Authors: Jerrie Alexander
“That he wasn’t going to waste his breath by telling us to stay out of it. As if I’d leave it to the FBI to sort this out.” Marcus huffed a disgusted sound. “He knows that’s not going to happen.”
“The FBI is involved?”
“They are now that we’ve tied a dozen murders together. Small towns don’t have the wherewithal it takes to run an op like the feds. Local police departments usually ask for help for no other reason than the expense.”
“At last.” Chris breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Dalton said to add two pins to the map. Three days ago a waitress was slaughtered in Albany. She’d been raped and mutilated. He thinks it ties back to our killer.”
“You said two pins. Another woman died.” He nodded, and Chris’s minute of relief about the FBI getting involved vanished. “Where?”
“This morning a woman’s body was found in a suburb outside of Austin. She was house-sitting for a friend. The maid discovered her.”
The front door opened, and the smell of food escorted a young man inside. Chris’s stomach rolled up and wedged in the back of her throat.
Marcus paid the bill and Kay carried the sacks to the conference table. Marcus put his hand on Chris’s arm as they followed.
“You okay?”
“Was the second victim a blonde?”
Marcus hesitated, giving her the answer even before he spoke. “Yes. I mentioned that half of the victims were blond to Dalton.” Marcus tightened his grip, squeezed, and silently gave her the assurance she needed.
Kay passed out paper plates and chopsticks. “Could these new deaths mean he’s moved on? Gotten tired of tormenting Chris?” Kay held both hands up. “Not that I’m glad they died, but it does sound like he’s not even in this area anymore.”
“Surely the same person didn’t shoot Wayne, torch your house, and then drive to Austin to kill somebody.”
Kay leaned forward. “Could you be mistaken and someone other than this butcher is stalking you?”
“We’re not taking any chances.” Marcus shook his head. He turned and started out the door. “I need a fork. My hands are too big and clumsy to handle chopsticks. Chris, want me to bring you one?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Chris ripped the paper off her chopsticks, thinking that Marcus’s hands matched his body perfectly. She doubted he was clumsy.
“You like him.” Kay wasn’t asking. She’d been firm in her statement.
“Marcus?” Chris almost choked. “I hardly know him.”
“Hmm. You were a little dreamy-eyed just now.”
Chris couldn’t lie. “Who wouldn’t be? He’s gorgeous.”
“You might be just the ticket to bring him out of the shadows.” Kay pointed the chopsticks Chris’s direction. “Be sure you know what you’re doing. ‘Cause if you hurt him—”
“You’ll kick my ass.” Chris wished she had friends like Kay. Close friends who’d watch out for her.
“Something like that, yeah.”
With a couple of long strides, Marcus sat at the table and dug his fork into the pile of food Kay had dumped on his plate.
Chris’s brain locked down. Had he heard what they’d been talking about when he’d returned? She sneaked a quick glance at Kay only to find her wide-eyed and grinning.
He stopped mid-bite. “What? Did I interrupt something?”
“No. I was venting my frustration,” Chris said, winging it. “We’ve identified all these interesting facts that mean absolutely nothing.”
“Not necessarily so. There’s a telling thread connecting all those women, one we haven’t found.”
The phone rang, and Kay returned to her desk, leaving Marcus and Chris to finish eating lunch.
A cool, damp nose nuzzled her hand. “Hey, Diablo. Where have you been?”
“Kay made him a bed in the back corner. He sleeps most of the time when he’s here.”
Chris pulled a piece of chicken out of the rice and looked to Marcus. “May I give him this?”
One corner of Marcus’s mouth lifted, relaxing the tension in his face. “You might as well. You’ve already established yourself as his go-to human for the good stuff. He’s got a bowl of water and some dry dog food in the back, but obviously, he’d just rather eat yours.”
“I don’t mind sharing.”
“The fire freaked him out.” Marcus stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Here, boy,” she said, holding a piece of chicken down to the dog. Diablo was on his third piece when Marcus returned, carrying the leash. Diablo’s tail started wagging, and he abandoned her for his master.
“I’d better take him out. He’s partial to this nice strip of grass in the alley. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be right back.”
****
Diablo wasted no time taking care of his business. The minute he was finished, he tugged at the leash, ready to go back inside. Marcus opened the alley door to the office. “You’re not fooling me. You want to rejoin the ladies.”
The roar of a motorcycle stopped him. Nate drove around the corner onto the narrow road. He geared down his sleek chrome and black Harley to a rumble and made his way to where Marcus waited, who stepped back and waited until the bike’s engine was off.
“Rough visit?” Marcus asked, knowing the answer. Wayne’s death was hard on everyone who knew him. He and Tomas had become unofficial members of the team when not on duty.
“Yeah. Losing Wayne was tough for everyone who knew him.” Nate pushed the Harley through the door and parked it just inside. “I didn’t know what the fuck to say. ‘Our deepest sympathies’ had to suffice.”
“It’s never enough, but it’s all you can do.” Marcus unhooked Diablo’s leash and watched the dog trot straight to Chris. “Mooch,” he muttered.
“He’s in a hurry.”
“Yeah, to get back to Chris.”
“Kay texted she’d ordered Chinese for lunch. Any left?”
“Not if Chris has her way. She’s in the conference room, spoiling my dog.”
“He likes her.” Nate clapped him on the shoulder. “Kay says you like Chris, too.”
“Kay needs to stop texting shit she knows nothing about,” Marcus ground out.
Nate chuckled. “She’s usually right about this stuff. Affairs of the heart fall under her expertise. How’s Chris holding up?”
“Good, considering.” That was an understatement, and Marcus knew it. Some women would have fallen apart, burst into tears, or withdrawn. Not her. She held her own. “Which is why I let her share lunch with Diablo. After all the data we filtered through so far today, she needed the distraction.”
“Dalton’s file hadn’t come through when I left. What did he find?”
“A dozen murders. It’s obvious they’re linked, but at the same time...”
“What?”
“They’re not.” Marcus and Nate joined Chris and Kay at the conference table.
Nate picked up an empty container and peered inside. “I’m guessing I should’ve grabbed a bite before I came back.”
“You are so mistreated,” Kay said with a chuckle, shoving a sack toward him. “There’s a container of almond chicken for you and fortune cookies for us.”
The muffled sound of a phone chimed.
“It’s mine.” Chris grabbed her purse, fishing out her phone. A frown creased her forehead. “Very few people have this number.”
Chapter 12
DaVinci turned off the TV. He didn’t care that the entire city was outraged. The chief of police had promised to turn over every rock until they had the perpetrator who’d killed Wayne Kerns under lock and key. The cop shouldn’t have befriended Christine. It was her fault that she’d suffered another loss.
He rebooted his laptop and pulled up the film, growing angrier by the frame. He fast-forwarded past the part where he’d shot the cop in Christine’s parking lot. It was the shared embrace with the big man that DaVinci wanted to see again. It was totally unacceptable.
He watched the hug again and again. He imagined what it would be like to kill the man while she watched.
After she’d ridden off in the bastard’s car, Christine hadn’t returned. There’d been no sign of her, not during the night, and not this morning. What good was having a camera trained on her town house if she never went home?
Undaunted, he minimized that program and opened the GPS tracker. With a few keystrokes, he found her current location and knew exactly where she’d been. This little tracking device had proved more helpful than he’d expected. He’d identified each stop they’d made, jotted down the address of the house they’d shacked up in last night.
He’d hoped Christine had taken his message to heart. But, no. She was just like her sister.
The tracker on the friend’s car showed it parked in its current location for hours. A few additional keystrokes, and Google Earth satisfied his curiosity and provided him with perfect pictures.
What the hell was Lost and Found, Inc.?
He hated research, found it boring, but he needed this information. A laugh burst from him. She’d hired a private eye? To do what? Catch him?
They’d never stop him.
And nobody could save her.
Stupid woman. Did she think she was smarter than he was? She’d forced his hand.
He fished his private cell from his pocket. The one reserved for conversations with Michelangelo. DaVinci had long ago programmed in her number. He’d never actually called her, but it was time she knew he didn’t scare easily. The phone rang three times.
“Hello?” The word was a question.
“Do you think me so simple-minded that I would be afraid of a private eye?” Anger he’d been fighting to control flared, burning his flesh from the inside out. Flames he struggled to control turned into words and boiled out.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice had a hollow sound. As he’d expected, he was speaking to more than just Christine.
“You waste my time with your foolish questions. Ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”
“You don’t have to kill me. Even though I looked you in the face, I can’t identify you. Can’t remember a thing or you’d already be in prison.”
How could she have forgotten? He felt his control slip. “Tell the private eye to stay away, or I’ll kill him, too.”
“Come tell me yourself.” A male voice growled through the speaker. “Or does facing a man not excite you as much as killing helpless women or an unsuspecting cop?”
“Who are you?” DaVinci demanded.
“Marcus Ricci. You pick the time and place.”
“You people disappoint me. I won’t be goaded into meeting some gorilla in a dark alley.” DaVinci struggled to keep his voice calm. Christine should have been pleading for her life, bargaining with him to spare her new friends, not allowing some stranger into their private discussion.
“You’ll wish it was a gorilla.”
“Christine, this is your fault. Didn’t I just warn you not to bring outsiders into this?”
“You’re a sick man.” Her voice had a tremor. “You need help.”
“That train left the station years ago.” Goddamn it, he had to control his tongue. “Here’s a promise: Before you die, I’ll tell you everything.”
“But—”
He pressed the end button. Not that groveling would have done her any good. She’d sealed her fate long ago.
His cell rang seconds after he’d hung up on the bitch, startling him. He read the name, and the tension eased and flowed out of his body. Michelangelo was calling. Was he ready to admit defeat?
“Good afternoon,” DaVinci said without hesitation. His chest swelled with pride.
“You’re chipper today.”
“I am now that you’ve called.” DaVinci couldn’t hold back. “The pictures were spectacular, weren’t they?”
“My boy. This work is strong, bold, and thought out beautifully. I’m very proud of you.”
“And?” Excitement shot through his system. His mentor’s approval meant everything to him. The only father figure he’d ever known lavishing praise on him sent euphoric warmth wrapping around him. He’d missed this validation.
“How about we meet for dinner? And I’ll bring a check.”
“Think you could call in a favor and get us into Andre’s at seven?”
“Now you’re taking advantage of your win.” A warm chuckle from Michelangelo filtered through the phone. “Of course, I will. It’s good to know your creative juices are flowing again. When will you paint the abstract?”
The question surprised DaVinci. He had to deal with Christine first. “Soon.”
“Soon? You usually can’t wait to get a brush in your hand and get started. I had hoped this latest creation was an indication that you’d moved on and abandoned your obsession.”
“Can we talk about this at dinner?”
“Count on it.”
Michelangelo had hung up. They’d ended too many conversations over the past few months this way.
DaVinci stared at the silent phone, half-expecting to find
icicles
hanging from it.
Christine hadn’t suffered enough, not by a long shot. But the time had come to end her life. In his heart, he knew this was right. He’d kill her, not because Michelangelo had pressured him to, but because she deserved to die.