A Righteous Kill (7 page)

“I really could have used that cookie right now.”

Rown bent at the waist and kissed the top of her head. Resting his cheek against her hair that had dried into auburn mats and likely still smelled of river water, he glared at Luca. “We can be done if you want Hero. You can rest and do this later.”

“No, I can finish.” She frowned. “But my nose itches again.”

Rown sighed and reached down to her face, using the pads of his fingers to pinch and do a little comprehensive rub. She gave a delicate sniff when he finished.

“Thanks.” She rested her head against his broad shoulder and they stayed like that for a long moment.

Luca’s throat closed off and he averted his eyes, feeling like a shameless voyeur. He’d had a sister once. He’d never showed her that kind of tenderness. Maybe things would have ended differently if he’d known how.

He shifted in the embarrassingly loud chair.

Rown’s eyes had softened, but when he straightened and crossed his arms, he fixed Luca with a chilly glare.
Don’t push her,
it warned.

“Um,” Hero looked up at Rown with huge, shiny eyes. “Do you think they have those cookies here? Maybe in a vending machine? I’m so starving, I’m shaky.”

Rown hesitated. “I don’t know if you can eat anything, Hero. You had stomach surgery.”

Her crestfallen look would have melted the polar ice caps.

“I’ll go and ask the doctor, ‘kay?” he rushed.

She brightened and gave him a wobbly smile. “I love you.”

Rown cleared his throat and glanced at Luca, who schooled the threatening smile out of his face. “
Loveyoutoo
,” he lifted a shoulder and retreated.

Hero turned her attention back to him with a big sigh.

“You’re good.” Luca let his smile escape. He didn’t miss how her eyes zeroed in on his mouth.

“I don’t want him to hear the rest. Not any of them.” She stared out the door.

“I understand,” he nodded.

She rested her head deeper into the pillow and shut her eyes. “It happened quickly, you know? I expected to be taken to some kind of cultish lair or underground stone room or something. I kept waiting to be raped or tortured, but he barely touched me through the whole thing. I guess I’ve seen too many movies.” She opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “He took me straight to the river bank, parked, and came into the back of the van to gag me. He was chanting the whole time.”

“Still in Latin?”

“I think so,” she nodded. “His voice was so… beautiful. It almost lulled me, made me feel, I don’t know, passive?” She lifted her head. “Isn’t that horrible?”

“Of course not,” Luca murmured.

“Anyway, when he pulled me out of the back of the van, that’s when I knew we were by the river. He dragged the wooden cross, with me tied to it, to the edge of the water. I kept thinking that he was
so
strong. You have to be freakishly strong to drag me
and
that cross made of heavy wood. But he did it.” She shook her head, as though this was the most unbelievable part of the entire story.

“Do you know what part of the river?”

Hero nodded. “It was beneath the Burlington Railroad Bridge.”

Luca made a note. That bridge was less than half a mile from St. John’s and Cathedral Park and the banks were perfect to release a body from if you wanted it carried on the currents. “Go on,” Luca prompted.

“I knew the moment the van’s back door opened that I was going to die.” She swallowed. “I was so mad, because I kept thinking that I am too young to die.” Half of her mouth twisted upward into a wry smile. “How cliché is that?”

She didn’t wait for an answer but sped up her speech pattern as though in a hurry to get through this next part. “He dropped me onto the river bank, which was incredibly painful, and then took out a big, flat-head hammer, and two nails. I’d never been so afraid in my entire life. I remember hoping he’d kill me first and
then
pierce my palms.”

She looked down at the thick and immobilizing bandages around her hands. They lay on her lap, palms up, as though in supplication. “He didn’t, though. I couldn’t beg through the gag. But I tried really hard. I screamed. I struggled. I cried. I feel like I embarrassed myself, you know? I like to think I would have showed more dignity than I did. That I wouldn’t have given him what he wanted. Like, some people get off on the struggle, right? But I tried everything. I wanted to live
so badly.
”

The tears flowed freely now, but she showed no signs of slowing down, so Luca listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt her memory. She wasn’t in the room anymore. She was back on that river bank, fighting for her life. Every word pinned Luca to his chair. He forgot to take notes. He forgot to make any affirmative noises or comfort her in any way. He just listened to her horrible story, a black, aching pit opening up in his chest.

“He never let me see his face. I wanted to. I wanted to look him in the eyes. But he kept his hood down really low and stayed with his back to the light. There were a lot of clouds. He just knelt by my left hand first.” Her eyes clouded with confusion, then with disgust. “He was crying. At first I thought it had started raining but it was his tears landing on my wrist, which just made me beg harder.

Stunned, Luca leaned forward intently. Serial killers didn’t usually cry. They enjoyed what they did. “Did it seem your pleas had any effect? Did he pause or apologize?”

Hero shook her head. “He drew a cross on the palm with his—his finger and then… Then he poised the nail at my open palm and I was screaming and crying, but he just—drove it in.”

Luca winced.

“The first hit hurt the most. After that, it was just dull and achy. I was so angry because I thought, ‘
what if I can’t sculpt anymore?’
Which was stupid, because I was about to die, or whatever.”

She sighed and continued. “He stood and moved to my right hand and I was so focused on trying to free my left one that I didn’t even see him drive the nail in until I felt the pain.”

“I couldn’t breathe through my mouth because of the gag, and my nose was running everywhere because I was crying so hard. I kept thinking that I was so embarrassed and all I wanted to do was wipe my nose. Maybe I would seem more like a human being to him if I didn’t have snot everywhere and then he wouldn’t kill me.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh, then sniffed and cleared her throat. “When he took this antique-looking spear out, I closed my eyes. It was kind of like when I get blood drawn at the doctor’s office. I’m fine with it as long as I don’t watch. I didn’t want to watch him stab me to death. I remember being stabbed in the side. I remember how much it hurt, and how afraid it made me. But after a moment I just thought, ‘
Well, there it is. There’s no going back. I’m done.’
I think I passed out at that point because I don’t recall how he got me off that cross and into the river.” She sighed, as if the telling had exhausted her. “I guess I lied to you when I said I remember everything. Not very
heroic
of me was it?”

Luca didn’t know what to say. The fact that she was retelling this made her a damn hero in his eyes. Also, her status as a John the Baptist victim had just been undoubtedly confirmed.

The fact that he stabbed his victims with an ancient Roman spear had never been released to the press.

“I appreciate you going over that with me, Ms. Katrova-Connor.” Luca stood and grabbed his phone from next to her head. “Last thing; is there anything you can remember about the van? A color, a license plate, an identifying sign, words, or even letters?”

Aggrieved, Hero shook her head. “I only saw the inside. When he dragged me away from the van, it was dark and I was really disoriented. I was so busy trying to get a look at
him
I didn’t even… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. That’s everything I need for now.” She’d given him more information in a few minutes than he’d collected in a few months. She couldn’t know how grateful he was for that. “I’ll leave you to rest and work on recovering.”

She nodded before sniffing in a very unladylike manner and tilting her head to wipe a tear on the shoulder of her gown.

He couldn’t bring himself to move, though. He just stood there like a chump, looking at her stunningly beautiful face and her small, still body. He knew she had a brute squad for a family, but once she was out of his sight, he couldn’t be sure of her safety and Luca found he didn’t like that one little bit.

She needed a tissue. He couldn’t leave before getting her one. Grabbing a handful from the box next to her bed he held them out to her, and then performed a mental facepalm when she glanced down at her bandaged hands.

“Here,” he murmured, holding the bunch up to her nose. She raised her eyebrows, but gave a dainty blow, which he wiped and chucked the wad into the garbage. This stunned him. Usually, that kind of stuff squicked him out, but with her, he didn’t seem to mind. It was kind of cute, even. With a mental shrug, he grabbed another tissue and covered his finger with it.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” He blurted the question before his mind had the chance to talk him out of it. Lowering the back of his finger to her face, he used the tissue to gently wipe her damp cheeks, just so they wouldn’t get itchy if the tears dried. No other reason.

“Sure,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his. Damn, those things were like heat seeking missiles. Once they had you, there was no escaping them.

“Why me? Why did you want me with you last night? Regan, er, Detective Wroth would have been better. Hell, anyone would have.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. Then shrugged. “When I came to, your voice cut through everything else. I knew I’d been saved. That I
was
safe. And there aren’t words for the relief I felt.” She smiled, which pushed her cheek against his hand. He didn’t move it. “You’ve seen the men I’ve lived with for most of my life. After feeling the most helpless I could ever imagine, I felt safe with the one in command, who got things done while shouting obscenities. It felt like being home.”

Luca frowned, unsure of how he felt. Flattered? Had she just said he made her feel like home? That was probably a bigger compliment than he was willing to accept. All he knew was he didn’t want to stop soothing her, touching her, now that he’d started.

And that was fucking dangerous.

“Hero, the doctor said—” Rown’s voice cut off.

Luca snatched his hand away and took a hurried step back. He didn’t really want to turn around. He knew what Rown’s face would look like. Never one to be intimidated, he nodded a goodbye to Hero and spun to face the agent blocking the door.

Yup. Suspicious and threatening.

“I’ll be in touch.” He nodded at Rown.

Rown nodded back.

He could feel
her
presence at his back. The tingle of awareness started at his neck and shot down his spine. It took Herculean effort not to look back at her. His exhausted brain fired all kinds of fucked-up synapses. He couldn’t trust his feelings or instincts. He needed to leave.

Like
now
.

Tucking his legal pad under his arm, he did just that, putting one foot in front of the other in the general direction of his car. The checkered floor blurred in front of him. Thank God he had to grab a taxi on the way home. He probably wouldn’t make it alive, otherwise.

Keys? Check. Shades? Check. Gun, badge, wallet? Check. Check
annnnnnd
check.

A weary sigh escaped him as he stepped into the morning downpour. The press already gathered like starving wolves ready to collectively tear their prey asunder, but hospital security kept them at bay. He’d bet his left nut that Barbara had blabbed.

He called his partner, Vincent, to update him, then his boss.

Hero Viola Katrova-Connor would be his unavoidable obsession for the foreseeable future. She was his weapon against John the Baptist.

If they were lucky, no one else would die.

Chapter Five

“True is it that we have seen better days.”

~William Shakespeare, As You Like It

Seven Weeks Later

Home had never looked so damn good, but the smell assaulted her right away. Closing the door behind her, she clicked the button on her key that disarmed the alarm for thirty seconds and threw them into the catch-all pottery bowl. Hero dropped her rolling suitcase and carry-on and took cautious steps around the entry corner into her cozy loft.

Why the hell hadn’t she thought to send someone over here to clear out her fridge? Just when she was certain she’d thought of everything.

The romantic anticipation of seeing her apartment again was certainly a confused one. This place held nothing but happy memories. Dinners and friends gathering to sing, create, play music, and dance. Drum circles and costume parties. Hangover breakfasts and laughter.

She needed to be here. To remember what it was like to feel comfortable and carefree.

If only she’d thought to bring a gas mask.

Hero wrinkled her nose. The undeniable scent of death and decay emanated from the kitchen. Putting her purse on the lamp table and throwing her coat on the couch, she headed toward the windows. The three-inch heels of her boots echoed loud as gunshots on the hardwood floor.

In the middle of the living room, a cold blast of fear made her hesitate.

Her kitchen and living room were separated by a half-wall that had a granite countertop for a bar. It had never occurred to her before that it could hide a human being. What if someone was waiting to jump out at her? John the Baptist had called her by name. Did he know her address too? They’d recovered her purse the night she’d been attacked and her ID had still been inside, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have her information.

She couldn’t call someone, could she? Not because of a rank smell and a panic attack. Knox would come, any one of her family would. But, chances were they’d tell her she wasn’t ready to be on her own and harass her into going back to her parent’s house.