“What are you doing driving like a maniac in the middle of the night, Galina? You must be high on drugs. Is your mommy using drugs, Alexandra?” He sucked on an imaginary pipe.
Apparently, he thought that was funny. He prodded Galina’s shoulder and said, “Laugh.”
She did not laugh.
“What kind of drugs did you take to make you drive so fast, Galina Bortnik? You should tell me. Whatever I find, it won’t go well for you. And I will conduct a very careful search of your car. And you. Or maybe you’re one of those drug users who has her little girl hide the drugs. I can search her, too. Did she do that to you?” he asked Alexandra. “Use you like a drug mule? Bad mommy.”
“I’ve never used drugs. Ever.”
“Yes,” he patted her shoulder. “You look like such a good mother.” He left his hand on her. The weight unnerved Galina. A shudder passed through her. “But we all know that even good mothers make mistakes. And I think you have made some very big mistakes lately. What do you think, Galina?”
He squeezed her shoulder. His hand felt big as an oven mitt. As hot, too. He started kneading her flesh. The tips of his long fat fingers reached the top of her breast.
“Please stop.”
“I don’t think you want me to stop, Galina, because if I stop I’m going to have to do other things. But since you asked, I guess it’s time to get started. Unlock your door.”
When she hesitated, afraid he’d grab her breast if she turned toward him, he reached in, unlocked the door, and swung it open.
She didn’t move, not even her eyes. They were still on him. His gaze was on her chest, the breast he’d been touching. Then his gaze drifted to her legs. She pulled her modest skirt over her knees, as though he might not notice if she did it casually. But almost all women know better. So did Galina. Men like Tattoo always noticed. He smiled and crouched down. She thought of the way his car had trailed her like a panther. He seemed like a huge predator now, ready to spring at her.
“I told you, didn’t I? One thing leads to another.”
With that he put his hand on her thigh. “I heard you have such soft skin. Yes, you do…”
“Please stop that.” She tried to push him away.
He seized her hand, his grip so hard it felt like he could crush her fingers if he chose to. In another quick movement, he reached across her and unsnapped her seatbelt. Then he swept her skirt up onto her legs, exposing her underpants. When she tried to push the hem back down, he grabbed her hand again and shook his head. “One thing does what, Galina Bortnik?” When she shook her head, he answered for her. “Leads to another. That’s right.”
He sniffed the air loudly, closing his eyes for just a second, as if he were savoring a scent he couldn’t possibly smell.
He tormented her with another whiskery smile. “I have to search the car for contraband. I’m going to have to search you, too. It’s standard police protocol when we have such a reckless driver. I’m also going to have to search Alexandra. You were endangering such a nice girl.”
The fine hairs rose on Galina’s neck. A paused followed in which he said nothing. Galina could hardly breathe.
Then he seized her leg like it was an axe handle and pulled it so hard he swung her halfway around in her seat. He held her leg out the door.
Instinctively, she drew the other one to it — and felt the pistol exposed by her side.
Her hand fell to it. She gripped it, but kept it down. It looked as though she were bolstering herself because of the awkward angle he’d put her in. And she was bolstering herself, but not because of that. She pointed the pistol in his face.
Now he froze.
“Get your hands off me and back away slowly.”
“Galina, you’re making this very bad. This won’t turn out good for you now.”
“It was never going to turn out good for me so quit saying that.”
His hand dropped away from her leg. She pulled her skirt down. “I said to back up.”
He did, but remained hunched over, as though he were still leaning on the door — or getting ready to attack her.
Shoot him. Just do it.
Still, she couldn’t pull the trigger — until he lunged for her gun hand. She fired into his broad belly and watched him sink to his knees. Fearing he would pitch forward, she pulled her legs back toward the car.
He did come forward — with unbridled fury. He grabbed the waistband of her skirt. She fired again, and that was when she learned the small gun was a single-shot derringer. Just enough ammo to make him a madman.
He dragged himself toward her, ripping off her skirt. She leaned back into the car but he had her by the legs.
She sat forward and bashed him in the face with the butt of the small pistol, drawing blood from his cheek. Alexandra screamed.
“She’s next,” Tattoo swore.
Galina hit him again. He grabbed her hand and started crawling up her body, using her limbs like a ladder.
She couldn’t pull away. He gripped her shoulders next. Galina threw herself back toward the passenger door, breaking his hold, but the weight of him still pressed against her legs. They felt like they’d been sunk in cement.
She stretched out her upper body, but his hands slid over her bra and clamped back on her shoulders. He dragged his bloody stomach over her underwear. Then he grabbed her neck, enveloping it with one hand, and began to crush it with his thick powerful fingers. Alexandra jumped out of her seat and hit him, screaming, “Go away! Leave Mommy alone.”
Galina tried to tell her to stop but couldn’t talk. Couldn’t breathe. He was strangling her.
He pushed himself up and backhanded Alexandra so hard the frail girl slammed into the backseat, shocked so deeply that her wail didn’t come for seconds. But she’d bought Galina a few quick breaths.
“You little bitch.” He grabbed for Alexandra. She ducked. Thank God. But then he lunged partway over the seat for the girl.
Though pinned by his other hand, Galina reached for the glove box, fingers scrabbling to get inside, then grabbed the pen. She jammed it into the bullet hole as far as she could, jerked it back and forth and thrust it deeper still.
Tattoo howled. His eyes widened, and he grabbed her hand, pushing it away. She let him — and left the pen in his gut.
He pressed her hand against the passenger door and held it there, panting and creating the macabre appearance of a man having sex in a car.
Blood spilled copiously from his wound now. She must have hit an artery.
His grip on her hand weakened.
Die! Die!
He let go of her. She tried to push him away. He groaned loudly. She realized he’d been groaning since she’d stabbed the bullet wound. And then he clamped his hand back on her neck. A final seizure of murderous violence, as if he were determined to take her with him.
She tried to turn away, but he outweighed her by at least two hundred pounds.
He pushed down, cutting off the last of her air. But he began to shake and she heard a croaky sound rise from his throat. Then he shook so hard he rolled over, jamming himself between the seat and dash. He stopped moving.
Galina opened the passenger door and pulled her legs out from under him, falling onto the paved shoulder in her haste to get out.
She hurried to his car and shut off the lights. She didn’t want anyone stopping. His radio wasn’t on. He might have been off the clock. Of course, freelancing. She looked for his gun. A quick search didn’t turn it up, but she found his Taser and took it. She wanted to make sure he was dead, and sure didn’t want to check his pulse.