Free Rules of Prey by John Sandford Page A

that safe.”
    “I don’t think he’ll come back,” Lucas said.
    “That’s what the other cops, uh, the other policemen said,” she said.
    “You can call us cops,” Lucas said.
    “Okay.” She smiled again and he marveled at her even white teeth. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but she was extraordinarily attractive. “It’s just that I’m the only witness. That scares me. I hardly go out anymore.”
    “We think he’s a real freak,” said Lucas. “A freak-freak, different from other freaks. He seems to be smart. He’s careful. He doesn’t seem to be running out of control. We don’t think he’ll come back because that would put him at risk.”
    “He seemed crazy to me,” Ruiz said.
    “So talk about it. What did he do when he first came after you?” Lucas asked. He thumbed through his copy of her interviews with St. Paul and Minneapolis homicide detectives. “How did it work? What did he say?”
    For forty-five minutes he carefully led her through each moment of the attack, back and forth until every split secondwas covered. He watched her face as she relived it. Finally she stopped him.
    “I can’t do this much more,” she said. “I was having nightmares. I don’t want them to come back.”
    “I don’t want them to either, but I wanted to get you back there, living through it. Now I want you to do one more thing. Come here.”
    He closed his briefcase and handed it to her. “These are your groceries. Start at the door and walk past the pillar.”
    “I don’t—”
    “Do it,” Lucas barked.
    She walked slowly back to the door and then turned, her arms wrapped around the briefcase. Lucas stepped behind the pillar.
    “Now walk past. Don’t look at me,” he said.
    She walked past and Lucas jumped from behind the pillar and wrapped an arm around her throat.
    “Uhhh . . .”
    “Do I smell like him? Do I?”
    He eased up on his arm. “No.”
    “What? What’d he smell like?”
    She turned into him, his arm still over her shoulder. “I don’t . . . he had cologne of some kind.”
    “Did he smell like sweat? Perspiration? Were his clothes clean or did they stink?”
    “No. Like after-shave, maybe.”
    “Was he as big as I am? Was he strong?” He pulled her tight against his chest and she dropped the briefcase and turned into him, beginning to struggle. He let her struggle for a moment and then she suddenly relaxed. Lucas tightened his grip further.
    “Shit,” she said and she fought and he let her go, and she turned into him, her eyes wide and angry. “Don’t do that. Stay away.” She was on the edge of fear.
    “Was he stronger?”
    “No. He was softer. His hands were soft. And when I relaxed, he relaxed. That’s when I stamped on his instep.”
    “Where’d you learn that?”
    “From my ex-husband’s father. He taught me some self-defense things.”
    “Come here.”
    “No.”
    “Come here, goddammit.”
    She reluctantly stepped forward, afraid, her face pale. Lucas turned her again and put his arm around her neck without tightening it.
    “Now, when he had you, he said something about not screaming or he’d kill you. Did he sound like this?” And Lucas tightened his grip and pulled her high, almost off her feet, and said hoarsely, “Scream and I’ll kill you.”
    Ruiz struggled again and Lucas said, “Think,” and let her go, pushing her away. He walked away until he was near the door. Ruiz had her hands at her throat, her eyes wide.
    “New Mexico,” she said.
    “What?” Lucas felt a spark.
    “I think he might be from New Mexico. It never occurred to me until now, but he didn’t sound quite like people up here. It wasn’t the words. It’s not an accent. It’s almost, like, a feeling. I don’t think you’d even notice it, if you weren’t thinking about it. But it was like back home.”
    “You’re from New Mexico?”
    “Yes. Originally. I’ve been up here six years.”
    “Okay. And you said he smelled like cologne. Good cologne?”
    “I don’t