He dropped on top of her, straddling her just below her buttocks. Leaning forward, he pressed his left hand onto her upper back, pinning her to the earth. With his free hand, he reached for her waistband.
She squirmed beneath him. Without hesitation, he threw a hard punch into her kidneys. She let out a yelp as the blow landed.
He grabbed her waistband at the small of her back and tore it downward.
She twisted underneath him, scrambling onto her side.
“Stop moving, bitch!” he said through gritted teeth.
“Fuck you,” she growled back.
The words surprised him. So did the tone. There was fire in those two words. He felt it radiating upward toward him.
A white fury swept over him.
How dare she?
He slid upward, straddling her waist. Ignoring her struggling, he cocked his fist and began raining punches down on her head and face.
“You want the whammo, bitch, you got it.”
* * *
The first blow stunned her. She didn’t see it coming, but only felt the raw force collide with her forehead. She battled with a dark fog that seemed to be settling in across her vision.
“You want the whammo, bitch, you got it,” she heard him say.
Reflexively, she raised her own hands to fend off his punches. The next one landed on her forearm, followed by a shot that she caught on the wrist. That punch drove the heel of her own palm into her mouth.
Katie twisted and moved, trying to avoid each punch as they came out of the darkness.
* * *
Most of his punches weren’t landing solidly, but he didn’t care. The sheer exhilaration of raining his hatred down on this worthless bitch filled every part of his being. If it took another dozen blasts for him to catch her with one that put her out, so be it.
It felt good.
No.
It felt great.
Perfect.
Fulfilling.
He raised his fist for another punch.
That was when he heard the unmistakable sound of tires screeching to a halt, followed by slamming doors. Yells came next, several voices at once.
“Straight through there!”
“Katie!”
“Police!”
Police? How the hell did they get here so quick?
Flashlights darted through the darkness. The beams bounced and bobbed in his direction.
He turned to look down at the nearly defenseless form beneath him.
She twisted and rose toward him. Then he saw stars.
* * *
The punches stopped suddenly. In that brief moment, she heard tires on asphalt. Doors slammed. Familiar voices called out to her.
She moved without thinking, twisting underneath him. She torqued her body, forcing herself upward from lying on her side. As she reached a sitting position, she drove her elbow toward his head, following through like a baseball player swinging a bat.
Her elbow connected with something hard. Pain jolted through her arm, causing her to cry out again. Her arm fell to her side, sagging and useless.
* * *
The blow caught him behind the ear, stunning him.
Stars dancing in darkness paraded across his vision. He shook his head and the stars faded away quickly.
And his fury returned.
He realized she was sitting up, her face even with his chest. She was too close to hit with any force. He knew he had to run in the next few seconds or he’d be caught. But he wasn’t going to let this bitch get away with hitting him.
He reached behind her again, grabbing a fistful of hair. With a powerful yank, he pulled her away from his chest, creating enough distance between them for him to blast her with his right fist.
He put everything he had into that one punch. He knew he was only going to get one, so it had to count. When it landed against her face, the force of the blow reverberated up and down his arm.
She went limp.
That felt wonderful. Better than sex.
Reluctantly, he released her head, letting her flop to the wet ground. Then he clambered to his feet and sprinted away. Behind him, the sound of men scrambling through the bushes and calling out -
“Katie!”
— filled the air.
He ran, joy and anger still coursing through his blood.
* * *
Tower was the one who found her. She lay stunned on the wet grass.
“MacLeod?” He knelt down next to her. “Give me some light!” he yelled out to whoever was nearby. Almost instantly, he and Katie were awash in a powerful flashlight beam.
“Is she all right?” Sully asked him.
Tower didn’t answer. Her face was bruised and bloody, but the fact that her eyes were closed and her mouth slack concerned him even more.
“MacLeod?” he asked her again, giving her a gentle shake. When she didn’t respond, he glanced toward the bright light. “Call for medics,” he ordered.
* * *
Chisolm crashed through the wet bushes and past the dark trees. He tried to light up his path as much as possible, while still shining his light up ahead for a sign of the suspect. While he ran, he reached for his radio.
“Adam-112, foot pursuit!” he shouted into the portable radio.
“Adam-112, go ahead.”
“In pursuit of a rape suspect,” Chisolm bellowed into the mike. “We’re Mona and Post, northbound through the wooded area.”
“Copy.”
Chisolm gulped in a breath as he side-stepped a large root and hustled around a tree. He paused and swept his light beam ahead of him again.
Nothing.
Think, Tom. He can’t be that fast.
Chisolm glanced around. Maybe he was, but maybe not. He might have gone to ground, trying to hide in the bushes to avoid them. Either way, they needed to secure the area.
“I need a perimeter,” he told Dispatch. “Get me units up the hill on Garland at Post and at Monroe.” He figured that if he hadn’t gone to ground yet, that perimeter might hem in the suspect.
Battaglia appeared at his side, breathing heavily. “You see anything?”
Chisolm shook his head.
“You hear anything?” Battaglia asked.
“Not with you talking,” Chisolm said. He raised the radio to his mouth. “And start a K-9,” he added.
He stood in the small wooded area and waited for the K-9. The sound of speeding police cars rushing past on Post and the reflection of the flashing red and blue lights as they zipped up the hill gave him some hope. If this guy had decided to hide, the dog would find him. If he’d continued to run, Chisolm’s only hope was that he wasn’t a fast runner. Hopefully, the perimeter would be in place quickly enough.
Constant chatter issued from his portable radio as the dispatcher and officers coordinated the perimeter positions. Chisolm knew it was necessary, but he was impatient to get on the air to inquire about Katie’s condition.
A few minutes later, he heard the heavy steps of Shane Gomez, the K-9 handler. His partner, a jet black German Shepherd named Cert, ran toward Chisolm in desperate lunges. Every surge forward pulled Gomez along as he held onto the dog lead. Chisolm braced himself in case the dog mistook him for the suspect, but the muscular canine brushed past him without acknowledgement.
Gomez reined in his partner. “Cert!” he yelled, pronouncing it ‘Chairt.’ The dog whined back at him, then yelped his dissent. Gomez gave the lead a short, firm pull. “Sadni!” he ordered.
Cert reluctantly sat, but not before issuing two more angry barks at his handler.
Gomez grinned excitedly at Chisolm. His hair was just as black as his dog’s and his large, muscular frame made Chisolm think of him as a human version of the K-9 he was partnered with.
“He’s got a good scent,” Gomez said. “Anything I need to know?”