No Chance in Hell

No Chance in Hell

By Jerrie Alexander

COPYRIGHT 2014 by Jerrie Alexander

Published by: Jerrie Alexander

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
 

Cover Art by: Meredith Blair © Author’s Angels Meredith Blair © Author's Angels
www.AuthorsAngels.com

Prologue

North Riverview, Texas

Two years ago

A sense of pride washed over him. So he gave in to vanity and took a moment to bask in the glow of a job well done. A few adjustments to the focus on his camera improved clarity and provided brilliant shots of his latest masterpiece. He concentrated on highlighting her cold, dead eyes.
 

He repositioned her arm, closed her hand, resting it on her stomach. Yes. That was much better. Of course, he was uncompromising in his work, a demanding perfectionist.

After all, death was an art.

And he was the DaVinci of the twenty-first century.

DaVinci brushed her long blond hair off her shoulder and then straightened her legs out in front of her. At last, this was the money shot. He lifted the camera, taking multiple pictures.

A loud knock startled him. Damn it, interruptions would not be tolerated. Too much time and effort had been invested in locating her.

The pounding grew louder.

“Chelsea,” a woman called out. “Open up. I didn’t come this far for you to shut me out.”

DaVinci moved to the window, lifted a slat on the blinds, and took a peek. The last rays of the sun washed over the blonde at the door. The hair on the back of his neck rose. She could not be here. She was going to ruin everything.
 

The knob jiggled as she tried to enter. She stepped back and angled her shoulder toward the door. Son of a bitch. She was going to break in.

Anger boiled through his veins. He took a cleansing breath. A cool head in this situation was critical. If she crossed the threshold, she’d have to die today. There was too much at stake.
 

DaVinci quickly moved to stand behind the door. He unbuckled his belt, slid it out of his pant loops, and then wrapped the ends around his hands. Not his favorite method of killing, but it would suffice if she crossed that threshold. Please, don’t come inside. Go away.
 

A loud bump and the door pushed open. The intruder stormed into the house.

“Chels...”

Without hesitation, he dropped the makeshift garrote over her head and tightened it around her neck. Her scream morphed into a gurgle.

She elbowed him in his ribs. The move caught him off guard. She rolled her shoulders forward, and damn if she didn’t stomp his foot. He usually loved it when they struggled, but this was different. She couldn’t be allowed to break free. The possibility she’d see his face was too great.
 

The woman whipped her head back, barely missing his nose but solidly connecting with his chin. The belt fell free, and the intruder spun around on him. He grabbed her neck. Their gazes locked for a split second. The bitch looked directly into his eyes and never flinched. Anger blinded him for a second, but he pushed all emotion to the side and squeezed tighter.

He would dance around her dead body.

His groin exploded into a raging fire. Her knee had connected with his balls. Nausea rushed him. Blinded by excruciating pain, he folded like a broken kite. He dropped to his knees, and involuntary tears flooded his eyes. The darkness called, but he struggled against it. He could not lose consciousness.

The bitch ran screaming out the front door, her footsteps hitting the wooden porch rapidly. A surge of panic gave him a badly needed burst of energy, but she was already banging on a neighbor’s front door. He grabbed his camera, stumbled out the back, and hobbled to his own vehicle. The burning sensation radiating from his groin blurred his vision with every step.

Damn her. They would meet again, he vowed. And she would be his greatest masterpiece.

Chapter 1

Dallas, Texas

Present day

Chris Holland’s eyes flew open. The room was pitch black. She always left the light in the kitchen on. It should have been burning brightly. Her muscles tightened, coiled, ready for her to spring out of bed. She slipped her hand under her pillow, reaching for the cool butt of her gun. She found nothing. Before she could react, something hard pressed into her temple.

“Looking for this?” a male voice whispered.

A wave of terror washed through her, filling her with emotions she’d never experienced. She didn’t think for one second that he was a burglar. This was the murdering bastard who’d butchered Chelsea.

“You’d better use it now. If I get out of this bed, I won’t be as easy to kill as my sister.”

He made a low-pitched sound that filled her veins with ice. Had he actually chuckled? The tip of the pistol pressed deeper into her skin.

“Calm down. I didn’t come to kill you. But it’s time we talked.”

“You mean like over a cup of coffee?” Chris did her best to keep her voice steady. No doubt, he’d heard the tremble in her words. “Put down the gun, and I’ll go put on a pot.”

He wouldn’t accept her offer, and she knew it. But it might buy her some time. If she could get to the kitchen, she might get to the weapon hidden in the back of a drawer of utensils. Chris lifted her shoulders, as if trying to rise.

 
“You really didn’t think I’d fall for that.” A gloved hand stroked her cheek, sending her into a full-body shiver. “Your sense of humor is refreshing.”

Chris strained to see some part of him in the dark. Anything that might wake up her memory would be helpful. “How’d you get in?”

“I can’t give away all my secrets, but I found you again, didn’t I? Suffice it to say, I’m a great deal smarter than you think. The only reason you’re still alive is because I want you that way.”

“Oh. I get it. You’re a god. Deciding who lives and dies must weigh heavily.”

“Do not push me. You think you’re so much better than I am. Growing up in the lap of luxury, you never had to worry about your next meal. Some of us were lucky to eat once a day.” His soft tone had turned hard, menacing. “I’ll be back. When depends on you. If you make new friends over here in your new neighborhood, let them hang around you, I will kill them. It would be a mistake to bring them into your home.”

The pressure eased on her temple, and icy lips brushed her forehead. Something covered her nose and mouth. “Breathe.”

She fought his command, holding her breath. A sharp blow landed to her abdomen, and she gasped, inhaling deeply.

****

A steady and annoying
beep beep beep
forced Chris awake. Her brain was foggy, but she managed to hit the off button on her alarm clock. A second later reality hit and fear rocketed through her system. She sat up on the side of her bed, but the room spun, forcing her back down.

Last night’s visitor slammed into her memory. The killer had been in her bedroom. Jesus, she’d actually talked with him. She pieced their conversation together while willing away a bout of nausea. Whatever he’d used to drug her had to be responsible for her upset stomach. Frantic, she slipped her hand under her pillow. Relief eased the pain as she wrapped her fingers around the grip and pulled her pistol into view. She stared at her cell. Should she grab it and call for help?

Was he still in the house? She felt sure her stalker had left by now, but no way was she taking chances.

Chris forced herself out of bed. Holding the Glock exactly like the instructor had taught her, she flattened herself against the wall. She checked the bedroom across the hall, took a quick look in the bathroom, and then made her way to the living room.
 

She paused and let her unsteady feet catch up with her racing mind. Why hadn’t he hurt her? The sicko bastard had broken into her home in the middle of the night and issued warnings about how she should behave. The next time he just might fulfill his threat.

Her hand hovered over the phone. Should she call the police or take the advice of an FBI agent she’d met recently? She’d tried the cops, but they couldn’t protect her all the time.

Decision made, she dressed, grabbed her purse, and walked to her front door. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the cool knob and turned. Gathering her courage, she stepped out into the sunshine and headed for her car.

The hair on Chris’s arms stood on end. The sensation of ants crawling under her skin sent a shudder down her spine. She’d worked extra hard to cover her tracks. Now, her latest attempt to find a safe haven had failed. Was he out there this morning, watching her?
 

This time was different. Until last night, he’d never contacted her in person. She’d never feel safe until he was locked away somewhere.

It took all her strength not to scream to the heavens. The cowardly bastard didn’t want to face her in the daylight. Two years ago, he’d learned firsthand that she had the skills to fight back. He’d had to sneak up on her.

Next time he might kill her just as he’d murdered Chelsea.

Chris gritted her teeth and kept walking. She shifted her purse to her right side and slipped her hand inside, welcoming the feel of the pistol grip. Silently, she thanked Texas for the gun law that allowed private citizens to carry a concealed weapon. She slid behind the steering wheel of her car, started the engine, and drove away as if she didn’t know he was just out of sight.

She’d given up her job and her friends. Heck, she’d turned her back on everything except the Big Sisters program and the Animal Shelter. Abandoned as a child herself, Chris’s commitment to mentor foster kids meant a lot to her. She’d bought a town house in Plano using her mother’s maiden name. Breaking off with her contacts hadn’t helped for long.

The bastard would not make her run anymore. Something had to be done before he killed her.
 

While in Georgia to volunteer on an animal rescue project, one of the FBI agents who’d been working the dog-fighting side of the case had suggested a company that could help. Even his glowing recommendation hadn’t filled her with optimism, but after last night, she’d decided to talk with the people who ran it.

She parked in front of the office of Lost and Found, Inc. and debated whether this was a good idea or a waste of time. Why had Dalton thought she should talk to these people? Could they really help her? The police department hadn’t been able to. She got out of the car, still unsure. She turned, paced a few steps, and then reversed direction.

“If you need help, you’re at the right place.”

She jammed her hand inside her purse, locked her fingers around the butt of her Glock, and whirled toward the male voice.

A mountain of a man smiled down at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

He stood too close, so Chris stepped backward. Something moved at her feet, and her gaze homed in on the dog looking up at her.

“Are you okay?” The tall stranger moved closer, reaching out as if to touch her arm.

“I’m fine.”
 

He dropped his hand, and she breathed a little easier. The beautiful dog lay down at her feet.

The man motioned with his hand. The dog immediately moved and stood at his master’s side. “Good dog.”

“Does he bite?” She kept a close eye on the animal.
 

“Not unless told to. Offer him the back of your hand and let him get your scent.” The man leaned down and scratched the dog’s ears. “Go ahead.”

Chris cautiously did as he suggested. The dog sniffed briefly and then rewarded her gesture with a lick. Her heart melted a little. “Aren’t you handsome?” She sank her fingers into the brown and white scruff around his neck. “What’s his name?”

“Diablo. And you are?”

“Not sure I should go in.” Chris still had second thoughts about bringing strangers into her problem. She hoped Dalton was right about this organization.