Jeremiah sat in his car, staring at the home of his nemesis, Detective Hayden Eldridge. After escaping the trap set for him, it had only taken ten minutes to track Eldridge’s car to his home on Staten Island, then thirty minutes to arrive at the location. His anger over being tricked hadn't lasted long. In fact, for the first time since he began his work, he finally felt challenged, exhilarated by the thrill of the chase. Where most of the others had been easy, this was the first time he was in real danger. And he felt alive. Something he hadn’t felt in almost a year. When his sister had been murdered, he had withdrawn from the few around him he had previously let in, including Father O’Neil. Once the news had revealed the identity of Logan and Aaron, a few minutes on the computer had netted him their home addresses. At first he had contented himself with the knowledge their lives as they knew them were over due to the media attention, but when he finally let himself go back to the church, a sermon about judgment day tweaked something inside him. When the DA had refused to press charges against the bystanders, he knew judgment day for the guilty wouldn’t come from the court of man, but from the court of God. And he wasn’t willing to let them live the rest of their lives before facing His judgment.
He set his plan into action after doing some research into enhancing security camera footage with computer software. It didn’t take long to track down the software, and after befriending Messina on a bereavement chat room, he had access to the necessary hardware to do it. Messina needed someone to cover some shifts for him while he took care of his dying wife, otherwise he might lose his job. Jeremiah offered to cover for him and split the pay. Messina had jumped at the offer, and Jeremiah used the NerdTech credentials to gain access to computers far more powerful than he had access to.
It took months before he finally had all their faces. As each bystander became recognizable, he began tracking them down. Hacking into the Public Defender’s computer had netted him Tammera Coverdale, William Hanson and Nathan Small. Logan and Aaron he already had, and Aynslee Kai he recognized from television. The other three had proven a challenge. He spent months going through hacked footage from the subway security cameras, and spent every spare moment on the subway looking for them. But in the end he had found them all. Abigail he found by tracking back what stop she boarded on, then by seeing she had used a transit pass. He hacked the database, got the records for everyone who had gone through during the same time window, and found her. Ibrahim he stumbled upon six months into the process, on the same route as that night, returning home from his work as a cab driver.
It was Eunice Henry that had proven to be the most trouble. She had disappeared. He tracked her from the subway, but then couldn’t find her. This was where NerdTech had helped. By using his credentials and the van, he was able to visit businesses near the subway exit and pretend to be on a service call. He would access their security footage and after painstaking work, found bank footage of her hailing a cab. Video enhancement revealed the cab number, and a quick hack of their database revealed the destination. Posing again as a NerdTech employee, he knocked on each individual apartment door, until he had it narrowed down to one unit, a unit where an old lady lived, an old lady who hadn’t stepped from her apartment in months. That was when he knew he had the last one, and his plan could begin.
And tonight it would finally end. Today is your judgment day, Aynslee Kai.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This is it! He took the gun off the seat beside him and stuffed it in his belt. Popping the trunk, he climbed out of the car and removed a crowbar. Gently closing the lid, he looked around the quiet neighborhood to see if any nosy neighbors were about. Seeing no one, he walked purposefully toward the opening in the hedge, and once through, darted to the side of the house. Peering into a darkened window he saw nothing except the faint glow from a light elsewhere in the house. Moving to the next window, a bright sliver of light shone between two heavy curtains blocking most of his view, the little he could see appeared to be a kitchen. He leaned in closer, pressing his face to the glass. His heart leapt as he saw the detective walk directly in front of him.
Aynslee's vision was blurred, but she could still make out Hayden as he reached out and caressed her cheek. What's going on? Her emotions were a bundle of confusion. She had to warn him, but shouldn’t he be wondering why she had collapsed? And why was he touching her face? He was finally showing her the attention she had craved, and it was freaking her out. Something is wrong!
“You'll do perfectly, my love.” He leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
Her heart pounded in excitement and fear. This isn’t right! Why was he kissing her? Why wasn’t he concerned she was lying on the floor? As he continued to kiss her, his lips moving against her frozen mouth, it became terrifyingly clear. He drugged me! Not Jeremiah! Any trace of excitement was wiped away, leaving only a terror that pulsed adrenaline through her veins, giving her a moment of control. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead found him shoving his tongue in her mouth, moaning in pleasure, as if she had willingly parted her lips to participate in his twisted assault. Oh my God, he's crazy! She tried to pull away, but her muscles were no longer hers to control, whatever drug he had given her now having taken over. She felt the last threads of consciousness leaving as she slid down the wall, mercifully breaking the kiss she had so longed for.
Eldridge looked down at her and smiled. She is beautiful. The kiss had been perfect; his raging erection proving to him that she was the one. She would be his forever. Together they would become one, fulfilling each other’s desires, the end of a quest almost two decades in the making, finally at an end. He scooped her tenderly off the floor and lifted her head higher toward his face. He inhaled deeply, her delicate perfume, mixed with her natural scent, intoxicating. He kissed her neck and she gave a slight whimper but remained asleep. Careful to not hit her against any walls, he carried her into the kitchen, and laid her gently on the floor. He bent over and grabbed the edge of a large mat and tugged, pulling the kitchen table and its four chairs, toward the center of the room. He moved his precious cargo to the floor previously occupied by the table, and reached up, unhooking several chains disguised to look like part of the lamp hanging overhead. He hooked four of them to bolts in the floor, then unwound a long, looped chain, letting the slack fall to the floor with a clatter. Gazing down at the sleeping figure, he smiled. Absolute perfection. She's the one. Pulling on the chain, the floor slowly lowered.
And he began to hum.
Shakespeare slammed his phone against the roof of his car. Where the hell is he? He stood in front of Aynslee Kai’s apartment building with four uniforms, one officer in disguise, and two surveillance techs. And nobody knew where Eldridge or Aynslee had gone. When Shakespeare questioned them, everyone knew about the decoy, but none the end game. Eldridge had told him nothing, which wasn’t surprising with the way their relationship had been over the past several years, but for him to not tell anybody made no sense. He had placed almost a dozen calls to Eldridge's cell phone but it kept going to voice mail. And it wasn’t like him to turn off his phone. Shakespeare was officially nervous. Eldridge was alone with the killer's target, at an unknown location, and the killer had escaped the trap, apparently so well hooked into every facet of the case, he just might know what they didn’t.
Where the hell did they go?
“Where would I go?”
“Huh?”
Shakespeare looked through Frank as an idea formed in his head. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere I knew.”
“Home?”
Shakespeare nodded. “Can you pull up his home address on one of your computers?”
“Who needs a computer?” Frank whipped out his phone, and a flurry of thumbs later, he handed it to Shakespeare. “Here you go.”
Shakespeare took the phone and saw Eldridge’s home address displayed on the screen, along with a map. He jumped in the car and squealed away from the curb, leaving the others wondering whether or not they should be sticking around.
&nb
sp; What the hell is he doing?
Jeremiah watched the detective through the window as he pulled on a chain and slowly lowered out of site with his target. This is fucked up. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but with Eldridge apparently in the basement, this was his opportunity to get inside. He crept further down the house and stopped at a window he was certain was far enough from where Eldridge last was to not be heard. He shoved the crowbar between the window and the sill, working it around until it at last slid under. He yanked down and the wood splintered as the window ripped from the lock inside, rising about an inch. He shoved the window up with the crowbar then tossed it aside. Hoisting himself onto the ledge, he peered inside, the ambient light from the street lamps casting a pale glow, revealing a small powder room. He struggled the rest of the way onto the ledge, then swung his legs inside, careful to not bump anything that might alert Eldridge to his presence. His feet planted firmly on the floor, he pulled his gun from his belt and stepped toward the open door.
Eldridge gazed at his latest, and last, candidate as she slept soundly, a peaceful smile on her face, her hair, a perfect gold, splayed across the platform. Crouching down, he picked her up and walked over to the mattress on the cellar floor he had dug out years before in his quest to replace the only woman he had ever loved. New candidates didn’t normally merit a mattress, they had to earn it. Good behavior was important. If they ate their food and drank their water, they would be rewarded with a mattress and a light. After all, he did want them to feel at home. If they passed all of the tests, the successful candidate would become his wife. He wasn’t a fool, he knew they hated him, but they would learn to love him eventually. And when that day came, they would live forever happy in each other’s arms. And this candidate, this perfect specimen, had fallen right into his arms. He hadn't even been looking and she had turned herself into the perfect vision. And she already liked him, he knew. Her constant flirtations hadn’t gone unnoticed. She would be much easier than the others, she would love him. She’s the one. Looking down at her, the stirrings of an erection sent his heart racing with excitement. It’s been so long since I've felt this! He was on fire, elated he had found her, had found the one. Caressing her face, he straightened her hair and leaned in to place a kiss on her full, sensuous lips. She wants me to kiss her, just look at her. She wants me to!
A floorboard overhead creaked.
Jeremiah froze, his heart in his throat. He lifted his foot slowly and the floorboard creaked back up. He cringed. There’s no way he didn’t hear that! Walking as near the floor edges as possible, his gun extended in front of him, he crept toward the light at the end of the hallway. He rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. What kind of twisted shit is this? He found the table and chairs that he had witnessed the detective move earlier, all sitting on a large mat, out of place in front of the cupboards, and, where the table should be, lay a hole in the floor, maybe six-foot square, with chains hanging from overhead, extending down and out of sight, into what he imagined must be a basement. What the hell kind of basement doesn’t have stairs? He listened but heard nothing. Certain they were in the basement, he inched forward and peered over the edge and down. About ten feet below, the dark brown dirt of the floor contrasted starkly with the bright white of a mattress off to one side. And his target, Aynslee Kai, lay atop it, a chain with a pair of unfastened handcuffs, rested in front of her. What is he doing with her? This isn’t right! He stepped around the hole to see another angle when the long, floor to ceiling curtain to his right fluttered.
Jeremiah spun as a figure surged from behind the curtains, raising his hands to try and fend off the impending blow. His attacker’s outstretched hands made contact, shoving him backward toward the opening. He twisted around and flung himself at the other side of the gaping hole, but fell short. One foot fell into the void and the fingers of his left hand barely gripped the other side of the floor as he desperately tried to hold on to the gun with his right. He reached forward but slipped further, both legs now dangling into the emptiness below. The hand holding his gun slipped down to his side and he let go of the weapon, reaching now with both hands as he tried to pull himself up, the gun clattering on the platform beneath. As he swung from the edge, he eyed the basement below and knew if he fell inside he would never get out. He raised his head and saw Eldridge staring down at him as he slowly stepped around the hole. Eldridge lifted his foot and stomped on the fingers of Jeremiah’s right hand. He cried out in pain as he yanked them back. Now dangling from just four fingers, he watched Eldridge raise his foot again but before he could lower it, Jeremiah let go, tumbling backward into the basement below. Hitting hard on his tailbone, he continued backward and smacked his head against the wood of the platform. His vision blurred as he began to black out, but within moments it cleared, revealing Eldridge dangling from the edge, then dropping to the floor from above, Jeremiah scrambled back, trying to get to his feet, but Eldridge rushed forward and grabbed hold of Jeremiah’s shirt, dragging him toward Aynslee and the handcuffs.
Eldridge snapped the handcuffs on Jeremiah’s wrist and stepped back to assess this new situation. He had reacted instantly upon hearing the floorboard creak, his height proving an invaluable advantage as he leapt and grabbed the edge of the floor above, swinging himself up into the kitchen, and secreting himself behind the curtain just before his intruder entered. What the hell am I going to do now? He looked at Jeremiah as the young man gingerly touched the back of his head, glowering at him. “Jeremiah Lansing, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Likewise, I'm sure.” Jeremiah's voice dripped with sarcasm as he looked around him. “What the hell is this place?”
Eldridge looked around, his eyes finally resting on Aynslee’s sleeping form. “It's a place you were never invited to, a place you were never meant to see. A private place, a place for remembrance, for rediscovery.” He paused, took a deep breath, and whispered, “A place to find something I lost.” His eyes focused on her breathing, her chest slowly rising and falling, as she lay there, innocent, like the day he had first laid eyes on her. He smiled and turned his gaze to his prisoner, raising his voice. “And it’s where you will be shot, trying to kill your final victim, by me, the heroic police officer, just doing his duty.”
“You're one sick fuck!” spat Jeremiah. “What were you going to do with her?”
Eldridge’s gaze returned to Aynslee and he stepped toward her, kneeling down. “I'm going to make her mine,” he said as he stroked her long, blonde hair. He heard her sigh and his heart leapt in joy. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the warmth of her skin on his, the gentle touch of her breath as he traced his fingers over her lips. He sighed.
Jeremiah’s stomach churned as Eldridge pawed at Aynslee’s face. He looked around for a way out. He had intended to die, but a death-by-cop situation was more what he had in mind, not death-by-psycho-cop. “You're one of those sick freaks you read about, aren't you?” Eldridge stopped and looked back at Jeremiah. Jeremiah gulped. He had to buy time. “What are you going to do to her?”
Eldridge rose and looked down at him. “I don't see what concern it is of yours.”
Jeremiah tried to act casual, shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, I don't care what you do with her, I'm just curious. You know what I was going to do.”
Eldridge frowned. “Yes, I know, Mr. Lansing. You've left quite the trail behind you, and as a police officer, I would normally arrest you. It's unfortunate I’m going to have to kill you, but if I don't, Sarah and I may not get a chance at a life together.”
“Sarah?” Who the hell is he talking about?
Eldridge looked momentarily confused and glanced at Aynslee. “Miss Kai.”
Jeremiah needed to get Eldridge to lower his guard, and his clear obsession with Aynslee was his best chance at doing it. Looking over at her, he smiled. “You know, I don't blame you, she is gorgeous.”
“Yes, she is,” said Eldridge, returning his attention to Aynslee.
“Do you love her?” asked Jeremiah, in as caring a voice as he could muster.
“I've loved her most of my life.”
Most of his life? But I know he just met her? “How did you meet?”
“It was on Coney Island. We were both teenagers. Our parents had brought us there and we met in the lineup to get cotton candy.” Eldridge knelt back down beside Aynslee and turned her face toward him. “She didn't have enough money with her so I gave her the extra quarter she needed. She thanked me and kissed me on the cheek.” His voice cracked as he ran his fingers through her hair, lifting his hand and gently letting the strands stream through and back down to the mattress. “When she sat on a nearby swing, I asked if I could join her. I had never asked a girl anything like that before, but there was something intoxicating about her that gave me the courage to ask. She said yes and we sat on those swings for hours, eating our cotton candy and just talking. It was the last time I can remember being truly happy.” He smiled at her then turned his head toward Jeremiah. “Have you ever known love?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “No, never.” He was surprised at how much it hurt to say.
Eldridge nodded and looked back at Aynslee. “Neither had I until that day. I knew at that moment I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“What happened?”
“We made arrangements to meet, but on the way home, there was an accident.” His voice cracked. “My mother was killed.” Tears rolled freely down his cheeks and Jeremiah couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, knowing how he had felt when his sister had died. “I wasn’t able to meet her. My father ripped up her number when I said I wanted to call her.” He wiped the tears from his face and continued, his voice barely a whisper. “I've been looking for her ever since. A lot of times I thought I had found her, but they turned out to not be her.” He wiped away a tear that had fallen on her cheek. “When I saw her I knew she was the one I had lost so many years ago. It was fate that brought us together.”
Jeremiah hesitated to ask, but his own curiosity won out. “How many women have there been?”
“Dozens over the years.”
“Dozens?” Bile began to rise in Jeremiah’s throat.
“Oh, don't get me wrong, most I found out quickly weren't her, there's only been a handful I've invited home.”
“Invited? Is that what you call it?” Jeremiah immediately regretted his question.
Eldridge’s head snapped toward him, his eyes glaring. “You're just trying to delay the inevitable.” Eldridge pulled Jeremiah’s weapon from his belt and motioned toward the far wall. “Against the wall!” Jeremiah stood and backed toward the wall as Eldridge stepped onto the platform and pulled on the chain, slowly raising the platform until he disappeared.
Jeremiah immediately reached in his pocket and fished out a handcuff key he always carried, just in case he might need it some day. He unlocked the cuffs, then looked around but saw nothing he could use as a weapon. Aynslee moaned and rolled onto her back. Jeremiah walked over, knelt down beside her and slapped her face lightly, trying to revive her.
“Come on lady, wakeup!” He slapped her again, this time a little harder. “Wake up!”
The sting of something hitting Aynslee’s face sliced through the fog filling her head. The earnestness with which the voice urged her on forced her to focus as she willed her way to consciousness. Another slap, this time harder, stung enough for her to gasp and open her eyes, revealing a blurred image of someone looking down at her. She blinked several times and the face came into focus, sending her heart racing as her chest tightened in terror. Jeremiah! She scrambled back, hitting a wall behind her. “Stay away from me!”
Jeremiah raised a hand to calm her down. “Listen lady, I'm not going to hurt you. We've got bigger problems, you hear?”
Unconvinced, Aynslee quickly glanced around then scrambled into a far corner. “Wh-what do you mean?”
Jeremiah threw up his hands. “Jesus Christ, lady, look around you, you're in a fucking dungeon!”
As his words echoed in her head, her memories flooded back. The meal. Her feeling like she had been drugged. Eldridge looking down at her then kissing her. She looked around. Where the hell am I? “What is this place?”
“We're in the basement, under his kitchen.” Pointing at the kitchen floor over their heads, he traced the platform’s outline above them. “He's got some kind of pulley system that raises and lowers a platform in here.”
“But why?”
“He seems to think you're some long lost love of his named Sarah.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah, and looking at this setup, I don't think you're the first one he's had down here.”
The fog in Aynslee's head cleared, she took stock of her situation. Looking at the young man in front of her, the irony of her serial killer being the victim of her other serial killer struck her as oddly humorous. But not enough to make her laugh. God, what did I do to deserve this? “He's going to kill us, isn't he?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “No, he's going to kill me. You, I think he's going to marry.”
“Marry? That'll be the day.” She felt a twinge in her heart. If Eldridge had simply asked her out, she would have said yes, and may have never known the true psychopath he was. There but for the grace of God …
“Something tells me he won't take no for an answer. This guy's in love. You should’ve seen him. Creepy.”
A harrumph escaped Aynslee’s throat. “You're one to talk.”
Jeremiah looked at her and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess, eh? You're a reporter. Did you figure out why I did what I did?”
“You mean kill all those people?”
Jeremiah nodded.
“Patricia Arnette was your sister. You killed the people from the train who didn't help her.”
“Right. And you were one of them.”
“Maybe you should know some things. You remember Tammera Coverdale?”
“Of course.”
“I did a piece on her after you sent your first video, after the police identified her. She was engaged to be married.”
“Yes, I knew that. I watched them all for months. I probably know them better than they know themselves.”
“Did you know that her father was so distraught he attacked me and was arrested, that her mother tried to kill herself? He was put on suicide watch while he was in custody, that's how distraught he is over his daughter's death.”
Jeremiah remained silent.
“Ibrahim Jamar, the cab driver, was married with a young daughter.”
“I know.”
“Did you know he was forced to watch while his wife and daughter were brutally raped by the Janjaweed in the Sudan?”
Jeremiah paused. “No. No, I didn't know that.”
“Yes, and now because of you, that poor woman has experienced tragedy for the second time in her life, and has to live with not only the memory of the rape, but the murder of her husband before her very eyes.” She looked into Jeremiah's eyes, searching for some sign of remorse. “Nathan Small, the amputee? He fought in Afghanistan and saved his entire platoon in an ambush. He was rushing onto your subway car to try and save your sister, and even tried to chase the men who attacked her but was too slow because of his legs. Did you know that?” demanded Aynslee.
“No,” Jeremiah mumbled.
Aynslee continued. “And you may have had a problem with William 'Lance' Hanson being gay, but he was a loving brother to a young sister who adored him, and now she's lost her brother just like you lost your sister.” She watched for a moment as tears welled in Jeremiah's eyes. “Those people you killed, they were real people, with real people who loved them, and now, thanks to you, those people feel just as alone as you do without your sister.”
A single tear rolled down Jeremiah's cheek as his heart thumped in his tightening chest, the rush of blood filled his ears as the growing pit in his stomach threatened to heave with guilt. What have I done? He pictured his sister and her bea
utiful smile that had lit his heart for the last time. He remembered the excitement of discovering he wasn’t alone, the excitement they had both felt. Her eyes had reminded him so much of his mother's it had brought tears to his eyes when he first looked in them. The moment he spotted her sitting in the booth at the Brooklyn Diner he had an immediate connection. She was family. A family he was certain he had lost forever. He had felt happy. Truly happy. Truly happy for the first time since his parents had died. And he had wanted to share this by bringing her to meet the closest thing to family he had had until he met her, Father O'Neil, for it was Father O'Neil who had encouraged him to find her and he couldn’t wait for them to meet. He collapsed to the floor and looked up at the ceiling above, piercing it with his eyes as he tried to reach out to his beloved victim.
“Forgive me, Father!”
The night’s events rushed back, fresh for the first time in a year, the waiting on the platform for the subway to arrive, the two black teenagers racing down the stairs, the doors opening and he and Patricia stepping aboard as the two teens jumped through the doors, laughing loudly. He remembered Patricia squeezing past them and taking a seat, and when he tried to join her, the one loud kid yelled at him when he made eye contact, thrusting his chest out at him, hammering it with his fist and yelling something about respect. He had immediately dropped his gaze, but it was too late. His challenger shoved past him, sending him into a nearby seat occupied by a woman busy on her BlackBerry. Aynslee! He watched in horror as the teenager sat down beside his sister and placed his arm around her. She yelled at him to get his hands off of her and he immediately started cursing, jumping from the seat, flailing his arms about. Patricia pushed her way toward where he was and they headed for the doors when he was yanked from behind and thrown to the floor. He remembered looking up to see the horrified expression on the face of a woman as she stared at him, her eyes wide open. Abby! He felt hands on him as someone tried to help him up but he had struggled against them and pushed them away. Lance!
He had watched, paralyzed in fear, as the boy shoved Patricia from behind, causing her to stumble forward and fall to the floor. He winced at the memory of his sister being kicked, over and over, all the while her attacker cursing at her, spitting on her, mocking her cries for help. He had struggled to his feet and rushed to help her, but as soon as he saw the outline of a gun pointing through the pocket of the attacker’s jacket, the menacing look as he threatened to shoot him, he collapsed. The memory of fainting brought an overwhelming sense of shame as intense now as it was then. When he woke a few moments later they were still kicking his sister, but, too terrified to move, he played possum. He remembered seeing a black man gripping his chair, staring at him, an elderly woman crying, and those two damned bastards taping the whole thing. And then he remembered it. Something he hadn't remembered until this very moment. It was a man, yelling as he struggled through the adjoining car’s door. It was Nathan Small, his artificial limbs slowing him down in his effort to reach the attackers.
Someone had tried to save her.
He looked back at Aynslee, tears freely flowing down his cheeks. “Detective Eldridge asked me if I had ever known love.” He paused and took a deep breath, stifling a sob. “I said no, but I lied. I did know love once. It was for my sister. From the moment I laid eyes on her I loved her, with all my heart. And I only got to love her for three hours and forty-two minutes.” He looked at Aynslee. “That's all I got to spend with her. Three hours and forty-two minutes! And then those two animals killed her and I was too terrified to stop them.” He lowered his chin and sobbed, his shoulders shaking out of control.
Aynslee reached out and laid her hand on top of his. “We all were, Jeremiah. We were all terrified.” He looked up at her but couldn’t speak, his body racked with sobs. “Your sister didn't deserve to die, but neither did those other people. You know that now, don't you?”
Jeremiah nodded as he continued to cry. “I'm sorry,” he wailed. “Oh, God, what have I done?” Father, I'm so sorry! He covered his face with his hands as Aynslee put her arms around him. He buried his head in her shoulder as she rubbed his back. The overwhelming grief and shame he had felt for over a year, the grief and shame he had kept bottled inside, finally released, and it felt good, it felt good to be held, to remember what had happened not only to his sister, but to him. It felt good to feel like a victim should feel, sad, angry, the roller coaster of emotions that came with grief, a roller coaster kept in its gate for a year, finally rushing down the track in a torrent of emotion so cathartic, his sobs soon stopped, a tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders, and another, heavier weight, a weight of realization of what he had done, beginning to set in.
He pulled away and looked at Aynslee. “I'm sorry, Miss Kai, I'm sorry for everything I put you through.”
She smiled at him, a smile that made him feel some day, some day he might be forgiven for what he had done. “I know you are, Jeremiah.”
The distinct rattle of the chain overhead startled them both. The platform creaked and dropped several inches, sending Aynslee scrambling for the corner. Jeremiah grabbed her arm and pulled her close, cupping his hand over her ear. “When the platform’s half way down I'm going to jump him. You go for help.” She nodded, lay back down and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Jeremiah turned his attention to the platform as it inched lower, revealing more of their captor with each pull of the chain. He hugged the wall and edged his way around their prison, positioning himself at Eldridge's back, waiting for the platform to be low enough for Aynslee to jump onto, but not too low for Eldridge to be able to see he was hiding from him. His heart pounded in his chest, his fingers dug into the dirt wall as he took a step forward and leaned over, ready to charge, surprise essential to saving their lives. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead as Eldridge’s torso came into view.
The descent stopped.
Eldridge leaned forward and reached behind him, pulling out the gun tucked in his belt. Jeremiah sprang forward and shoved the platform hard, swinging it violently away from him. Eldridge stumbled backward and grasped at the chain, trying to steady himself. Jeremiah jumped up, his chest now on the platform, and grabbed Eldridge by the ankles, pulling with all his might as he let his body drop off the platform. Eldridge fell forward hard, the upper half of his body tumbling over the unstable platform’s edge then onto the hard floor below. Jeremiah dove on top of him, struggling for the gun still firmly in Eldridge's grasp.
“Go, Aynslee, go!” he screamed as he wrestled with Eldridge. He watched Aynslee jump up and struggle onto the still swinging platform then lost sight of her as Eldridge flipped them both onto their fronts. The rattling of the chain as Aynslee pulled on it, all the while screaming for help, urged him on in his struggle with the bigger and more powerful man. He knew he would ultimately lose this battle, but he just had to hold on for a few more minutes.
He had to fight dirty.
He sunk his teeth into Eldridge’s shoulder, the yelp of pain renewing his confidence momentarily. Eldridge threw his elbow back and shook Jeremiah free. Jeremiah fell onto his back and caught a glimpse of Aynslee scrambling into the kitchen above. He kicked at Eldridge’s legs and made contact, shin to shin, leaving him hoping Eldridge was feeling the same stinging pain now racing through his leg. Eldridge fell forward, his hands stretched in front of him to break his fall. As he slammed into the floor, the gun, still gripped tightly in his right hand, fired, spraying dirt from the wall in their faces. Jeremiah jumped on his back but Eldridge was ready, this time swinging back with his elbow and catching Jeremiah squarely in the nose. The blinding pain caused Jeremiah to grab his face, rather than Eldridge, who immediately took advantage of his opponent’s momentary disorientation. He threw Jeremiah off his back and rolled away, jumping to his feet.
Aynslee had watched the fight through slightly opened eyes, and as soon as Jeremiah yelled, she sprang to her feet and rolled onto the swaying platform. Steadying herself with the chain, she pulled on it
as fast as her shaking hands would allow, the platform slowly, painfully, inching toward the floor above as the death struggle below continued. She screamed for help at the top of her lungs, hoping someone outside the house might hear her. In less than a minute she was high enough to pull herself over the edge and onto the kitchen floor. She stole one last glance at the two men below and raced for the front door.
A loud crack from behind shocked her motionless. She had never heard a real gunshot before, and despite the fact it didn’t sound like what she expected, terror gripped her as she realized Jeremiah was probably dead, and Eldridge would soon be after her. She resumed her dash, reaching the door at the end of the hallway, and fumbled with the locks. A second shot rang out and she heard the platform creak as she turned the final lock, yanking the door open. A blast of crisp, cool night air greeted her, but a latched screen door blocked her path. She pushed against it, the frame rattling but not budging. She reached for the clasp, the heavy sound of footsteps gaining speed on the floor behind her caused her hands to shake. She screamed as she tried to slide the latch with her trembling thumb.
Shakespeare parked in front of his partner’s house, worried. He still hadn't reached Eldridge, and knew this was a gamble, but could think of no other place the kid might be. This is where I’d go. He looked around at the almost impossibly quiet neighborhood. Tall hedges circled many of the properties, casting long shadows from the streetlamps above, the neighboring houses mostly in darkness, their occupants long retired, only the occasional porch light suggesting anyone might be home, or expected home later. He looked at the neatly trimmed hedge, over twelve feet high, surrounding his partner’s house, and shook his head. I really don’t know anything about the kid. He found the narrow entrance in the center of the hedge, and squeezed through, cursing at Eldridge for not making it wider. Finally free, he walked up the path toward the front door as he fished his cell phone out to try calling him once more. His thumb hovered over the Send button when he heard the front door open. He smiled, pleased his hunch had paid off, as he recognized Aynslee Kai. He reached for his badge to identify himself when he heard a scream erupt from her unlike anything he had ever heard, evoking every feeling of terror and desperation he could imagine.
He raced toward the entrance as the screen door flung open. Aynslee burst through, her head turned back into the darkness, and ran straight into him. Shakespeare caught her in his arms and steadied her. Her head whipped around and she made eye contact with him, the look of fear, of pleading desperation, of pure terror, scared even him.
She wrenched herself from his grasp and pointed toward the entrance. “Help me! He's crazy! He's trying to kill me!” She tripped over an edging strip lining the walkway, and fell onto the grass. Shakespeare stepped forward to help her but she scrambled backward on her hands and feet. “He’s coming!” He heard the pounding of feet from inside the house. Spinning, he drew his weapon and pointed it into the darkness of the entrance, a barely discernible shadow inside rushing toward him, burst from the entranceway.
Shakespeare breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Eldridge come to a halt on the porch, his own weapon drawn. “Jesus Christ, kid, you scared the shit outta me!” Shakespeare lowered his weapon and Eldridge did the same. “Did you see him?”
Eldridge shook his head but before he could say anything, Aynslee yelled, “No! He's the one trying to kill me!”
Shakespeare turned toward her, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She pointed at Eldridge. “Look out!”
Shakespeare spun around and saw Eldridge’s weapon pointing directly at him. Shakespeare immediately raised his own weapon, and, stepping sideways, positioned himself between his partner and Aynslee.
“Get behind me!” he yelled to Aynslee. Raising his left hand, he tried to calm Eldridge. “Listen, kid, lower your weapon, please.”
“Don't get in my way, Justin.” Eldridge slowly walked toward Aynslee as Shakespeare stepped backward, keeping himself between them. With his left hand, he motioned behind his back for Aynslee to move.
“Listen, kid, we can work this out, nobody has to get hurt.” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his heart raced as he tried to grasp what was going on. The kid is the killer? None of it made sense. He knew Jeremiah was the killer, there was no doubting that. What the fuck is going on? He didn't want to shoot his partner, but at this exact moment, he couldn’t see any other way out of this. “Just calm down and give me the gun.”
“I won't let you take her away from me.”
Eldridge's eyes shifted their focus from Aynslee to Shakespeare. Shakespeare paled as the muscles in Eldridge’s face relaxed, a look of calm sweeping across his features, as if an important decision had been made. Shakespeare had seen the look enough in the past to know what was about to happen.
He squeezed the trigger.
Aynslee screamed as Eldridge stumbled backward, the bullet shattering his right shoulder. He grabbed the wound with his left hand and stared at Shakespeare, wide-eyed with surprise. “Why? Why are you trying to stop me from being happy?” He grimaced and took another step toward Aynslee. “Please, Sarah, you know I could never hurt you.” Shakespeare reached back and pulled Aynslee to her feet, careful to keep himself between her and Eldridge.
“Please, Hayden, drop the gun, please,” she pleaded.
“Don’t I deserve to be happy?”
“Of course you do,” said Aynslee. “We all do.”
Shakespeare nodded. “We all do, kid, we all deserve to be happy.” This isn’t going to work.
“We were happy once, you and I, don’t you remember.”
“Yes, of course I remember.”
Eldridge dropped his chin onto his chest and whispered, “It was the last time I was ever happy.” He raised his head and looked at Shakespeare. “Until I finally found her again.” He leaned back, trying to raise his weapon in his now nearly useless arm, then, with his good hand, grasped his arm and lifted it. “And now you want to take her away from me again.”
“Please, Hayden, don't make me do this!” pleaded Shakespeare as Eldridge slowly slid his good hand toward the gun to squeeze the trigger. God forgive me. Shakespeare fired again, this time striking Eldridge square in the chest, the force of the impact knocking him off his feet, his shoulders, arms and neck rolling forward as his torso flew backward toward the porch. His body slammed onto the steps, his arms flailing to his sides, the hand holding the gun releasing its grip as it smacked the concrete edge of the top step, sending it skidding to the far side of the porch, and out of reach.
Aynslee gasped, covering her mouth in horror as she saw the man who, only hours before, she had been falling for, gasping for breath as blood spread across his crisp white shirt. Hidden behind Shakespeare, who was now calling for an ambulance, she looked Hayden in the eyes, the eyes that had never stopped looking at her. He raised his left hand and motioned to her.
“Please,” he whispered, his eyes begged her forward, and she was shocked to find herself stepping around the man who had just saved her, and toward the man who had tried to kill her. The expression on Hayden’s face, so pitiful she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, urged her on. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Miss Kai.”
She turned slightly toward her savior, but didn’t take her eyes off Hayden. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Shakespeare. I need you to stay here. I’ll be back in a few seconds, I just need to get the street number for the ambulance.”
She nodded as he headed down the path toward the hedge, her feet continuing to carry her slowly toward Hayden who smiled as she neared. Kneeling down, she took his outstretched hand in both of hers and held it gently to her chest. She felt a slight squeeze as he used the last of his strength to hold on, his eyes, never leaving hers, gradually closing as he bled out. “I love you, Sarah,” he sighed, his hand releasing its slight grip as the last of his life drained from his body.
Aynslee gripped his hand tigh
ter, sobbing, the conflicting emotions overwhelming. A man who she thought she could love turned out to be a kidnapper, and the serial killer who only hours before had tried to kill her, had died trying to save her. Her mind didn't know who to feel sorry for. She didn't even know if she should feel sorry for anyone. She just knew, at this very moment, she was tired of death. She gently placed Hayden’s hand on his chest, and rose.
Shakespeare finished his call and returned to find Aynslee standing over Eldridge’s body.
“He's gone,” she whispered.
He leaned down and checked his partner’s pulse. Nothing. He sighed, lowering his head and making the sign of the cross. In all his years he had never killed anyone, and he had never imagined it would be a fellow officer, let alone his partner.
Jeremiah!
He jumped to his feet and looked around, drawing his weapon. “Jeremiah escaped the trap Eldridge set for him at your apartment. We should get you out of here immediately.”
Aynslee, still staring at the smile on Eldridge’s face, shook her head. “No, he's inside. He died trying to save me.”
“What?” Shakespeare was sure everyone was off their rocker tonight. Her would be killer died trying to save her from her would be killer? “Are you sure?”
“Follow me.” Aynslee led Shakespeare into the house and down a hallway. They rounded a corner and entered a kitchen. What Shakespeare saw brought him to a halt, his mouth agape.
“What the hell is this?” Slowly he approached the hole in the floor and peered over the side. About four feet below, there was a platform suspended by chains, and another half dozen feet below that, the dirt floor of a basement. Aynslee reached out and grabbed the chain, pulling on it. Shakespeare watched in amazement as the platform began to rise.
A groan from below the platform caused Shakespeare to step back, pointing his still drawn weapon at the hole.
“He's alive!”
Before Shakespeare could stop her, Aynslee jumped on the platform and swung herself to the floor below.
“Jesus Christ!” Rushing to the hole’s edge, he eyed the swaying platform. No way I’m jumping on that. Clutching the chain, he raised it a couple of feet, stepped down, and lowered the platform with both hands until he could duck down enough to see what was going on. He found Aynslee cradling Jeremiah's head in her lap, her hand pressed against a large bloodstain on his shoulder. What the hell happened here? Bewildered, Shakespeare tried to fathom what could make a killer's intended victim care for him so quickly. Pulling on the chain, he lowered the platform until about two feet off the floor, and jumped down with a grunt, immediately regretting it as he felt a twinge in his ankle. “Is he okay?”
“Call an ambulance, quick!” cried Aynslee.
Jeremiah looked up at her and smiled. “Let me die. I don't deserve to live.”
Tears filled Aynslee's eyes. “There's been enough dying,” she whispered.
Above them shouts followed by the pounding of feet echoed through the house as backup arrived. “Down here!” yelled Shakespeare. The floor creaked overhead then two faces he wasn’t expecting peered over the edge, weapons drawn. “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Trace and Vinny holstered their weapons, their expressions revealing they were just as shocked at seeing him as he was of seeing them. Vinny spoke first. “Amber figured out Hayden might have been involved in a missing persons case she was working on, so she called me rather than get the department involved, just in case she was wrong.”
“Looks like I wasn’t.”
“Fine, fine, we'll talk about that later.”
More people running the length of the house sent Vinny and Trace spinning, reaching for their weapons. Shakespeare, pretty sure everyone he had to worry about was either shot or dead, turned his attention to Jeremiah.
“How is he?”
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” replied Aynslee. “At least I think he has. I just don’t know.”
Yelling upstairs had settled down after badges were shown to the newly arriving uniforms, who now joined Trace and Vinny at the edge. Shakespeare looked up at them. “I've got a wounded man down here, is that bus here yet?”
“It's outside, just waiting for us to give the all clear,” replied one officer.
“Well give it, dammit!”
The officer turned red as he grabbed his radio and stepped out of sight. Within seconds two paramedics were staring over the edge.
“What the fuck is this?” asked one of them.
“Never mind, just get your asses down here!”
The first one threw his bag down to Shakespeare, leaned forward and gripped the chain, shimmying down far enough until he could safely jump to the platform below. His partner followed suit and they were quickly attending to Jeremiah.
“Is he going to be okay?” asked Aynslee, now standing against the wall, her clenched fist gently tapping her grimacing teeth.
“He's lost a lot of blood, but he's stable. He should make it.”
Aynslee breathed a sigh of relief as the paramedics carefully moved Jeremiah to the platform. “I’ll go first,” said the lead paramedic. “Not sure how much weight this thing can handle.” He looked up at the officers above. “Ok, bring us up, slow and steady. I don’t want him falling off this thing.” The officers above pulled on the chain, raising the platform inch by inch until if finally reached the top, sealing Shakespeare, Aynslee and the other paramedic inside.
Shakespeare looked around. “What the hell kind of place is this?”
The paramedic pointed toward several scratches in the walls. “Looks like he kept somebody down here.”
Aynslee shivered, unable to look. “I need to get out of here.”
The chain above rattled again and the platform began to lower, ending the speculation. As soon as it was low enough, the second paramedic jumped up and swung himself onto the platform then the kitchen floor. The officers finished lowering the platform to the floor and waited for Shakespeare and Aynslee to step on, then pulled them up. As they neared floor level, they saw the two paramedics pushing Jeremiah out the door on a stretcher. A few more pulls and they were able to step safely into the kitchen. Aynslee sat hunched over in a kitchen chair, elbows on her knees as she tried to pull the stress out through her hair.
“What the hell happened here?” asked Trace.
“Yeah, who shot Hayden?” asked Vinny. “Was it that Jeremiah kid?”
Shakespeare shook his head. “No, it was me.”
Both their jaws dropped. “Are you shittin’ me?” asked Vinny.
“No.” Shakespeare looked at Aynslee. “Listen, place the kid under arrest, I’ll fill you in later.” Trace opened her mouth to speak when Shakespeare cut her off, motioning with his eyes at Aynslee. “Let’s have some breathing room for a few minutes, okay?” They both nodded and left the kitchen. Shakespeare sat across from Aynslee. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened here tonight?”
Aynslee nodded. “Hayden, I mean Detective Eldridge, had me hide in the back of his car to trick Jeremiah into thinking I was at my apartment, then brought me here. He drugged me and when I woke up I was in the basement and Jeremiah was there with me. We talked and in the end he said he was sorry for what he had done and then he helped me escape by attacking Hayden so I could climb out. I heard two shots then that's when you arrived.”
Shakespeare shook his head through her entire story. “I can't believe Hayden would do such a thing. He kept calling you Sarah. Any idea who that is?”
“Jeremiah said it was some long lost love, or something like that. I don’t really know.”
“Ok, I’ll let you rest for now, we can do this later.” He stood as Vinny entered the room. Shakespeare eyed him warily.
“Oh, hi, Detective,” said Vinny awkwardly, looking around the room and finally, after looking everywhere else, making eye contact. “Listen, Justin. I know we've had our differences, but I'm really sorry about your partner. He was a great guy.”
Shakespea
re nodded. “Yeah, he was. No matter what happened here tonight, he was a great cop.”
“The best,” agreed Vinny, joining Shakespeare at the platform edge. “What have we got here?”
“Not sure, but I saw a mattress down there, so I'm guessing he intended for Miss Kai to stay awhile.”
“I'll check it out.” Vinny lowered the platform as Aynslee stood.
“I need some fresh air.”
Shakespeare nodded. “Me too.” He unlocked the patio door and held it open. “I'd recommend the back yard, the front is probably a madhouse.” Aynslee stepped out onto a stone patio with Shakespeare joining her. Looking around them, Shakespeare whistled. “He was one hell of a gardener, apparently.” Before them lay a beautifully manicured lawn surrounded by a lower, eight-foot hedge, with half a dozen rectangular flower beds laid out across the back of the yard, each with an assortment of flowers, carefully arranged and weeded, except for the flowerbed farthest to the right, which, though freshly tilled, had no flowers.
“He was.”
“Detective!” Shakespeare turned at the sound of Vinny's voice. “You gotta see this!” They both walked back into the kitchen as Vinny pulled himself from the basement. “Look at this!” He held out a plastic bag containing dirt.
“What's this?” Shakespeare took the bag and held it up to the light.
Aynslee gasped and pointed. “Look at that!”
Shakespeare gulped. “It's a fingernail.” Aynslee ran to the sink and heaved.
“Yeah, there's a lot of evidence someone stayed down there long-term. I found that embedded in the wall, as if they were scratching at it.” Shakespeare was about to comment on the revelation when he suddenly turned on his heel and rushed out to the backyard. Vinny and Aynslee followed him and watched as he grabbed a shovel and began to dig furiously at the flowerless flowerbed.
“Oh shit,” whispered Vinny. Picking up a nearby hoe, he ran over and together they dug as fast as they could.
“Wait!” yelled Shakespeare as his shovel hit something. They both got on their knees and, reaching in, began digging with their hands. It was Vinny who found her first, a pair of hands, taped together, that appeared to be held up, fingers splayed as if trying to stop the dirt piling on top of her. Shakespeare uncovered her face, the resemblance to Aynslee immediately evident. Sitting back on the grass sweating, he looked at Aynslee. “It appears you were damned lucky, Miss Kai.”
“She hasn't been in here long, maybe a day or two.” Vinny continued to scoop out the dirt surrounding her as Shakespeare caught his breath.
Trace rounded the house and immediately gasped at what she saw. “That's Chelsie Birmingham, my missing person!”
Shakespeare ignored her. “You don't think—” Vinny stopped digging and followed Shakespeare's gaze. In a neat row, five manicured flowerbeds, each about six feet by three feet, lay in front of them.
“Oh my god!” whispered Vinny. “Hayden, what have you done?”
Aynslee fainted.
When she awoke she saw Shakespeare leaning over her as two paramedics ran around the side of the house. Shakespeare stepped back to give them room to work. “She was drugged earlier, don't know with what.”
One paramedic nodded. “We should take her in just to be safe. They can run some tests there and see if they need to flush her system.” He helped Aynslee to her feet. “Do you think you can walk to the ambulance or do you want us to get a stretcher?”
Aynslee shook her head. “No, I think I'll be okay, just a little dizzy that's all.” The two paramedics supported her as they walked slowly toward the ambulance.
Shakespeare turned to Vinny. “I know you were close to Hayden, but we've got to do this by the book, no matter how we feel. Process this scene like you would any other.”
“Don't tell me my job, Detective,” snapped Vinny. Shakespeare turned to walk away when he heard Vinny clear his throat. “Listen, I'm sorry, Justin. I'm just upset, I considered Hayden my friend and tonight I discovered he was a completely different person than I ever thought imaginable.”
“Don't worry about it. We're all upset.” Turning to Trace, he said, “I want you to take over the investigation, I'm too close to it.” He headed to the ambulance to check on Aynslee and found her already loaded in the back, sitting on a stretcher. “Want some company?”
She nodded. “Please.” She had never met this man who had saved her life before tonight, but she felt an immediate connection with him. Not only did they share in the grief of losing someone they thought they had known, they both were trying to deal with the horror they knew was about to be uncovered.
Aynslee stepped into the hallway, having been given the all clear, the Rohypnol now out of her system. She found Shakespeare sitting in the hall waiting. He rose as soon as he saw her. “How are you feeling?”
Aynslee shrugged her shoulders. “Physically? Fine. Everything else? I don’t know what to feel.”
Shakespeare nodded, a grimace creasing his face, betraying his own confusion. “We’re going to have to take a witness statement from you at some point. It can wait until tomorrow if you don't feel up to it.”
“Tomorrow, please.” Aynslee didn't feel like going over what had happened to her again, not now. “Any word on the backyard?”
Shakespeare nodded. “Six bodies. The crime scene guys think it goes back almost a decade.”
“My God!” Aynslee shook as she realized what had almost happened to her. “Are they going to be able to identify them? Give those poor families some closure?”
“They'll do their best.”
Aynslee pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Is Jeremiah here?”
“End of the hall, under guard.”
“What will happen to him?”
“He'll be charged, arraigned probably here in the hospital. I doubt he'll be granted bail so they'll transfer him to Rikers as soon as he's well enough to be moved to their infirmary, then stand trial. He'll be going away for the rest of his life, I'm sure.”
Aynslee felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor boy who had tried to kill her, but had ultimately saved her life. “Can I see him?” Shakespeare nodded and led her down the hallway.
Leaving Shakespeare out in the hall, Aynslee entered the room where Jeremiah lay hooked to various monitors, handcuffed to the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady. Walking over to the bed she took his hand in hers and watched as his eyes slowly opened. “We made it.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Thanks to you.”
Jeremiah smiled weakly. “Any time.” Aynslee squeezed his hand as Jeremiah's eyes filled with tears. “I'm so sorry for what I've done.”
“Make sure you tell the judge that.”
“I don't care about that. I deserve to rot in a prison cell for what I've done. I have no excuse.”
Aynslee sat on the edge of his bed, and dabbed his eyes dry with a tissue. “Why don't you tell me about your sister.”
Jeremiah took a deep breath and smiled.
Shakespeare listened to the voices murmuring in the room then eyed a snack machine at the end of the corridor. His stomach rumbled. Walking toward it he heard a voice call out as he passed one of the rooms. “Justin, is that you?” Puzzled, he walked back and looked into the room.
“Father O'Neil!” Shakespeare's jaw dropped at the shock of seeing his spiritual guide from so many years ago lying in a hospital bed, hooked to machines monitoring his weak vital signs. “What are you doing here?”
O'Neil smiled and beckoned him over. “I'm afraid I wasn’t careful enough, my son. Jeremiah shot me.”
“What? When? Why didn't you call me?”
O'Neil waved his hand to cut him off. “Yesterday, in the confessional. Luckily someone heard the shot and called for help. I just woke up a few hours ago here. Did you find Jeremiah?”
“Yes we did.”
“And is he okay?”
“He was shot, but he'll survive. He's down the hall.”
“Shot, how?”
Shakespeare pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down.
“Father, have I got a story to tell you.”
AFTERWORD
Selling books is marketing, and as part of that, I have held several contests on my website and Facebook page. I would like to take the time to thank several people who helped spread the word through entering the contests and inviting their friends to join. Having read Depraved Difference, you may recognize their names as characters in the books: Brent Richards, Tracy Oswald and Steve Scaramell. As well, a special thanks to an old high-school buddy Justin Shakespeare, who is similar to my character in name only, and to Regis Giasson, who, as is his nature, played a very small but important role in reminding me to put together these acknowledgements.
I’d like to thank my parents for reading endless drafts, my wife Esperanza (another name in the book), and my daughter, Niskha (next book!), for tolerating the hours of my delightful company lost to the keyboard, and my friends for listening to me drone on about plots and the publishing business, including, but definitely not limited to, Paul Conway, the best friend anyone could ask for.
And finally, a very special thanks to you, the reader. You have this author’s humble gratitude.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has written over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series, the first installment of which, The Protocol, has been on the bestsellers list since its release, including a three month run at number one. In addition to the other novels from this series including The Templar's Relic, a USA Today bestseller and #1 overall bestseller on Barnes & Noble, he writes the bestselling Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers, the Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers, and the Detective Shakespeare Mysteries. Robert lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.
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Depraved Difference (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #1) Page 13