Page 51 of Go Under

Iris replied, her voice tinny, hollow, and too light for Nora to hear. Which was all right, because she didn’t want to listen.

Don't judge her choices? Keep her alive? Did he realize that Iris's actions contributed to the false incarceration of an innocent man? Did he care?

Nora nearly flipped her awl around to spike him again, but as much as she wanted to kill him, he still hadn’t done anything worthy of death.

She closed the door softly, turned the latch softly, everything soft and gentle, focused on quiet.

“We’ll only be here long enough to keep you safe,” the FBI agent insisted. “Ma’am, please, you can verify my name and ID number with the FBI headquarters office.” Iris responded briefly, and the agent said, “That’s fine. You can Google the number. Just… Please, ma’am.”

He was frustrated. That was good. He was focused on convincing the nervous Iris to let him protect her. He didn’t notice Nora creeping up to him, hidden from Iris’s view, unseen by her would-be guardian, whose brows furrowed in frustration as he grappled with her false logic.

“Can’t you wait outside?” Iris croaked. “I don’t like strange men in my house.”

Nora almost chuckled at the irony. She lifted the awl above her head and stopped just behind him, close enough to see the muscles at the back of his jaw work as he talked.

“It’ll only be—”

Nora stepped forward and swung down hard. The heavy wooden handle crashed into his skull with a sickening crunch. He dropped immediately, leaving Nora face-to-face with the shocked Iris Doyle.

Elation filled her. She grinned. “Hello.”

Iris stumbled into her apartment, eyes the size of dinner plates. Nora laughed and stepped forward. Iris tried to shut the door on her, but a single thrust with Nora’s arm sent the woman flying. She wept as she hit the ground, her damaged vocal cords releasing a wet, squelching hiss rather than a true sob.

She lifted the microphone to the box on her throat. Quick as a snake, Nora reached forward and stripped the microphone from Iris’s hands. She tossed it to the ground, then kicked the door closed behind her. It bounced off of the FBI agent’s body, and she had to push harder with her foot to close it. That gave Iris time to attempt an escape, which she did, shuffling for her hallway on gnarled, twisted feet, probably hoping to lock herself in the bedroom.

Nora rushed her, shoving her to the floor before she reached the hallway. Iris hit the ground with a breathy squawk, and Nora laughed. This was the first time she’d delayed killing a target. It was fun to watch your prey run! She hadn’t done this with the others, but this woman couldn’t scream.

Nora could take her time with her.

A soft voice reminded her that other FBI agents were likely on their way. She didn’t have much time.

But she could still make Iris suffer. She didn’t have to kill her yet. Not right away.

Iris had pushed herself shakily onto her back and was now sliding away from Nora on her backside. She croaked something Nora couldn’t hear, but she could read her lips well enough. Please.

Nora smiled at her. “Please what? Save your life? Like you saved Daniel Avery’s life?”

Iris stiffened. Her eyes widened. Her lower lip trembled.

Nora placed the awl on the coffee table and retrieved a small case from the inner pocket of her jacket. “It’s time for the fate you deserve, Iris.”

The older woman opened her mouth in a breathy scream. Nora listened to that scream, laughing and praising God for the boon He’d granted her.

She opened the case in front of Iris and pulled out the coil of catgut and the gleaming surgical needle she would use to apply it. Iris saw the implements, and her eyes widened, revealing rheumy yellow at the edges of her sclera.

This woman was ill. She wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

Just long enough to grant Nora her revenge.

“This is what you get. For destroying an innocent man’s life. This is what you get.”

She stepped closer, lips pulling back over her teeth as Iris released another silent scream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Marcus pulled the SUV in front of the apartment building, hitting the brakes just a touch too hard. The vehicle skidded and hopped the curb, aided by the snow its wheels pushed up in front of them. Kate gripped the dashboard and braced herself, but the impact was gentler, and she felt only a trace pain through her ribs.

She hopped out of the vehicle, Marcus behind her. Sirens from the Philadelphia police cruisers that were finally approaching the apartment complex. Kate’s pleas had fallen on sympathetic but unyielding ears. Gee, we sure do understand. Goodness, what a pickle this all is. If only we could do something about it.