Devils Among Us (Devin Dushane Series Book 1)
Read Devils Among Us (Devin Dushane Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Chastity Harris
Copyright 2013 Chastity Harris
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
~ For Jay~
Thank you for watching over me
while I dreamed my dream.
And to Brad who always believed I could fly.
May 17, 1964
“We’ll find her, Mrs. Bennett.” Carol Bennett heard Deputy
Roger Kyle’s comforting words as he handed her his handkerchief, but they
barely registered. “The entire town is searching the woods out at the Summit. More than likely, she wanted to get away from all the noise of the party last
night, went for a walk, and ended up getting lost or twisting an ankle.” He sat
down on the edge of the green vinyl couch and wiped his palms on the knees of
his pants. “Shoot, we’ll find her any time now, cold, hungry, and probably with
a sore ankle.”
Carol turned back to continue looking out the living room
window at the town that should be sleeping. In the dark, predawn hours, lights
were on at houses on just about every street. They were all keeping vigil,
waiting for husbands and sons to return from searching, waiting for news.
She wanted to believe the young deputy. It would be so easy
to believe in the picture he painted. When the weather grew warm, the weekends
were like a party at the Summit, a dance pavilion out by the lake that was the
favorite hangout of the local teenagers. Where there was a party, Laney, her
youngest, was sure to be at the center of it. She could have slipped away to
catch her breath. It would be easy to believe, but Carol’s tingling intuition wouldn’t
allow it. The sixth sense that had been passed down to the women of their
family was more a curse than a blessing.
“Deputy, how old were you when my husband was killed?” She
eyed his smooth baby skin speculatively; he couldn’t be more than twenty-five.
“I was nine, ma’am, when Deputy Bennett was shot.”
That would make him twenty-three now; she’d been close.
“Well, Deputy, ask Sheriff Carson about it sometime. I’d
wager he remembers very well that I knew David was gone long before the phone
call ever came in.”
She went back to staring out the front window, praying for a
miracle, while Deputy Kyle fidgeted nervously with his duty belt. Not even a
full minute passed before the phone rang. The young Deputy’s head snapped up,
to watch Mrs. Bennett close her eyes and press the handkerchief to her lips
while her brother snatched the phone from its cradle in the hallway. There was
a moment of silence where the house, maybe even the whole town seemed to be
holding its breath. Then Phillip Whiting stepped from the hallway into the
archway of the living room, still holding the receiver frozen between his head
and shoulder, as if he didn’t know if he should hang up.
He barely breathed the words, “They’ve found her body.”
All Carol could think of before she slipped into the
peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness was the veil of darkness that was
descending upon her home. Little did she know that the dark would remain for
thirty-five long years.
May 2001
Devin Dushane’s feet pounded out a steady rhythm on the
steamy pavement of the jogging trail. The humidity reminded her of her time in Thailand, not late spring in Virginia. She could feel beads of sweat sliding down her neck, soaking
into the edge of her white tank top where one of her tattoos barely peeked out
between her shoulder blades. She glanced to her left and saw the amber sun
sinking into the river. This was the twenty-third day in a row she had run this
five-mile course around the city of Richmond in the last month. Sometimes in
the baking heat of the setting sun, sometimes in the cooler morning mists that
floated off the river, and occasionally in the pouring rain.
She should be exhausted, but instead, adrenaline flowed
through her veins and crackled around her like electricity. This would be the
night. She knew it as surely as she knew every curve in this trail. Her father
had always said her grandmother Bennett had passed on “the sight” to Devin, the
gift of knowing when evil was lurking. She was more inclined to believe it was
a keen awareness of her surroundings and elevated sense of details, two skills
that had helped her excel as a police detective. It didn’t hurt that she was as
tenacious as a pit bull, which is how she ended up on this sting operation in
the first place. She grinned a little to herself as her earpiece crackled.
“Well, your form is definitely improving, Twist.” Her
partner, Greg, had nicknamed her “Twister” because, “You either get caught up
in Devin’s energy or flattened by it like an Oklahoma Twister.”
The most legendary “Twister” story was Devin’s first
encounter with her hand-to-hand combat instructor at the police academy. The
drill sergeant flunky had planned to put her in her place when he called her up
to demonstrate a technique. Instead she put him flat on his back, ten feet
across the mat. The tale was epic among cadets, and one Greg loved to tell.
“Thanks, Greg. You know my running form is my biggest
concern out here tonight,” she murmured under her breath.
To any onlookers she would look like a typical jogger
talking to herself as she ran. It was impossible to tell that the ear buds to
her mp3 player were actually tying her in to the communication center of the
surveillance team. Nor would they know that her sporty sunglasses and the
fancy emblem on the back of her running tank were actually equipped with small
cameras that were also transmitting to the surveillance team. Undercover
officers were scattered around the park, keeping pace with Devin as she moved
up the trail.
This operation had been her idea, and as much as her
commander had disliked the plan, he knew it was their only shot right now of
catching what the press had dubbed “The James River Killer.” So far four women
had been brutally raped and stabbed to death just feet off the jogging trail
that wound around Richmond and the James River. The fifth victim had barely
survived and had been able to give them some details about how the attack took
place. That’s when Devin had come up with the plan to offer the James River
Killer exactly what he was looking for: a pretty, young female runner with a
predictable schedule who always ran solo. Bait, so to speak.
At twenty-nine, with her tan, athletic physique and mass of
mahogany hair, she fit the bill perfectly. It was their hope that the killer was
stalking her this very moment, and that when he made his move out of the
shadows, the team would swoop in for the grab, containing the situation with
minimal collateral damage.
They had no idea how very right and very wrong they were
about to be.
Devin sensed his presence a half a second before the James
River Killer stepped out of the dense thicket onto the trail behind her. As she
whirled around, Greg was screaming in her earpiece.
“Devin, behind you, to the right. Turn around.
Turn
Around
!”
Just as the fifth victim, Kaitlin Alvarez, had described him,
the James River Killer was dressed in black from head to toe, cloaked in black
fatigues, boots, a ski mask and gloves, so it was impossible to identify race
or distinguishing marks. But Devin could tell he was six feet tall and at least
200 pounds—and he knew how to handle the seven-inch blade he was wielding.
She had to occupy him for thirty seconds, tops, before the
rest of the team would surround them. She was ready as she faced off with him.
He didn’t hesitate as he drove the knife towards her throat, but she thrust her
arm into the inside of his elbow, knocking his blow high so it grazed her
shoulder. In the heat of the moment, she didn’t even feel the pain of the cut
that should have seared her flesh, and instead landed a punch in his windpipe,
followed by a rapid combo of a knee to the groin and then a smashing elbow to
the nose. He stumbled back, but only a half a step before he dove forward,
sinking the tip of the blade into the left side of Devin’s abdomen.
If she hadn’t been a fighter trained in the streets, she might
have fallen, but she was fueled by a vengeance that would have to be answered
for. When the killer moved to plunge the blade into her stomach a second time,
Devin caught his arm and flipped it around, snapping the bones in his wrist,
making him drop the knife. She twisted his arm behind, flipping him on to his
back and slamming him to the ground, much like she had the academy instructor.
Officers poured into the area around them, weapons drawn. Devin
stumbled back, feeling her injuries for the first time. Like the strike of a
snake, the JR killer flicked a semiautomatic from under his jacket and rolled
to his knees. It was so fast that by the time Devin had screamed out, “Gun!” he’d
already sliced a round of bullets into the crowd. Greg and two others went down,
and a young mother with a jogging stroller just down the path stood in harm’s
way. The raining gunfire kept the officers pinned down, and with no open shots
that would not further endanger the civilians in the park.
Devin was unarmed and bleeding heavily, but she had the
advantage of being behind the killer. Without thinking, she leapt forward into
a spin, attempting a move she had seen only in the underground fights of Thailand. She had no prayer of performing it correctly, but if luck was with her, she could
do it well enough to incapacitate the attacker. She was more than lucky. Devin
landed the kick precisely at the base of the killer’s skull. In the roar of the
mayhem surrounding her, the sickening snap of his neck still seemed as loud as
a gunshot. The James River Killer slumped to the ground, motionless. He would
do no more harm.
Devin shot forward to where Greg had fallen and began
yanking off his vest. Of course the bullets had struck in the few vulnerable
places the body armor didn’t cover, and Greg was gasping for breath as Devin
began applying pressure to his wounds.
“Did you get him?” Greg gasped out. “Tell me you got him.”
His curly ash blonde hair and button-down shirt were quickly being soaked with
blood. His round face and dimples had always made him appear boyish and too
young to be a detective, but he suddenly looked much older than his thirty-four
years.
“Yeah G-Man, we got him. He’s definitely down. No worries,
ok?” Devin tried using her best sunny voice, but she was failing miserably.
“Devin? Promise me you’ll get me to Marcy so I can say
good-bye.” He rarely called her by her given name; it was always
Twister
or
Twist
. “She’s at work at St. Mary’s.” He let out a choked laugh.
“Hey, you can kill two birds with one stone.”
“You’re not funny, idiot. I’ll take you to St. Mary’s, but
there are no good-byes involved. Understand?”
“Sometimes you can’t hold things together by sheer will.”
With that, Greg’s grey eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell limp.
Instantly Devin began compressions, screaming at the nearest
officer to get a bus. By the time the EMTs reached them, she’d gotten his pulse
back, and he was just regaining consciousness as they were loading up.
“Devin, please,” he managed. “I have to see Marcy. Promise
me.” His strangled words were just a whisper.
“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll promise if it’ll shut you up. But
just so you know, I expect you to be at work helping me write up the report on
this.” She gave him the acidic glare she was famous for around the precinct,
and he tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it.
Within a block of the hospital, Greg flat-lined. The EMT
shocked his heart, and Devin began compressions again.
Protesting did the tech no good. “Detective, we’ve barely
stopped your bleeding. You need to back down and let me work!”
“With all due respect, you need another set of hands, and
bleeding or not, I’m all you’ve got.”
Her reputation preceded her, and the EMT stopped arguing to
save time and instead used a mask to bag Greg, filling his lungs as they pulled
up to the hospital. Devin rode the gurney into the trauma unit straddling
Greg’s hips on her knees, continuing with compressions the whole way, while the
EMT’s ran alongside. She glanced up to see Marcy’s pale face as they passed the
desk. Someone must have called her down from the cardiac unit where she worked.
With her petite frame and wide purple-blue eyes, she looked like a frightened
child. Devin and Greg were covered in blood, and they arrived with a frantic
flurry of activity. It was probably not an image that instilled confidence. Devin
stayed where she was, trying to keep Greg’s heart beating until someone
forcibly removed her and began carrying her into another room. She started to
resist until she heard someone yell, “He’s back!”
They’d made it. She’d gotten him to Marcy liked she
promised. Now the doctors were responsible for saving him. Devin didn’t want to
admit to herself how unlikely that was. The doctors were saying things like
“shredded left ventricle” and “pierced pulmonary artery.” She allowed for only
a quick patch job of her wounds before she propelled herself back to Greg and
Marcy. Stitches would have to wait.
Marcy had her forehead pressed against Greg’s; she was whispering
to him and crying softly. She glanced up as Devin approached them. Devin half
expected Marcy to be angry; it was well-known that many in the precinct thought
Devin’s plan had been reckless and much too dangerous. In the end it had been
the only choice they had with the current information, and the risks to the community
had become too great to do nothing.
But Marcy wasn’t angry; she gave Devin a sad smile, her
violet eyes full of despair. Being cautious of her friend’s injuries, Marcy
gently wrapped one of her arms around Devin’s waist in a tender hug, still
holding a hand to Greg’s face. She was so tiny she only came up to Devin’s
shoulder.
“Thanks, Dev. Greg always said that if something happened to
him on the job, you’d get him to me. Thank you for that.”
Devin couldn’t believe they were having such a peaceful
conversation in the midst of the chaos around them. Greg looked up at her then,
and as their eyes locked, she knew with that familiar tingling assurance that
he was leaving them. Devin reached out to grip his hand—it was as if the two
women wanted to anchor him here to earth with their touch, to keep him with
them.
“Thanks, Twist, for getting me here. You really got him,
right? You’re not just pacifying a dying man, are you? He’s gonna get what’s
coming to him, right?” He looked desperate to know that his sacrifice would not
be in vain, that they had subdued an evil in their city.
“Yes, G, we got him. And he already got what was coming to
him. That SOB is rotting in hell as we speak.”
She squeezed his hand gently and then let him go so Marcy
could have him completely in his final minutes. He studied her for just a
moment and then nodded ever so slightly. His silver eyes flicked between the
two women.
“You two take care of each other. Devin, Marcy is going to
need your strength, and Marcy, Twist sucks at the emotional stuff, so don’t let
her bottle this all up, ok?”
With that he stared into Marcy’s eyes as if trying to will
her to feel all of his emotions. They’d been married one short year, but the
intensity of their relationship surpassed an eternity of normal marriages. He
breathed out a final “I love you,” and then he was gone.
The mayhem in the room reached a fevered pitch as a code
blue was called, but as she slipped quietly out, Devin knew no medical miracle
would save him. She was halfway down the hall when her commander, Captain
Morris, stopped her.
“Dushane, what the hell are you doing? You look like
something out of a bad horror flick. Get in there and get stitched up!”
She heard most of what he said, but the adrenaline rush was
over, the loss of blood was catching up with her, and grief was threatening to
crush her. The last thing she heard before she hit the floor was a stream of
curses from Captain Morris.