by Eve, Jaymin
20
A scratching sound filtered into my head, disturbing the unconsciousness I was existing in. A groan escaped from me as I gently shook my head. Opening my eyes proved to be more difficult than it normally would be, my head aching like I had the worst hangover of my life. It also seemed very bright behind my eyelids, but not warm. I wasn’t in the sun…
Wiggling forward, I paused because I was propped upright, but my hands were tied behind my back.
What the fuck?
I managed to pry one eye open, wincing at the sudden shock of light. A beam was shining directly at me, and I couldn’t see anything except dancing dots in front of my vision. When my other eye finally opened, I forced myself to look around, even though my eyeballs were watering so badly I was basically crying.
Where the hell was I? I tried to remember what had happened, but everything in my memory was dark. Shaking my head again, I worked at the bindings on my hands, trying my best to loosen them enough to free my arms. My legs were bound, too, one to each leg of the chair I was on, but I’d worry about that once my hands were free.
Rope cut into my skin, but I didn’t let that stop me. My head continued to pound away while I tried desperately to find my last memories.
Eventually some of it came back … the hard drive, the video in my apartment … dinner at Graeme Huntley’s.
I’d gone to Graeme’s with Beck. Had he done this? Kidnapped me.
A low screech from nearby as a door opened triggered me. Tires.
Jesus fucking Christ. The tires had exploded, and the Bugatti rolled.
Beck! Where the fuck was Beck?
Footsteps drew my attention, and I worked my wrists harder, ignoring the pain—at this stage it felt like I was completely rubbing my skin off, but if it got me free.
Because the lights were in my eyes, I couldn’t see anything except shadows. “Y-you’re making a h-huge mistake,” I stuttered, trying my best to death glare the shadow cloaked figure in front of me. I’d been so focused on my restraints that I hadn’t noticed my chattering teeth or the freezing cold seeping into my bones. Where the hell was I? Siberia? “Delta w-won’t take this lying down, and y-you know it. They’ll f-find m-me and then you’ll p-pay.”
“They won’t find you before I’m done,” the man replied, and I was shocked that it wasn’t Graeme’s voice. I was so sure he was responsible ... then again, he wouldn’t have been getting his hands dirty with this sort of shit. It was probably some paid muscle he’d hired to intimidate me.
He shifted into the light and showed me his face.
“You!” I sucked in a startled gasp, recognizing the man in front of me. But finding myself even more confused than ever. “You work for Huntley? I don’t get it. Were you at the police station to plant evidence or something?”
The good looking, dark skinned man—James? Johnson!—smiled a disturbingly charming smile at me, shaking his head like I was a damn moron.
“Quite the opposite, Miss Deboise. I was there to destroy evidence. Couldn’t have everyone screaming serial killer too soon, now could I? That would have ruined all my carefully laid plans.” He tilted his head to the side as he said this, like he was fascinated by what my reaction would be.
Thankfully, I’d been working really freaking hard on my Delta-face. While internally I was shaking and screaming, I kept my face blank and empty. If this fucker got off on seeing his victims afraid, he was shit out of luck with me.
So far.
“The rose,” I spat. “The one from Katelyn’s body. You got rid of it before the evidence was processed, so they wouldn’t link the crime to Cordelia June’s.”
Johnson nodded, smug as a cat in cream. “Yep, took a photo for her parents of course, and my own records, but then I ditched the rose. Didn’t want to tip you off too early.” He changed topics in a flash. “I could have killed you that night, you know? I was this close.” He held up his thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch apart, and I noticed he was wearing black leather gloves. In his other hand, a twelve-inch hunting knife gleamed as it caught the light. Of course he wore gloves. This guy was proving to be even more skilled than my guys and all their Delta training.
“So why didn’t you?” I asked. I had zero clue how I’d save myself from this situation which only seemed to be getting worse. Maybe if I could just stay alive then Beck…
That idea broke off as fast as it came, and I swallowed back a cry of anguish. Where was Beck? Had he survived the crash?
Regardless. Dylan, Evan and Jasper were still out there, and they’d become suspicious if we didn’t get home soon. Surely, they would find me. Us.
“Your constant bodyguard made things more complicated,” Johnson admitted. “None of my other ... the other girls didn’t have a boyfriend to work around. When I heard him saying he was moving in permanently, I saw my window closing and escalated things.”
I licked my lips and tasted blood. “So you object to killing men? I’m sure there’s some psychology there.”
Johnson gave me a sly grin, like I was being funny. “It doesn’t get my rocks off, if that’s what you’re implying but no, I have no issues killing anyone that gets in my way. Except Beck...” He trailed off with a shrug, and I knew what he meant.
“Except you don’t know that you’d win against Beck,” I finished for him. “You know he’s better than you.”
Johnson—surprisingly—nodded. “He is. Or he would be, any other day of the week. Since he met you, though, well he’s all kinds of distracted. If he hadn’t been too busy with his face buried between your legs, I never would have gotten close enough to deliver even the first bouquet.”
“So you tampered with his car. Too scared to take him on yourself, huh?” I was well aware that it wasn’t smart to taunt the killer with a knife, but I was pissed right the fuck off and it slipped through the cracks.
Johnson laughed. “Actually, that wasn’t me. I just took advantage of the opportunity it presented.” He casually placed the tip of his blade against my throat, then dragged it down my chest until he reached the neckline of my dress. He hadn’t pressed hard enough to cut, but I flinched nonetheless, then mentally kicked myself at the flare of excitement in his face.
“What do you mean?” I demanded, trying to keep him talking and not slicing me up. “You didn’t fuck with our car?”
“Nope,” he replied, angling the blade to the dead center of my chest and adjusting his grip. “If I was a betting man, I’d say Huntley saw a prime opportunity to open two extra seats on the Delta board. Wasn’t there some draconian rule about needing an heir to hold their position?” He said it like he didn’t care, but he’d clearly done his research.
Before I could reply, his hand tightened on the knife, his arm flexing.
My tenuous hold over my fear slipped, and I let out an involuntary scream before realizing he hadn’t stabbed me. He’d just sliced through the front of the navy dress I’d worn to dinner, leaving it open down to my waist and showing off the sexy lace bra I’d put on for Beck.
“Fear is such a pretty thing, don’t you think?” he purred, using his other gloved hand to stroke the pulse in my throat which must have been visibly pounding. My breath was coming in short, panicked gasps and it took every ounce of my willpower to force it slower and not give Johnson the satisfaction of my terror.
“I think we have different definitions of pretty,” I snapped back at him and really considered spitting like I had at Catherine on that first day. “What’s your deal anyway? Some heiress stand you up on prom night and you decided to start stalking and murdering chicks to make up for it? Ever consider therapy instead?”
A brief flicker of anger in his eyes was the only reaction I got, but it was enough to know I’d hit a nerve. Then again, the way he sliced his blade across my thigh would have told me I’d pissed him off too.
“Fuck!” I shouted before biting my tongue. The hot burn of pain lanced through me, and I ground my teeth together hard, trying so freaking hard not to cry.
I was going to die. Just like Katelyn, with dozens of stab wounds in my body. Never knowing if Beck was okay. Never knowing if we would beat Delta at their fucked up games.
“Why haven’t you just killed me?” I sobbed, the pain lancing through my nerve endings.
Johnson chuckled again, the anger gone from his face. Psycho.
“Where is the fun in that? I was fucking Katelyn for weeks before I ended her. She never had a clue about the person she invited into her bed, thinking herself all clever because she was fucking the police for inside information. Little did she know…”
Jesus. “You’re going to keep me for weeks?”
The blade was back on my skin, the blunt side dragging across my breasts. “That really depends on how good you are, doesn’t it, princess.”
He leaned in closer and pressed his lips to mine, the blade between us, and I fought my gag reflex because I wanted to vomit in his mouth. But I had to try and stay alive—at least give the guys a little time to try and find me.
So I did nothing. I let him press his lips to mine, and I didn’t bite them off like I wanted.
When Johnson pulled back, his face was lit up, pupils dilated. “That’s more like it,” he said softly. “I love my women, you have to understand. An obsessive love for a person who can’t love back because they’re too rich to even see those beneath them.”
His words were weird and disjointed, and it was very clear that he was insane. In a sane sort of way. He rose, turning to switch the massive spotlight off, and I could have groaned at the relief of not having a high beam in my face. My head ached, eyes watering as I let my head fall forward.
My eyes locked onto my thigh, blood pooling out of the wound and dripping to the floor. A slow plop, plop, plop as it oozed out.
Johnson was back in my face again, and I stifled the scream. “Now,” he said slowly, lifting his blade again, “where were we?”
21
Beck
It was nearing 1:00 a.m. when I entered the station. Stopping at the front desk, the woman looked up from her papers, and as she focused on my face, hers twisted, terror widening her eyes.
“I— Can I h-h-help you?”
I wasted no time on pleasantries. “I need the detectives in charge of the Osiria killer case.”
Dylan remained just behind me, and when her eyes flicked up to him, she visibly gulped. Neither of us were doing a very good job of hiding ourselves today. Right now, the world could see us in our true form, and it scared the fuck out of them.
She lifted the phone and called through, speaking only a few words.
“They’ve gone home for the night,” she told us breathlessly.
I leaned in closer. “Get them the fuck back. Now.”
She blinked before speaking into the phone again. When she dropped it down, she nodded to the seats behind us. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Please take a seat.”
Ignoring her, I leaned even closer so my forehead was almost pressed against the bottom of the glass panel. “I need you to give me files of all the staff and their dates of employment.”
She was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but that is all classified information—”
I slammed my hand on the desk, and she jumped in the air.
“Do as you’re fucking told. It’s not the night to piss me off, trust me.”
A tiny amount of fire entered her face, as she jumped back, clutching a folder to her body. She was in her forties, mousy brown hair, and large black-framed glasses. She was like a little mouse defying a fucking anaconda. “Don’t talk to me like that,” she said, soft but firm. “Threatening me will land you in jail.”
I laughed darkly. “Yeah, I don’t think so, love. See, I basically own this fucking station, and I will not hesitate to tear it to the ground if I don’t get what I need. Now.”
“Beck.”
I turned to the rumbly voice, seeing Captain Decker stride through the security door.
“Thought I heard your dulcet tones out here. What seems to be the problem?”
Decker went way back with my father—I didn’t trust him at all, but I knew he could get me what I want.
“I need all personnel files, with their start dates, and any vacation time and so on.”
I knew the killer had been out of town when that heiress was killed, and it would be easy to see if anyone had vacation days. Or if it was a new employee.
Decker watched me for a minute, and Dylan stepped closer to my back, ready for whatever was about to happen.
“Give him whatever he needs, Francine,” he said, turning to the woman.
She sucked in a deep breath but didn’t argue.
Smart move.
I drummed my fingertips on the counter, glaring down at her while she frantically bashed away at her computer to pull up the files I’d so politely requested. Decker cleared his throat in a pointed way, and I took my sweet ass time shifting my attention to him.
“Can I ask what this is all about, Sebastian?” he said it as politely as he could, but there was that edge of condescension that said he didn’t take me anywhere near as seriously as my father. That was an issue I needed to fix and couldn’t think of any better time like the present.
“It’s Mr. Beckett to you, Decker,” I snarled, channeling my father like I’d never done before. “Let’s not forget who pays that healthy second salary for you.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Francine’s cheeks flush and her eyes bug out, but she was smart enough to keep her head down and mouth shut.
Captain Decker, on the other hand, didn’t look like he was handling the power dynamic well. I couldn’t blame him too much. Until now, none of us heirs had shown any interest in personally dealing with the hundreds, if not thousands, of employees on Delta’s less than above board payroll.
“Now see here—” the Captain started, his face an unattractive shade of red as sweat formed on his shiny forehead.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Dylan commented, cutting him off. “In case you forgot, Beck turns twenty-one in a couple of months. We all know Rome has pretty much handed over the keys to the kingdom already, though.” His voice was quiet, conversational even, but the threat was clear.
Captain Decker took a few very visible breaths, his nostrils flaring and his face still pink with indignation as he looked between Dylan and myself. Finally, he turned his attention back to Francine—the safe option. “Are you finished printing those files yet?” he demanded, and the woman hurried to collect a stack from the printer and hand them across the counter. “Mr. Beckett, Mr. Grant, if you’d care to join me in my office? I’m sure I can help you navigate these documents a lot quicker if we can understand what you’re looking for?”
I gave Dylan a small head jerk and followed Decker through to his office with me bringing up the rear.
“There was a murder in Texas a couple of months ago,” I started when the door was closed behind us. “A young heiress stabbed to death by the killer dubbed the ‘Osiria killer,’ due to the rare roses he leaves behind.”
Decker nodded. “I’m aware of this, we suspect that the gifts being left for Miss Deboise are from the same killer. Detectives Shephard and Riggs said they spoke with you and left a protection detail?”
“Some protection,” Dylan muttered under his breath, and Decker scowled. I could tell how badly he wanted to call Dylan out and demand an explanation, but he bit his tongue at the last second. Wise.
“We think the killer is one of your cops,” I announced with zero emotions. It was safer that way, for everyone involved. “Riley was taken tonight by someone driving a police car. So we need your records to show new recruits and also who might have taken leave over the time Cordelia June was murdered. They’d also have had access to Riley’s so-called protection detail. This bastard was following us tonight.”
Decker had paled so much he looked almost gray. “You don’t need to check these.” He tossed the stack of papers onto his desk then circled around
to boot up his computer. A few quick seconds of tapping and he turned the screen toward us.
“Six weeks ago we took on seventeen transfers from out of state. Three of those came from Texas. All of them checked out, though. Clean as whistles.”
I sucked in a deep breath, staring at the screen where three officers’ mugshots were displayed alongside their basic details. “Shit.”
“Is that—” Dylan frowned at the screen then shot a look at me. “Did you know Johnson was back in town?”
“Fuck!” I shouted, spinning around and slamming my fist into the wall beside the door. The cheap drywall crumbled, and my hand went right through to the hollow interior, sending up a cloud of dust.
When I shook the shit off my hand and spun back around, Decker was looking at me with a stunned expression. “I take it you recognize Officer Johnson?”
“He transferred from Texas? From the same town as Cordelia?” I demanded, double checking what he’d just said. What my gut was telling me was true.
Decker nodded, and I needed to take a calming breath.
Of course, it could have been a coincidence. But only fools and dreamers believed in coincidences, and I was neither. This fucker ... he fit. Not only had he been in the right place at the right time, he’d been on Riley’s protection detail today. He had been following us, and we’d known. Worse yet, he was trained. Not in the ordinary police force kind of way, either. Delta wasn’t the only mega-power that wanted its future leaders to be trained and there were actual camps dedicated to providing that service.
That was where we’d first met Johnson, before we started at Ducis. He’d been heir to his own family’s immense fortune—albeit new money—until his father’s secret love child showed up. The details were hazy, but our spies told us that she somehow orchestrated for Johnson to be legally disowned. Tossed out on his ass.
“Explains how he was getting past us,” Dylan commented softly, and I shook my head in disbelief. Johnson was good. Crazy good. And totally, certifiably insane, even before the shit with his dad.