Troy had parked the van across the two lanes, creating an effective block for any traffic. A small car could drive around, but any sane person would question why the bridge was blocked. From her side of the van, the land beyond the bridge stretched out. She could faintly make out groves of trees and distant hills. She scooted toward the back of the van and peeked around. The land at the other end of the bridge abruptly sloped upward into forested hills.

“Don’t move!” Troy shouted at her, his hands full with Derrick.

She moved back to her position by the front tire. Troy had answered a few of her questions but some had drawn confused looks. He seemed to think she should know exactly what he was doing and why. He’d grown agitated when she’d asked him to let Derrick go.

“This is what you wanted,” he’d answered, with a stunned look on his face that rapidly morphed into anger, reminding her of the Hulk. “You told me to do this!” Ava had quickly placated him but then worried about asking the wrong question. She didn’t need him angry and now thought carefully before speaking.

“Where are we?” she asked in a low voice.

Troy glanced up. He had Derrick on his stomach on one of the raised sidewalks that lined both sides of the bridge, holding him down with a knee in his back as he tied the rope. He’d already fastened one end of the rope to the metal guard that ran the length of the bridge. Derrick sobbed, often choking behind his gag. “This is the bridge to Sauvie Island.”

Ava nodded. She’d driven once to the island that sat in the Columbia River ten miles west of Portland. She had friends who swore by the beaches, places to bike, and fresh produce available on the tiny island. She remembered rural farms and narrow roads and the single bridge that’d led to the piece of paradise. It seemed unreal that such a peaceful area existed so close to the big city. She didn’t know if there were any police stations nearby.

Troy had chosen a very quiet bridge for this victim. When she’d looked around the front of the van, she’d realized that vehicles driving past the bridge on the country highway wouldn’t notice the van. The gentle crest of the bridge gave them some visual protection. Someone would have to turn onto the bridge or be looking hard from the highway to notice it. It was the dead of night; traffic was scarce.

She stared toward the island. Could she make a run for it? She immediately rejected the idea. Her hands were still tied and her sense of balance would be severely affected. Sharp pain ricocheted from her upper arm to her brain if she shifted just right.

Physically she was outgunned.

That left mental. And she was trying desperately to keep her wits sharp. She was exhausted and brain-numb from watching Troy torture Derrick. He hadn’t let her look away. Every time she’d averted her eyes, he’d screamed for her to watch.

When he’d put her in the van, he’d stroked a hand through her hair and apologized for cutting it. The swings from adoration to rage in his eyes were terrifying.

Who was Colleen?

She’d figured out Troy was on a mission to avenge Colleen, but why did he believe Ava was she? She must resemble Colleen, and he’d called Jayne the “fake Colleen.” But where was the real one?

There was no way in hell she would admit she wasn’t Colleen. He’d truss her up like Derrick and wrap a noose around her neck, too. The gasoline can sat a few feet away, drawing her gaze more often than she liked. What were his plans? Was he going to douse Derrick and light him up? Before or after he hanged him?

The cop part of her brain wondered why Troy had veered from his pattern and not slit Derrick’s wrists. Was he starting to crumble? Or had her pleas made him change his plan? Had Colleen witnessed the other murders and egged him on?

Satisfied with his knot work, Troy stood and picked up the gas can. He loosened the lid and started to pour its contents over Derrick’s legs. Derrick screamed behind his gag.

“No!” Ava shouted, leaning forward as if she could stop him. “Don’t! Please don’t!” Fear pumped through her muscles, and she struggled to stand up.

Don’t light him on fire!

She shifted to her knees and pushed up onto one leg as Troy stopped pouring and turned back to her.

“Sit down!” His face contorted, becoming an evil mask. “This has to be done!”

Ava went back to her knees but pleaded in his direction. “Don’t burn him! I don’t want you to!”

“Yes, yes, you do. We already worked it out.” He continued to pour and the odor slapped Ava in the face, making her nose and eyes sting. He soaked Derrick’s back and head as gasoline spilled off the man and puddled on the ground. Small streams ran from the body and filled the cracks in the concrete. He set down the can and dug in his pocket.

“Noooo!” Ava shrieked at him, lunging toward him on her knees.

“Shut up!”

Troy’d had enough of Colleen’s mouth. They’d worked out every detail of the plan to punish the others, and now she changed her mind? He’d agreed to not slit Rick’s wrists, and because of it, he’d had to deal with Rick’s bawling and thrashing. Hanging a dead body was much easier than hanging a live one. Since she’d appeared in person, Colleen had made everything more difficult.

He took a threatening step in her direction, and she scooted back against the van, clamping her lips together. Her face blurred and tilted, and he rubbed at his right eye, trying to get her back in focus. “Let me finish this!”

“Don’t burn him,” she urged again, her voice lowered this time, wrapping its sound around the part of his mind that’d wanted her for too many years. She’d always been his ideal woman. When he’d stumbled across her yesterday, he’d nearly cried.