Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle
Chapter 89 : Pride? Humility? Sloth? Zeal? Sins and virtues? What was this all about? And who repres

Pride? Humility? Sloth? Zeal? Sins and virtues? What was this all about? And who represented pride? Someone whose name started with the letter P? She remembered the sins and virtues from her youth in private Catholic schools. But what did they have to do with her mother? She remembered the sins and virtues from her youth in private Catholic schools. But what did they have to do with her mother?

Virtues!

Our Lady of Virtues!

Is that what this was all about? Not that it mattered. Nothing did. Only escaping. Somehow turning the tables on this b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She had to do something! Anything! something! Anything! She couldn't stand by and end up a witness to cold-blooded murder. She couldn't stand by and end up a witness to cold-blooded murder.

"You know who I'm talking about," Pomeroy said, rubbing hard against Zoey's backside as he stared into the dark closet, searching for Abby's eyes. How demented was he? How far gone? "Pride? Your lover? Pedro?"

Bells clanged through her head. Pedro! Pedro! Hadn't Montoya said that Sister Maria had called him Pedro? Hadn't Montoya said that Sister Maria had called him Pedro?

"The cop," Pomeroy snarled.

Oh, dear G.o.d, this monster was going to kill Montoya, too!

"Now," Pomeroy said, and aimed the gun directly at Simon h.e.l.ler's heart. "It's time."

Zoey was totally limp. Useless. Or was she? Through the tangle of her disheveled hair, she peered again at her sister.

Pomeroy aimed the gun.

h.e.l.ler screamed behind his gag.

The killer pulled the trigger just as Zoey crammed her elbow into the big man's chest.

Bang!

The gun went off.

h.e.l.ler shrieked horribly and went limp, blood pooling in his chest. At that second, Zoey rammed her elbow into Pomeroy's chest again and the big man sucked in his breath in a loud hiss. She kicked at his s.h.i.+ns and he yowled in pain.

"b.i.t.c.h. Zealous, over ambitious b.i.t.c.h!" He turned the gun in her hand, forcing the muzzle to Zoey's temple. "Now it's your turn!"

Bang!

A pistol cracked, echoing through the hallway.

Muted screams followed.

Jesus, no! Abby! No!

Fear and anger rushed through Montoya.

He was too late!

d.a.m.n it, he was too late!

Weapon drawn, he flung himself at the door of 307.

The old lock gave way with a sickening crack and splinter of wood. Montoya shot through the door just as Pomeroy turned the gun toward Zoey's temple.

"Police!" Montoya shouted. "Drop your weapon!"

A gun shot!

h.e.l.l!

Bentz didn't waste any time.

Using the b.u.t.t of his Glock, he broke a window on the first floor, cracking out the gla.s.s. He hoisted himself up, feeling razor sharp shards slice into his palms, then vaulted over the sill and landed on the parlor floor of the abandoned sanitarium.

As soon as he hit the floor, he grabbed his cell phone and speed dialed 911.

"Nine-one-one. What is the nature-."

"This is Rick Bentz. New Orleans Police Department." He rattled off his badge number and requested a.s.sistance, giving the name and address of the old hospital. "Gun shots at Our Lady of Virtues Sanitarium." He clicked off, jammed the cell phone into his pocket, then weapon drawn, started through a decrepit old building that was dark as night.

Abby threw her weight against her restraints as Montoya burst into the room. The tape gave a little.

"Stay back!" Pomeroy warned, trying to hold onto Zoey, the muzzle pressed to her sister's temple as Montoya took aim.

Zoey's eyes were round with fear.

"Drop the weapon!" Montoya ordered. "Now!"

Pomeroy snorted. "Prideful to the end."

On the bed h.e.l.ler wheezed and bled out, the light fading from his eyes.

Abby worked at her bonds. Unafraid. Determined.

"It should have been you," Pomeroy said sliding a glance to the closet, inching backward, toward the window using Zoey, who was, with the gun pressed to her head, his s.h.i.+eld.

"Stop!" Montoya ordered.

But Christian Pomeroy's eyes were trained on Abby and his lips quivered. "So beautiful."

"Stop or I'll shoot!" Montoya's face was set, his jaw hard, his eyes pinpointed on Pomeroy, his gun aimed at the tall man's head. "It's over."

"That's where you're wrong, Pedro," Pomeroy said in a calm voice that turned the marrow of Abby's bones to ice. "No matter what else happens, tonight is just the beginning."

"You're going down."

"And so are you."

Zoey flinched, throwing back her head and slamming her elbow into the killer's chest again. Pomeroy yelped. The gun in his hand wobbled.

Montoya fired.

Bam!

The bullet from Montoya's Glock ripped through the killer's shoulder just as Pomeroy squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

Zoey, blood gus.h.i.+ng from her head, dropped to the floor.

The tape gave way, and Abby flung herself from the closet to the floor beside her sister.

Montoya fired again. Bang! Bang! And again. And again. Bang! Bang!

Bullets ripped through the killer's torso. Blood spurted.

Pomeroy threw himself through the blanket covering the window. Gla.s.s shattered and cracked, b.l.o.o.d.y shards flying outward.

The blanket and Pomeroy hurled into the wet, dark night.

Behind her gag, Abby screamed.

Thud!

She heard the crunch of bones as he landed on the wet concrete far below.

Abby scooted next to her sister, lying on the floor, blood streaming from a wound beneath her eye. "You're going to be all right," she said as Montoya dropped down beside her and felt for a pulse at Zoey's neck. "You're going to be all right, Zoey . . . You have to be. Hang on . . . please, please, hang on."

Using Pomeroy's knife Montoya cut Abby free. Then he was on his cell phone, barking orders.

Everything was a blur in Abby's mind. Every muscle in her body ached and her mind spun as she had to fight to keep from blacking out. Through the open, broken window, wind and rain lashed into the room, the dark night warm with the scent of the bayou.

Sirens wailed, closer now and she thought she saw the strobe of colored lights on the walls of her mother's room. People were shouting, footsteps thundering, and another man ran inside the room. She recognized him, she thought, maybe another detective? Bentz? But everything was surreal . . . trying to fade to black and Zoey . . . Zoey was lying unmoving, blood flowing down her face.

"Abby? Abby?" She heard his voice, looked into eyes as dark as obsidian . . . Montoya! Her heart swelled. He'd come for her. She forced a tremulous smile that fell away instantly. "She's in shock."

He held her close and said, "This is gonna hurt." Deftly he pulled at the tape over her mouth. It ripped and tore at her skin, burning, but she didn't care as she huddled over the still body of her sister.

"Zoey . . ."

"The ambulance is on its way," he said holding her even more tightly. She drank in the scent of him, felt the power of his body.

"Zoey . . . not Zoey."

"It'll be okay," he said into her ear and she wished she could believe him, but here in this room, nothing was ever okay, nothing ever would be.

"Do you know who the killer was?"

She blinked and when she spoke it was a whisper, her voice raw. "Christian Pomeroy."

"Asa's son?" Bentz asked.

"He was a patient here once. I saw his name on the list," Montoya said, as she heard a lock being shattered somewhere on the floors below. Men filled orders, footsteps pounded and through the yawning hole of the window the whirl of helicopter blades could be heard.

"Life flight," Bentz said and suddenly the room was filled with people. Police officers. EMTs.

"Sir?" an EMT said to Montoya. The emergency worker was hovering over Zoey, pus.h.i.+ng past them to take vital signs, hook up an IV, and try to stanch the flow of blood. "Move back. Please."

Another EMT, a tiny woman looked at Abby. "Is she all right?"

"I'm fine," Abby insisted, clinging tightly to Montoya and silently praying for her sister's life. She watched as Zoey was hoisted onto a stretcher and h.e.l.ler's body was zipped into a bag.

"What about her?" Abby asked motioning to Zoey. "My sister? Will she be okay?"

"Too early to tell," the EMT said, "but she's stable." He took a second to stare at Abby. "We'll do our best."

"The guy outside? On the pavement?" Montoya asked.

"Dead," an officer replied, then hooked his chin toward the body bag that held h.e.l.ler's body. "Like that one."

Abby s.h.i.+vered in Montoya's arms. Finally, the past could be buried. The future was no longer clouded by the unknown . . . or was it? What was it that Christian Pomeroy had said so cryptically, as if he had another secret, one that he hadn't shared?

She frowned. Surely he'd been lying. This had to be the end and yet the killer's words, said with such conviction echoed through her mind.

Tonight is just the beginning . . .

"It's gonna be all right," Montoya said, helping her out of the room where so much tragedy had occured.

"You're sure?"

"Yep." He kissed her crown. "Trust me."

EPILOGUE.