It seemed impossible in this huge, verdant landscape, that this killer could be found. And yet, May had hope. She had hope in all the police vehicles out there, their colleagues and friends, with that APB on their radar, keeping a lookout, searching and spotting.
And she had hope in Kerry's FBI contacts, who hopefully even now were targeting that phone signal, narrowing it down, to a hundred yards, and then to fifty yards, and then to ten yards.
May felt as if she was pouring all her energies, all her emotions, into the fight that was being taken up by tens of people in the county and beyond.
And then, with a shrilling sound, her phone rang. It was Kerry. May grabbed it as fast as she could.
"You got anything, sis?" she asked.
"I sure do," Kerry replied. "I'm going to text you the coordinates as we speak. Seems from the map like it's at a house out in the farming area somewhere near Chestnut Hill. If it helps, it looks like the resident’s name is Sharon Toms."
"Thanks. I'll get onto it now. Will you message Owen?" May felt relieved she was heading that way. They had been able to predict where his hunting ground was. But at the same time, this was bad news, because this killer was at a victim's house. Already. He had to be. And that meant it might be too late to stop him.
“I’ll message him and tell him. You go for it, May.” Kerry cut the call.
May waited a beat, and then the coordinates arrived. They landed in her inbox with a beep, and she immediately keyed them into her map.
Her heart jumped, just a little, because this was only a five-minute drive away. Surely not impossible? Perhaps he'd just arrived and was still trying to find a way in.
Scenarios surged in her mind. She knew she was being very hopeful, too hopeful, but even so, May found that hope was the only thing hinging her resolve, as she powered along the road to the place where the killer was meeting his next date with destiny — in the form of Sharon Toms, who had survived one close call already.
She was trying not to think of the horror she might find. And yet, she couldn't help it.
May imagined the scenario. The killer would show himself to the victim, she was sure he did that. He would be raising the scythe, letting her see, allowing her terror to flare. But he'd be waiting for the precise moment to strike, to inflict the fatal wound. May knew the brutal nature of a murderer at work.
She swerved around a bend and then slowed down. Up ahead was a small road. She turned off onto it and drove down the gravel track.
Just a few more yards to go and she would be there. She saw the gate ahead. It was open. And outside, with a chill, she saw a dark SUV was parked.
This is it, she thought. The end. It's all over.
She checked her gun and got out of the car. She could see the house ahead of her: an old, shabby-looking, two-story house that was large and sprawling. Blinds covered the top windows, making the house look strangely mysterious and shuttered. Shewas now certain she had reached the place where Burgess was doing his evil deed.
May rushed up the uneven path to the front door.
She gasped as she saw it was splintered open. He’d broken in. She felt sick as she realized he'd gotten inside already, gotten past the hallway, and into the house itself.
The light in the hallway was smashed, and so was a vase that May guessed had been on the hall table. Broken glass was scattered on the rug, indicating that he'd fought or forced his way in. Had she been fighting him? What had played out here? Had he just wanted to cause mayhem and destruction as he forced his way inside?
May's heart was beating so fast, she could feel it thumping in her ears. She took deep breaths as she tried to calm down, as she tried to get her racing mind under control.
And then her adrenaline spiked as, from somewhere in the house, she heard a bang and a crash.
This wasn't just a destruction zone. It was a fight in progress. Sharon was still alive. Surely she must be?
The victim, this unknown woman, wasn't taking her fate without a struggle. She was holding him off. And this might be May's only chance to help her. To save her.
There wasn’t time to call for help now. Not at this moment, with the victim fighting for her life inside.
May was ready to draw her gun, to step forward and face down the killer. It might be her last chance to stop him before he did any more harm to anyone else.Including his current victim.
She rushed through the hallway and into the house. Burgess might be hunting Sharon down, but now she was on the hunt for him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
With her gun at the ready, May rushed down the hallway, her feet crunching on the shards of glass, her ears straining to catch another sound. The house was so big, though, that she couldn't figure out where the noise was coming from.
May rushed into the kitchen, and stared around, aghast. The light from the window streamed in, illuminating broken chairs and scattered plates. A glass lay shattered on the floor, the shards gleaming in a pool of dark liquid that attracted May's close focus for a horrified moment before she realized it must be spilled wine or juice.