Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

hair hanging low on his forehead. A crazy light in his eyes.
    “The cops are going to appreciate all the evidence you’re leaving behind, you son of a bitch,” I tell him.
    He sneers. “I think all the little fishes and turtles down there in that quarry will take care of any so-called evidence.”
    Armitage turns onto another dirt road that will take us to the quarry. Tall grass whispers against the floorboards. Tree branches scrape the doors as we bump over ruts and rocks. Then the headlights play over the black surface of the water.
    He stops the Explorer scant feet from the bank and engages the emergency brake. I look out over the water, black and glimmering, and fear sweeps through me. Panic threatens, but I fend it off. I know that if I want to live, I’ve got to keep my head and think my way out of this.
    Beside me, Armitage grips the wheel and gazes out over the water. “I don’t know if you can believe this, but before … this mess with Paul, I’d never hurt anyone in my life. I’d never broken the law.” He says the words without looking at me. “I love her, you know.”
    He doesn’t have to say her name; I know he’s talking about Mattie. “She’ll never forgive you for this. She’ll never forgive you for what you did to her husband and children.”
    He shoots me a look I don’t understand. “Loyal to the end. That’s admirable. Really. Unfortunately, it’s not going to save your life.”
    I look into his eyes, seeking some shred of humanity, but there’s nothing there. “Don’t do this, Mike. I’m a cop. If you kill me, you’ll get the death penalty. They’ll fucking fry you. Let me go and you’ll be out of prison in twenty years.”
    Without speaking, he gets out and comes around to the passenger side. I hit the lock with my elbow, but he uses the remote key and gains entry. Leaning close, he reaches in and unfastens my seat belt.
    “Let’s get this over with,” he says.
    I stare at him, fear and adrenaline pounding through me even through the effects of the alcohol. “If the police find my body in the passenger seat, they’ll know this wasn’t an accident.”
    “Nice try. But if you read up on the Chappaquiddick incident, you’d know Mary Jo Kopechne’s body was found in the back seat. You see, when cars become submerged, the people inside sort of scramble around, trying to find their way out. It’ll be fine.”
    Horrific images fly in my mind’s eye, but I shove them back, refusing to believe my life will end this way. That’s when I realize the effects of the alcohol are starting to wane. I’m still impaired, but my head is clearer. I’m able to think. My coordination is beginning to return.
    Gripping the back of my neck, he forces me to lean forward, pressing my forehead against the dashboard. He clips my cell phone to my belt then tosses my radio onto the seat. I’m surprised when he cuts the binds at my wrists. The instant my hands are free, I lunge at him, wrap my arms around his hips, drive him backward. He tries to keep me in the car, but I brace my feet against the rocker panel and shove off. He reels backward. I go with him and we land in the weeds with me on top. An animalistic sound erupts from his throat and the next thing I know he punches me below my ribs. The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I double over, retching, fighting for air. I mentally grab for consciousness, drag it back. But I know I’m done. Better to save my energy for what comes next.
    Vaguely, I’m aware of him rising, lifting me, and carrying me back to the vehicle. He shoves me into the passenger seat. Wheezing, I reach for him, grasp his shirt with my fists. But he disentangles himself, slams the door, and locks it.
    I’m not claustrophobic, but I feel the dark cloak of it descend. I’m trying to unclip my cell phone from my belt when the driver’s side door opens. Armitage leans in, releases the emergency brake and puts the Explorer in gear. The transmission engages. The Explorer rolls forward.
    Terror rips through me. “Help me!” I try to open the door, but it’s locked. When I start to scramble over the console, he thrusts the bottle of vodka at me, splashing the alcohol in my eyes. I’m too frightened to feel the burn. I claw at his arm, but he shoves me back. He tosses the bottle and my .38 onto the driver’s side floor. I make a wild grab for the gun, but miss.
    “Safe travels.” Armitage slams the door and lurches back.
    “Fuck you!” I scream.
    The Explorer