Her body was turned away from the window as though she were talking to someone else in the room. He saw another woman step up behind her and take her arm, then the man obscured his view.
Cole was trying to decide what he should do, knock on the door or wait and observe — when he heard her voice shout loud enough to penetrate to the cold outside air. Just two words.
“No! Stop!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Washington, DC
March 28, 2008
12:35 a.m.
Dig caught her arm, twisted her around and with his forearm pressing against her larynx, he held her tight against his body. His other hand was smashed against her cheek, turning her head so she could see his face. The bastard was smiling.
From downstairs, Riley heard the sound of the front door opening. A voice called out, “Hello?”
Dig jerked his head toward the stairs, and Mrs. Wright left the room.
With her one free hand, Riley pulled at the arm across her throat, trying to open up a small airway. The harder she struggled, the tighter his grip. When the black started closing in, she stopped fighting him. He loosened the pressure on her neck. She sucked in air.
“You see, Yorick? Your daughter is here in my arms.” He jerked her around so her father could see her.
The left side of her father’s face still showed red where Dig’s hand had struck. His good eye glared at Dig.
“Don’t we make a lovely couple? We did once. Down in Lima. She didn’t tell you? Once I realized who she was, it was easy. She wasn’t a bad lay, but knowing I was fucking the great Yorick’s daughter made it all the sweeter.”
“Kill you,” her father’s words came out in a breathy hiss.
Dig laughed. “Your time is done, old man. With you gone and proof of Operation Magic in my hands, no one will oppose me. I’ll have taken everything that was once yours. Imagine — first your son, then your daughter, and finally, your bastard protégé sitting in your chair.”
While Dig was talking, Riley had forced her body to go limp. Then, when Dig was concentrating on her father, she slammed the heel of her sneaker down on his foot. He groaned and the pain caused him to loosen his arm enough for her to continue her downward motion into a squat. She slipped right out from under his arm. Pivoting around and shooting upwards, she brought her knee up into his groin with every bit of anger and strength she had in her.
Again she heard him moan as his body bent. She stepped back, trying to get out of his reach, but his arm shot out. He grabbed a handful of fabric at the front of her shirt. He straightened up with effort and pulled her to him. Though she hit back and landed several good punches to his body, he didn’t flinch.
Then both his hands were around her throat and she could not breathe. He pulled her face so close to his, she could see the watery tears shining in his blue eyes. Dig’s attempt to smile through his own pain turned his face into a horrible grimace of clenched teeth and drawn cheeks. She didn’t want to look into those eyes, but he held her so close, there was nowhere else to look.
In the distance she heard another voice she thought was her father’s, but the roaring in her ears made it too difficult to hear.
Dig’s nostrils flared and she felt the hot breath on her face. He was taunting her. He had air, she had none. His fingers tightened on her throat, and she felt his fingernails dig into her skin. She punched at his body with both her hands, tried to reach up, to get past his forearms and elbows to scratch at those eyes that were burning into her, but she also knew that all of her flailing was hurrying the process.
“Yorick,” Dig shouted. “I’ve been waiting for this day. You didn’t get to watch me kill your son.” His spittle sprayed her face. “But this time, you’ll get to watch it all.”
Riley did not want to die. Not like this. Not staring at this man, her heart filled with hate. Her chest felt like it was going to explode, while at the same time she grew weaker. With no idea whether it would work or not, she unbuckled the big dive watch on her left wrist and laced the strap through the fingers of her right hand, the big glass and metal dial on the outside of her knuckles. Then, with every bit of strength she had left in her, she swung her fist at Dig’s head. Just as she struck, she saw her father standing, launching himself onto Dig’s back.
The pain in her fingers was excruciating, but Dig’s eyes went unfocused for a second and she saw blood smeared down from his temple. In the next moment, his face reddened with rage. He roared and flung her away. In the second before she hit the wall, she sucked in air before the impact knocked it out of her again.
The side of her head struck the wall first. The blow didn’t knock her unconscious, but she couldn’t move for several seconds. She was aware of lying there in a heap on the floor, helpless, but there seemed to be some disconnect between her brain and her limbs.
She opened her eyes and saw Dig’s back. He was leaning over her father’s wheelchair. Her father’s legs were twisted.
Riley heaved herself to her knees and crawled over to the couch. From that angle, she could see the hands around her father’s throat, just as they had been around hers. She saw her father’s red face, the fear in his eyes.
“Dad,” she croaked as she used the couch to pull herself to a standing position. She picked up the ceramic lamp, raised it above her, and brought it crashing down on Dig’s head.
He released her father and turned to face her. Another gash in his forehead dripped a jagged line of blood.
“You bitch,” he said before he went for her.
She didn’t have enough strength left to put up much of a fight. He knocked her to the floor again with one back-handed blow to the face. When she got up, she licked her lip, tasted her own blood. The room was tilting, her vision blurred. Where was he? She blinked her eyes, trying to clear them.
Then she saw him. He was standing behind her father’s wheelchair, now, his big palms gripping the sides of the old man’s head like a pair of earmuffs. Her father’s lazy eye shone white, while his good eye danced in the socket as he tried to see what Dig was doing.
She forced her body to a stand and started toward them.
Then her father’s good eye focused on her and he said, “I’m so sorry.”
Dig roared, “Yorick!” and twisted the head around to the right with a sickening crunch.
Riley screamed, “Dad!”
Dig released his grip and jumped back, his hands high in the air like those of a runner who had just won the race of his life. He danced back and forth from one foot to the other, his bloody face alight with laughter.
Her father’s head fell on his chest at an unnatural angle, the lock of white hair falling forward again. More than anything she wanted to run to her father, to fix him, to straighten his neck and brush back that lock of hair.
When Dig lowered his arms and looked at her, she knew he intended her to be next.
So she ran.
Riley made it into the hall before Dig reached the door. He was so much bigger and faster though, she could never outrun him. She would have to out maneuver him.
When she reached the top of the stairs, he grabbed the tips of her fingers on her arm’s backswing. She whipped around and smashed her free hand down onto his, breaking his grip. Dig howled with rage. He lunged after her, but she dodged his grip, pivoted around, and started down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
Dig was taking four steps with each of his strides, and when they reached the bottom, she felt the tug as his fingers closed around her shirt tail. She dug her shoes in even harder, thinking that if only she could make it to the door and scream, someone might hear her on the street and come help her.
That was when she saw something flash past her right side at the farthest edge of her field of vision. She heard a metallic clang and a crack at the same time. The pressure pulling at the back of her shirt released, nearly causing her to fall face first onto the floor. She slowed, glanced over her shoulder, then came to a complete stop inside the front door.