Her Last Day (Jessie Cole Book 1)

by T. R. Ragan

  She held his wrist, felt for a pulse, but there was none.

  Her stomach tightened as a sharp pain gripped her heart and squeezed.

  Garrett was dead. And now she was alone with a dead man.

  Her heart raced as she grabbed hold of the bars and shook them. “Let me out! I want out!”

  Unable to stop the tears from coming, she crawled back to where she’d been sitting before, got down on all fours, and felt around for the pile of things she’d collected. Her mind raced as she pulled the pen apart and then hid the coins under a pile of straw.

  Calm down, she told herself. You need to think. Think. Think.

  She’d already eaten the granola bar and now wished she’d saved half of it for later. She would ration the water. Before she had time to plan beyond that, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open, shedding a thick stream of light across the room.

  She could see Garrett now. His face was swollen and black, and he seemed to be looking right at her. She clutched her stomach as she looked away.

  Footsteps sounded, prompting her to reach out and grab the Taser. Her hands shook as she held it in front of her, her thumb ready to flip the switch when the time came.

  A match ignited. The oil lamps were lit, providing a soft glow.

  “Oh, would you look at that,” he said, walking toward Garrett so he could take a closer look.

  Don’t judge a book by its cover was the first thing that had gone through Erin’s mind when she’d awoken in the cell yesterday. She guessed her captor to be in his early thirties. He was clean-cut and newly shaved, just as he’d been when he’d offered her a ride. He was well spoken, too, and he had a nice smile. Nothing about him had set off alarms.

  But now she knew better.

  From outside the cell, he was touching Garrett, poking and prodding. Was he making sure he was dead? Or was he having fun with him even in death? The thought horrified her.

  Although Garrett wasn’t facing him, he reached through the bars, put a finger to Garrett’s lips, and wagged his finger back and forth, making a hollow popping sound emit from Garrett’s mouth.

  She held her breath.

  He pulled his hand back through the bars, never taking his gaze from hers—a cold, hard stare. If there was a devil, he was it. “Such a shame,” he said. “I was going to attach electrodes to his testicles and shock him.”

  Erin stiffened as she stared back at him, unblinking.

  He pressed his face up close to the bars. “You would have loved it.”

  Hoping to provoke him, she growled at him. “You’re a monster. A bloody monster.”

  He frowned.

  Come and get me, asshole. She needed to piss him off enough to get him to come inside so she could Taser him and then make a run for it. There was no way he was getting his weapon back without a fight.

  “I like you,” he said. “You have spirit.”

  “You are a disgusting pig.”

  He smiled.

  She couldn’t get over the fact that he looked like a regular guy. His light-colored hair was cut close around his ears. His bangs swept across a high forehead. Just a regular-looking guy. Had she seen him on the street, she never would have given him a second look. He could have been a professor or a grocery clerk. Nothing about him stood out.

  “I can make you do anything I want.” He smiled. “Anything.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oooh. A nasty girl with a foul mouth.” He made a slurping noise and then said, “Intoxicating.”

  She recalled Garrett telling her to do whatever the freak told her to do because otherwise he would get angry. And there was no telling what he would do if he was angry.

  Well, she wanted to find out. Better to anger him quickly, she thought, and possibly catch him off guard. Besides, the nine-volt battery in the Taser wouldn’t last forever.

  “Are you the Heartless Killer?” she asked.

  “What if I am?”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t make a difference one way or another. But it did matter. If he was the Heartless Killer, then that would mean he would never let her go, especially now that she could identify him.

  “Everyone is talking about you,” she said after a short pause. It was true. Parents had been worrying and lecturing their kids about the serial killer on the loose for years now. Mostly they said to stay alert, never walk home alone, and, of course, don’t talk to strangers. Until she’d been brought here, though, it had been white noise. The man standing before her had been like an old folks’ tale or the bogeyman under the bed. A bad guy nobody ever thought much about until another body was found. She remembered a friend telling her that the killer chose his victims at random, taking multiple victims before disappearing for months. They called him the Heartless Killer, but she had no idea why.

  “Have you watched the news lately or read the paper?” she asked when he didn’t respond. He just stood there staring at her, creeping her out, which meant he was winning. “I’ve read about the things your whore of a mother did to you,” she lied. “No wonder you’re a little messed up in the head.”

  His jaw twitched. That was a good sign. She needed him to lose control and hopefully enter her cell, where she would have the upper hand.

  “You need to shut that dirty mouth of yours,” he told her, “or I’ll make you eat crow. Literally.”

  Erin had never personally read one word about him. She had no clue what police investigators were saying, since she’d never cared one way or another.

  She cared now.

  The good news was she’d obviously triggered his anger, so she stuck with it. “I read that your slut of a mother forced you to take showers with her so you could soap her up real good and make her moan with pleasure.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a key.

  Come on. Come on. Her gaze kept landing on Garrett. She hoped the weirdo didn’t leave him hanging there. No one should have to die like that. Tortured for months in a cold, dank cell in some creepy man’s basement.

  Focus, she reminded herself as he unlocked the door. “You don’t even know who your father is, do you? Is it the postman? Or maybe it’s your next-door neighbor.”

  The door clanged open. He stepped inside. Smiling now, he ignored her verbal jabs as he approached. Two feet away from her, he stopped and stared. And then, without warning, he lunged, baring his teeth and curling his hands into claws as he came at her.

  She’d expected as much and jumped to the side.

  He jerked to the right. She moved to the left.

  He went left. She went right.

  His eyes were bright. It took her a second to realize he was in his element, toying with her, having fun. The second he stepped close enough, she jumped forward and jabbed the prongs into his chest. She held tight, giving him a good long jolt.

  He cried out as he fell to the ground, his arms and legs flailing.

  She had no choice but to hop over him, and when she did he grabbed hold of her ankle and yanked her to the ground. The Taser flew from her hands, breaking into pieces.

  He was laughing, his body no longer twitching. How could that be?

  She kicked and screamed, then reached around for his face and jammed her thumb into his eye.

  He cursed and let go.

  She jumped to her feet and scrambled through the cell door. She got as far as the bottom step before he grabbed her leg and she fell. Her chin hit the stair, sending a searing pain through her skull.

  “Nice try,” he said as he dragged her back to the cell. “You obviously know nothing about me. Because if you did, you would know I used to dream of being a Boy Scout someday. The Boy Scouts of America is one of the largest scouting organizations in the US. Be prepared!” He laughed. “Always be in a state of readiness in mind and body to do your duty!”

  Once they were inside the cell again, he released his hold on one of her legs so he could lift his shirt and reveal another layer of fabric.

  “It’s polyester,”
he said. “A special fabric neutralizes any stun-gun jolt. Works every time. Prisoner has my Taser and thinks he has the upper hand.” He laughed as if that was the funniest thing ever.

  Her heart raced. He was insane. She realized that this might be her last chance to get free. Before he reached for her leg again, she drew it back and slammed her foot into his shin.

  He cried out and stumbled backward, but he wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was prepared. Before she could get past him, he pulled a small canister from his waistband and sprayed her in the face.

  Her eyes burned. The pain was intense.

  He pushed her to the ground.

  Get out of here, she told herself. Get out now! On hands and knees, she scurried back to where she’d left her pile of makeshift weapons. The granola wrapper crunched beneath her fingers.

  Again his long, cold fingers grasped her ankles before he dragged her from the cell.

  No. No. No! She reached out blindly in front of her, arms stretching, fingers searching. The pen. Where was the pen? Her hand passed over the coins.

  “It’s time for you to take a time-out in the box.”

  NINE

  Jessie’s first stop after leaving Olivia home with the dog was her dad’s house in East Sacramento off Riverside Boulevard. It was the house where she and Sophie had been raised. With its unstable foundation, cracked walkways, and neglected grounds, she was surprised the property had been accepted as a pledge toward bail. She knocked on the door, three hard raps.

  Her dad used to be a carpenter, but after he’d started drinking, he couldn’t be trusted to show up on time. Now he worked as a handyman. Ethan Cole’s Handyman Services. She was about to get her hopes up when she heard lumbering footfalls approaching from inside.

  The door came open.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He tightened the sash on his robe. Although his thick salt-and-pepper hair was all over the place and he needed a shave, for a fifty-nine-year-old drunk, he was in pretty good shape. Clearly he wasn’t expecting visitors.

  “Can I come inside?”

  “Yeah, um, sure, of course.”

  She stepped past him, walked down the hallway and into the family room. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table, and clear plastic cups used as ashtrays were filled to the brim. When she opened a window to air the place out, she saw the old swing set out back, where she and her sister used to play when they were little girls. It was rusty now and had one broken swing that dangled from a chain.

  She went to the kitchen next and dug through drawers and cabinets until she found a garbage bag. As she walked around the family room, tossing empty cans and plastic cups into the bag, she held up an empty can of beer and said, “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  “Did you come here to lecture me?”

  “No. I guess not.” She set the can back on the table and the bag on the floor next to her feet. He might have his own handyman business, but he didn’t look very handy at the moment. “Don’t you work anymore?”

  “I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  She anchored her hair behind her ears. He was right. She hadn’t come all this way to make him feel like shit. “You shouldn’t have pledged your property, Dad. This house is all you’ve got.”

  “I’ve got you and Olivia.”

  “Not if you continue to drink yourself into an early grave.”

  “A few beers are all I had.”

  “Give me a break, Dad. It smells like Bourbon Street in here. There’s an empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the TV stand. Never mind that it’s noon and you look as if you just dragged yourself out of bed.”

  “Why do you do this to me?”

  “What am I doing to you, Dad?”

  “I try to do something good, and you come over here pointing accusing fingers at me. I had a few friends over last night. That’s all.”

  All he did was lie. “I never should have come.”

  “Why did you?” he asked as he followed her to the door.

  “To say thank you. It was a dumb idea.”

  “This is all your mother’s fault, you know. She always wanted to turn you girls against me, and she did exactly that when she left us all here to rot.”

  “Jesus, Dad.” Jessie turned toward him before opening the door. “Mom left a zillion years ago. Get over it. Thousands of men have been fucked over by their wives and vice versa. That’s life, Dad. When are you going to get that? You,” she said with an admonishing finger, “are the only one who can choose to change your life for the better. Friends and family have offered you help. I have offered you help, but for whatever reason, you just want to sit in your stupid recliner, guzzle booze, and sulk. I refuse to watch you continue to ruin your life because one selfish woman decided to up and leave.”

  His eyes watered, but she felt no sympathy. She’d seen it before. “You’ve already wasted too many years. It’s time for you to realize you deserve better and then make some changes.” She opened the door and stepped outside.

  “How did you do it?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “Do what?”

  “How did you stop thinking about her?”

  She knew he meant Mom. “It was easy. Two months after she left, I read about a plane crash that killed everyone on the flight. I told myself she was on that plane. I even picked out which seat she’d been sitting in when it went down.”

  Jessie didn’t wait for a response. She just walked off. No goodbye. No hug. No friendly wave. Just like always.

  It was after one o’clock when Jessie arrived at the bank dripping with sweat. She should have taken her car instead of hopping on her bike.

  Adelind Rain, the woman who had hired her to follow Parker Koontz, was a bank teller. The moment Jessie walked through the door, Adelind saw her and gestured for her to have a seat. Fifteen minutes later, Adelind approached and asked her if it was okay if they talked outside. The young woman was taller than Jessie remembered. Her light-colored hair was pinned back in a sleek and fashionable topknot. Everything about her was striking.

  Jessie followed her out the double doors and to the right, where a couple of benches had been placed for workers to take a break. Traffic was thick this time of day. Across the street were apartment buildings, a coffee shop, and a Mexican restaurant. Another bank employee stubbed out a cigarette in the dirt circling a tree and headed back inside.

  “I only have a few minutes,” Adelind told her. “What’s going on?” She looked around worriedly. “Is he here?”

  “I take it you haven’t seen the news.”

  Adelind pulled a face. “It’s too depressing.”

  “Parker Koontz is at the hospital. He’s in critical condition.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How?”

  Jessie pointed across the way. “He stood at that street corner yesterday waiting for you to appear. I knew you had taken the day off, but he didn’t. When he left, I was following him through Capitol Park when suddenly he turned and fired two shots at me. I fired back. Hit him in the chest.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. He was shooting blanks.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. But his partner at the law firm is upset. Apparently Koontz had been telling him he was the one being stalked and harassed.”

  “That bastard.”

  Jessie nodded. “The woman he’s been describing looks a lot like me.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I’ll have to make a court appearance in a few weeks, and I’ll need your help to prove he’s been stalking you and others. The first time we talked, you hinted about not being the only woman Koontz has been harassing. I need a name.”

  Adelind said nothing.

  “My ass is on the line here,” Jessie said, wondering why she would hesitate.

  “Fiona Hampton is the other woman who was stalked by Koontz. She works at the coffee shop on the corner of Sixteenth and N.”

  “Are you two friends?”
<
br />   “No. About a month ago, I was waiting in line for my coffee order when Fiona asked me if I knew the man in the suit sitting at the table outside. Although I had never seen him before that day, it was Parker Koontz. She said he was a pervert and that he’d stalked her for weeks before finally disappearing.” Adelind took a breath. “Fiona said that wasn’t the first time she’d seen him follow me to the coffee shop. I was surprised, but I wasn’t too worried. I went outside to confront him, but he rushed off before I could talk to him. Sure enough, after that day, I saw him everywhere. It didn’t matter where I went—to the grocery store, to work, to a bar to meet a friend, he would show up. That’s when I knew I had to do something to stop him.”

  “Did you ever try to confront him after that first time?”

  She nodded. “More than once. He was always far enough away to run off before I could catch up to him. I called the police a couple of times, hoping they could question him, but he always disappeared before they showed up.”

  “So he never approached you or tried to have a conversation with you?”

  “Never. But there is more to the story that I haven’t told you. Only because I thought I was being paranoid. As of last night, though, I knew it wasn’t my imagination. Someone has been in my house when I’m gone.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure I have enough proof.”

  “How do you know someone has been inside your home?”

  “Lots of little things,” Adelind said. “A brand-new carton of milk, opened and half-gone by the time I got home from work. The smell of my perfume in the garage. A dirty glass left in the sink. And pictures on the wall that had been reorganized. I was really starting to think I might be going crazy. But then I decided to conduct a test. I placed my workout clothes neatly on my bed. When I came home, they’d been moved, everything back where they belong.”

  Jessie whistled through her teeth.

  Someone exited the bank. “Adelind,” the woman called. “Jerry is looking for you.”