Drop Dead Perfect (An Ellen Harper Psycho-Thriller) (19 page)

A moment passed as he felt her exhale in an attempt to compose herself. Remarkable.

“Will it make any difference?” she asked quietly.

“Will what make any difference, my love?” Kyle asked, playing it to the hilt.

“My answer to your question?”

“Why, yes . . . yes, it will. I read somewhere that the truth will set you free, and I hold dearly to that. Truth is always truth. Things are what they are, not what we perceive them to be, contrary to what all of those full-of-bullshit philosophers would have you believe.”

Leaning closer, he licked Joannie’s face ever so gently.

“That’s truth, Joannie Carmen.”

“Don’t do that, Kyle. I don’t like that, okay?” said Damon, taking two steps closer, then stopping again, only to stare at his feet, as he swayed slowly from side to side.

After three strides of his own, Kyle reached for the front of Damon’s jacket with both hands, pulling him so close that their faces almost touched. He could smell the perspiration exuding from Damon’s body; his breath sour, dry. He
wa
s upset.

Kyle had gone far past teaching a lesson. His rage said so. This time Damon would pay for his insolence.
No one questions me, especially a freak like you, Damon!

Especially that.

“Don’t you ever tell me what to do, you sniveling, little coward. Got it?” Kyle roared. “I’ll do whatever I want, whenever and with whomever. You haven’t earned a right to even
suggest
I do something. Look at you. What part of that simple mind of yours thinks you can tell
me
what to do?”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Kyle. You're right. It’s just that—”

“Just what? You like this one? She’s special? She’s perfect for your sorry ass? She’d make a great mother? Did you hear what came out of her mouth? She’d rather risk dying than spend her life with you. What the hell’s wrong with you? She epitomizes all we’ve gone through the last twenty-eight years. She’s cut out of the same piece of shit that the rest of humanity is. They don’t see you, Damon! They see that grotesque face you have sitting on your shoulders. Do you understand that?”

“You . . . you can’t talk to me like that. I . . .
I’m your—”

“My what? My brother? My flesh and blood? You’re nothing more than a ball and chain. You got that? I take care of you because no one else will. I’m not just trying to lead you into blissful matrimony here. I want someone else to take the burden from me. I’ve paid my dues. How damn dumb are you?”

With a thrust of both arms, he sent Damon backward, fully expecting his brother to hit the floor and curl up in a ball, sobbing as usual.

That didn’t happen.

Damon staggered back two steps, steadied himself, and stared. For the first time in recent memory, Kyle could see overwhelming pain in his brother’s eyes. It unsettled him.

“So that’s what you think of me, truly? I’m the cross you’ve decided to bear? I may not be as bright as you, but in my estimation, that makes you no different than the ilk you said the rest of humanity is cut from. Right? Isn’t that what you just said?”

Kyle began to speak, to say he was sorry, that he’d lost his cool, but his own anger, his own frustration, took charge. But he stopped himself from apologizing, his thoughts suddenly crystal clear. He’d been a captive too long. His deformed brother
had
been heavy, no matter what some moralist ideal might suggest.

He came to grips with his own truth, his own reality. He wanted Damon gone.

And Damon knew it. “I see it in your face, brother. You want me gone, out of your life. So be it.”

Damon walked up to Joannie, pulled a knife from his pocket. Kyle heard her starting to plead with his brother not to hurt her.

“I couldn’t do that, Joannie. Not in a million years,” he said softly.

With that, he cut the duct tape from her left arm, then from her right. He knelt and did the
same for her legs, setting her free except for the cord around her middle.

Kyle watched, his scowl evolving to a grin. He gave him credit for boldness.

“Just like that? I let you walk out with her, just like that?” he said to Damon.

“Yes. You do.” He cut the cloth binding from her middle and helped her to her feet. “I’ll get her out of here and then you can—”

Pulling the .45 from his jacket he fired, hitting Damon in the left shoulder. His brother went down, pulling Joannie with him.

Kyle strolled over to where his brother lay, a flood of blood already staining the floor. He pulled Joannie up and threw her in the chair, then moved back to his brother.

He bent low, whispering. “I can’t let her go until she answers my question, dear brother. I hope you understand.”

Putting the barrel of the gun between Damon’s eyes, Kyle Black pulled the trigger again.

Damon’s head jerked, blood poured from the back of it as he grew still.

Gazing
at his dead brother, Kyle couldn’t contain the wide grin. He’d never felt anything so freeing in his entire life. The burden was totally lifted. He no longer had to make sure his brother’s needs were met. He could simply do what he pleased, when he pleased.

He stood and then nodded toward Damon. “Goodbye, brother. It’s been real.”

Feeling Joannie’s stare, he turned in her direction. She sat in the chair, unmoving, yet her face was calm, serene. She seemed to be in complete control of herself. Odd.

Moving to her, he leaned close. “Joannie Carmen, I believe you have a question to answer.”

“I believe I do,” she answered evenly.

“Are you capable of that, after what you just saw?”

“I am,” she said, taking her eyes from Damon and focusing on him.

Kyle moved behind her and put his hands on the chair, one on each side of her neck.

“Then tell me, who loves you more than my deceased brother?”

“I do, Kyle. I love
me
more than anyone else could,” she whispered.

“Fantastic! Finally, the correct answer. We are all the greatest of narcissists, and you discovered that truth. Enchanting, to say the least. I’m unbelievably impressed.”

“You said you’d let me go if I answered correctly. Please free me.”

“You’re right, Joannie. And I’m a man of my word.”

He pulled out a knife from his pocket. One he thought he’d never get to use.

“I have just one proviso to that promise.”

Grabbing her hair, he pulled her head back and brought the knife to her face.

CHAPTER-35

Another shot split the air, the bullet smashing into the tiled floor some three feet in front of where Ellen had dove to the floor. Her professional training kicked in, and almost before she could think, her Berretta was in her hand.

Glancing to her left, Ellen saw the door entrance that jutted out from the beige wall leading to the end of the other hall where Sanchez and other techs were working. She rolled quickly on her side and then completely over, reaching the small alcove that would shield her from the rain of bullets.

Two more shots rang out in rapid succession. The first bullet whistled past her face, maybe three inches away, and slammed into the wall behind her. A second later, she was pressed behind the wall, breathing hard, trying to settle the disbelief and surprise of the last few seconds.

Steve
is shooting at me in the lab?

It had to be . . . who else could it be?

Yet another shot echoed from the other end of the hallway, this one not as close as the others. She heard it bury into the wall. But it wouldn’t penetrate more than an inch or two. The structure of the building wouldn’t let it.

She exhaled. When this lab was built, much of the infrastructure was constructed with fire-retardant, steel-reinforced design. The department couldn’t afford anything happening to the hundreds of thousands of files and boxes of case evidence that was housed here. She was safe because the walls were almost impenetrable by gunfire.

Ellen exhaled again. Panic was never one of her issues, and she felt none now. Her puzzlement was quickly leaving her as well. Her dad had always told her to protect herself, deal with the problem as efficiently as possible, and then sort out the whys. Cops vowed to protect their city, for sure, but dying needlessly wasn’t part of the prescription.

“First things first, Ellie,” she whispered. “Let’s see what we can see.”

Peeking around the corner of the wall, she stole a quick look and confirmed her suspicion. She snapped back around the corner as her attacker took another shot.

The familiar figure was moving cautiously down the hall, fixated on the small nook she was hiding behind.
Steve continued to fire away.

Ellen stood up. “
Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, my Queen? I’m trying to kill you. Good God, you’re not that bright after all, are you?”

“You need to stop. I’m armed, and you’re an easy target. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t give a coyote’s ass if you’re armed. I’m as good as dead anyway. I’m just going to take you with me.”

Three more shots rattled off the wall, and she heard a fourth click. His clip was empty. She glanced around the corner again and saw that he was reaching into his lab coat, searching for another clip.

She stepped out and began walking down the corridor, gun raised.

“Steve. That’s enough. Put your hands in the air. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

His snarl told her that he wouldn’t comply with anything she said. This gentle man, whom she’d known for five years, wore a look of pure hate, all aimed at her. Her puzzlement grew.

He stepped toward her. “You couldn’t let me do my job, could you? I could have fixed things, like I did last night. But you had to take those pictures from the camera and ask me to do something no one else would. You bitch. I was home free, all of us. . .”

“
Stop, now. And what the hell are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘fix things’? And for whom?”

She’d been right. He had secrets.

Over her shoulder, she heard shouts and recognized Sanchez’s voice. Behind Steve, she saw two techs trying to get through the glass door that he’d apparently somehow locked at the other end of the hallway. The man was in deep trouble, and if he didn’t listen to her, he was going to die. She felt the chill run down her spine.

That was the idea
, wasn’t it? To die here and she’d would be his killer.

Steve
continued walking toward her. He’d fished the spare clip out of his pocket, stopped, ejected the used clip, and held the live one in his hand, grinning at her.

“You won’t shoot me. It’s not in you. As far as what and why, I’ll not live long enough to help you figure it out. Just know there are more important facets of life than this cop/brotherhood shit. You left me in the cold. It should have been me.”

“What are you saying?”

“Not Oscar. That assignment was mine. I deserved it.”

Ellen’s heart sank. It was clear that Steve’s statement carried a double meaning. He not only wanted Oscar’s job, but he cared for her.

“
Steve, stop. Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”

“Yeah? How? Maybe once we could have. I wanted to be . . . be near you. But I’ve done things. I had to, you know?”

Taking in his words, her mind spinning with surreal thoughts, she made a decision. Ellen lowered her piece and slowly walked toward him.

“I’m here now. Let me help you. You know I can.”

A tiny flicker of doubt appeared in his eyes as his face softened, then it vanished like smoke in the wind. He moved quickly, trying to load his clip.

“
Steve! Stop. Don’t make me fire.”

He ignored her and jammed the clip in his Glock, pulling the slide back.

She raised her weapon and fired twice, hitting him once in the leg and once in the shoulder. He went down in a heap just as Bella emerged from the door behind her, followed by three more techs, all with weapons drawn.

“I’m sorry. You gave me no choice.”

“You always have a choice, Ellen,” he said. “I have one now.”

Struggling to
raise the gun again, Steve finally placed it against his temple.

“Goodbye, Ellen. This is on you.”

She rushed him, diving through the air, stretching her full length, reaching desperately for his hand, as the deafening shot exploded in front of her.

CHAPTER-36

Standing near the rundown warehouse, arms crossed over his Kevlar vest, Brice Rogers awaited the last team to exit the worn-down building. It was the eleventh structure in the district, and so far they’d not found a single indication that anyone other than squatters, rats, and various small animals, scavenging whatever was necessary to subsist, had ever been in any of them. There was no indication of foul play, no disturbances of dust . . . hell, not even a witness who would swear to strange vehicles or actions by someone who didn’t belong to the area. Nothing. Zero.