“One does what one must. She created quite the commotion up in Richmond when she so kindly screwed up any chances of a conviction against me.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that communicated more arrogance than indifference. “Diverting attention was essential. Now the world is focused on her inept methods rather than the precise work of a master artist.” A smug chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“You think? Well, I have a newsflash for you, asshole.” Mad as hell now, Lori looked straight into his eyes. His turned wary and she loved that single moment of triumph. “Jess Harris is way too smart, way too sharp and far too in demand for a generic piece of shit like you to keep her down. If the Bureau cuts her loose, Chief Burnett will offer her a top position here, just you wait and see.”
That was pure conjecture, but Lori suspected there was no way the chief would let Jess get away again for reasons completely unrelated to her investigative skills. Whatever Spears did to her, Lori could not let him learn that she sensed the chief still had personal feelings for Jess. That could make him a target, too.
“That’s right,
Eric
,” she continued, capitalizing on his obvious need to analyze the idea of failure. “You can’t stop her and if you think the Bureau will stop trying to nail you just because you pulled a bait and switch, I’m afraid you’re going to be incredibly disappointed. They will get you – with or without Jess on their team.”
His gaze narrowed as if he worried she might be right, and then he laughed, the deep, guttural sound echoing all around her. “You’re quite good, detective.” He leaned close again as if he intended to share a secret. “Here’s something hot off the wire just for you. That game is over. They will
never
achieve their goal.” He reached out, traced her cheek with his forefinger. She shuddered. “This is a new game and I need Jess to play.”
“You
need
her?” she bit out in disgust.
He shrugged. “Want her then. Let’s not quibble over semantics. Will you help me, Lori Doodle?”
“Do I have a choice?” The answer to that was a big, flashing neon sign in her brain. Whatever she did or didn’t do he would somehow find a way to use it. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back. She would not cry for this scumbag’s pleasure.
“You always have a choice, detective.” His lips lifted again in that charismatic expression that masked the house of horrors beneath. “You have one now. Live daringly or die quickly. You choose.”
She laughed around the fear crowded in her throat. “Do you really expect me to believe that if I cooperate you’ll let me live? Wow, Santa’s here already and it’s only July. Give me a break.”
“Oh, I will. You have my word,” he promised. “For a bit anyway.”
That was what she thought.
“Consider your options carefully, Detective Lori Wells.” He put his face in hers again. “The longer you stay alive, the more opportunity you’ll have to perhaps see that urge of yours to fruition. Who knows?” He straightened, drew back to look her in the eyes. “You might just get that chance to watch me die. After all, no one lives forever.”
He stood, hauled his chair away from hers. “While you weigh your options, I’m going to find someone to keep you company.” He laughed. “Actually, I think I’m the one who needs company. You are b-o-r-i-n-g with a capital B.”
Lori’s heart rammed into her throat.
She had to do something. . . otherwise he was going hunting. . .
“Wait!”
He stopped.
“I can’t. . . don’t leave me here by myself.
Please.
”
He turned around slowly. A grin spread across his lips. “Ah. . . so you’re ready to play, are you?”
His singular motive is pleasure.
Jess’s voice whispered in her ears.
The only way he can feel it is by torturing his victims in the most depraved ways.
“Yes.” Lori moistened her lips, wrestled back the fear. “I’m ready to play.”
Five Points, 10:42 a.m.
Two uniformed Birmingham police officers waited outside the door to Lori Wells’ second-floor studio apartment. Three BPD cruisers sat at the curb, sirens silent, lights dark.
Jess Harris stood next to Chief Dan Burnett’s SUV as she scanned the neighborhood. Two apartment buildings and seven houses lined the quiet street. The Five Points address guaranteed an eclectic mix of residents and homes. In all probability there were a few retirees who’d lived here since the first houses were built in the 50’s, along with the recent influx of young professionals just launching their careers.
Hopefully some of the retirees had been home and perhaps saw something useful. Neighbors were already being canvassed.
As if to defy that fleeting hope, her blouse melted against her sweat-dampened skin. No kids in the street; no dogs barking. This morning’s sweltering heat kept the children and pets inside and, most likely, anyone else who happened to be home when Lori Wells was taken from hers.
If Jess wasn’t scared to death, she would be spitting mad. This was her fault. The Player had followed
her
here – and Lori had paid the price. Her fingers itched to put a bullet right between his eyes.
Let me close again, Spears.
“The crime scene unit is four minutes out,” Burnett said as he came around the hood to join her on the street.
He was shaken as badly as Jess or he would already be inside. Wells was his detective. And she was Jess’s friend, even if for only for a few days.
How the hell had she let this happen? She’d made a mistake. . . a terrible, terrible mistake. She had to find a way to fix this. . . to stop this sociopath.
“Harper’s waiting for us.” Burnett gestured to the apartment complex.
Jess nodded, then followed him across the street, past the squad cars and up the sidewalk that led to what was now a crime scene. Fear had her in a daze. . . she had to pull it together.
Lori needed her to do this right.
The two officers greeted their chief of police as she and Burnett approached the door. Sergeant Chet Harper waited inside, his expression grim. No, not just grim, sick and terrified.
I’m sorry!
Jess wanted to scream the words.
I didn’t mean for this to happen.
Calm. . . stay calm.
She couldn’t change what had already happened, but
this
she could do right. The Player would not best her again.
After slipping on the shoe covers and gloves Burnett provided, she entered the apartment, leaving her emotions on the welcome mat. Every case deserved her absolute best, but this one hit a deeply personal chord. Putting aside her personal feelings would require considerably more than the usual discipline.
She could do it. . . she had to do it.
Burnett remained outside to take a call.
“The door was ajar when I arrived,” Chet explained, his tone quiet, somber. “That bar stool was overturned.” With a gloved hand he indicated the small island with its two stools that divided the kitchen area from the living area of the one-room apartment. “A glass of orange juice on the coffee table was knocked over as well.”
Jess made her way to the old-fashioned trunk Lori used as a coffee table. The drying puddle of OJ had stained the tan carpet. A half-eaten bagel languished on a napkin. Surveying the space again, this time more slowly, she noted discarded lounge pants and a t-shirt lay on the floor by the bed. Lori had gotten up and dressed for work. Both doors, closet and bathroom, remained closed.
“What about her cell?”
“I haven’t found her phone.”
Chet was visibly rattled. Like Burnett, Lori was his colleague. But for Chet there was more. He wanted a personal relationship with Lori. Jess had a feeling there had already been some serious physical bonding. She also understood that, for now, she needed the emotional distance of referring to the detectives by their last names or respective rank. After working so closely the past few days, she and the two BPD detectives had reached a first name basis.
This event changed everything.
She had to depersonalize the victim. . .
Lori.
Her new friend.
“What about her purse? Keys?”
Chet – Harper shook his head.
“Her car?”
“The Mustang’s not in her parking slot or anywhere on the street.”
Didn’t make sense that Spears would use Detective Wells’ personal vehicle. Certainly wasn’t his MO. “Give me a few minutes, sergeant.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jess moved across the room to the closet. Neat, organized. If anything had been disturbed it was impossible to discern. Nothing unexpected in the bathroom other than the evidence that Wells bordered on OCD. Jess smiled, her lips a little stiff, a little shaky. No normal person was this neat.
Then again, what was normal?
Jess trailed her fingers down the robe hanging next to the shower. “Be strong, Lori,” she murmured. “I will find you.”
Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away.
Returning to the main room, Jess took one last long look around the apartment before getting out of the way. The evidence techs had arrived and Harper waited near the door. Jess walked over to wait with him. She wished there was something she could say to reassure him, but there wasn’t.
The truth was, there was very little chance this would end well. Dread and anger constricted her throat. The Player had made his move. There was no going back. No stopping him from taking the next step.
It should have been me.
“The carrier is working on tracking Lori’s cell phone,” Burnett said as he joined them at the door, distracting Jess from the painful thoughts warring inside her.
“I received an update from the officers canvassing the neighbors. So far no one saw Detective Wells leave,” Harper added, his voice reflecting the same devastation his expression carried. He looked from Burnett to Jess, then at the floor as if holding her gaze was too much to ask.
Harper and all the rest knew. . . this was Jess’s fault.
Stay on track.
Evaluating the scene and making conclusions had to be done from an objective place.
You cannot screw this up.
“It won’t matter if we find an eye witness.” Jess kicked aside the fear and self-pity and considered the anomalies in the apartment’s otherwise neat appearance. “Detective Wells left alone.”
“What’re you thinking?” Burnett sounded surprised by her conclusion.
“There was a struggle,” Harper argued, confusion joining the mix of powerful emotions cluttering his face.
“These aren’t signs of a struggle, gentlemen.” Jess gestured to the overturned glass. “Wells was having breakfast when she received a call that startled her.” She pointed to the stool on the floor. “She knocked that over when she grabbed her purse and keys.” OCD or not, most people dropped their keys on the surface nearest the door they used most often.
“Whoever called, it rattled her. Scared her even. Detective Wells was in a hurry to get out of here. That’s why she didn’t care if she locked the door or not. That’s also why you haven’t found her cell. She carried it with her when she left in her Mustang.”
“I called her mother and her sister,” Harper countered, clearly confused. “Neither answered. They’re probably already at work. Her mother is –”
“Do her sister and mother live together?” Another possible layer of the scenario fell into place for Jess.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get a unit over there now.” A new worry robbed her lungs of air. “Right now.” The emotion she had hoped to keep at bay washed over her.
Lori Wells had rushed out of her home with no care as to whether she secured the premises. Something had her scared to death. The most primal emotion known to man, or woman, was the protective instinct. Put a loved one in danger and all reason evaporated.
Burnett made the necessary call.
Jess turned to Harper. “We need to get there as quickly as possible.”
If she was right, and Jess had a sinking feeling she was, they could very well have three victims instead of one.
Overton Heights, 11:38 a.m.
As Jess had anticipated, Lori Wells’ red Mustang was parked in the driveway alongside a gray Impala that belonged to her mother. From the passenger seat of Burnett’s SUV, Jess peered past the tinted glass to survey the house and front yard. The house was a 70s style split-level, part brown brick, part beige siding. It sat on the “up” side of the street, the driveway ascending the steep bank and disappearing into the attached garage. Nothing moved. Nothing appeared out of place or amiss.
But, inside would be an entirely different story. She wanted to get in there. It took every shred of patience she could muster to sit here and wait for the tactical team to do their stuff.
If they got inside. . . and the Wells family had been murdered. . .
Pain pinched her face as Jess suffered a new trickle of panic. The need to call her own sister, just to hear her voice, expanded against her ribs. Lily and her family were safe at home, under police protection. If there was trouble at Lily’s, Jess would know. Burnett would get a call.
Fate apparently heard her thoughts and wanted to ratchet up the tension a little tighter. Burnett shifted behind the wheel and reached for his cell. That band of pressure narrowed around her chest. Why the hell did he keep the damned thing on vibrate all the time? A little warning would be nice.
“Does her sister have a car?” Jess asked Harper while Burnett spoke quietly to his caller. At eighteen, odds were Terri Wells, Lori’s younger sister, either had a car or used her mother’s.
“It’s in the shop, ma’am,” Harper said from the backseat. “Terri drives a blue Chevy Cobalt. Lori – Detective Wells told me it’s in the shop.”
Lori was gone. . . her family could be dead – dammit, Jess needed to be in there! What the hell was taking so long?
Damn Eric Spears and his games!
He was here, in Birmingham. No more speculation. Not just a hireling, the monster himself. . . the
Player
. This morning’s delivery of that damned package was all the proof she needed.