restless sweeps.It had been a full four minutes since Sarah had gone into the restroom.He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he needed to check on her.How long did it take to pee?
Abruptly it occurred to him it had been the same four minutes since the rhubarb-costumed youth had gone into the men’s room.In Ben’s line of work, he’d learned long ago to distrust coincidences.
The rhubarb costume.
Earlier in the day when he’d seen the man flitting about the festival, he’d been wearing distinctive red tennis shoes.
The man preceding Sarah into the men’s room had been wearing boots.They’d tapped on the tile floor.
Shit!
****
Inch by inch, Sarahhiked the hem of her dress up until she touched the leather sheath.Her fingers were shaking so hard she feared Colin would feel the vibrations.She had to distract him.
“Mira took care of you,” she said, her voice wobbly.He kept her face shoved to the tile with a brutal hold.“Shewaskind.She would never have wanted you to be a murderer.Imagine how ashamed she’d be.”Her fingers found her knife’s handle.
“Don’t say her name!”Colin crushed her into the wall.His blade bit into her skin and she felt a sharp sting.Something wet dripped down her neck.“You’re not good enough.”His voice hissed.“You never were.Should have been you dying.Should have been you.”
In one fast motion, Sarah gripped her knife and stabbed it as hard as she could into his side, the only place she could reach.The blade cut through fabric and flesh.She felt its sickening entry into his body.
Colin yelped in shock, reeled back to look at the growing bloodstain on his shirt.“Bitch!”he screamed.
Before he could regroup, she tucked in her chin and thrust out, aiming for his knife hand.
He screamed again, a slash opening on the top of his hand.
It wasn’t enough.
Unstoppable, he raised his arm high in the air and leaped at her.He struck with a hatchet swing from above.
Sarah thrust up her purse.Colin’s knife slashed the leather.
From somewhere deep inside, a sudden anger flooded her system.She didn’t deserve this.She’d loved Mira.In no way did she want her to die.And now, Colin wanted to kill her?
Mira had been a junky.She was responsible for her own death.Ben was right; Sarah couldn’t have saved her.
