She would do well to remember that fact. She would give anything to make her heart rate and overactive imagination understand that fact.
If her maddeningly quick pulse or the perspiration glistening on her forehead were any indication, however, those facts weren’t likely to be understood by her various organs until the man was caught—dead or alive.
Swallowing past the lump of anxiety in her throat that felt the size of a watermelon, Nikki quickly flicked on all the lights in the apartment, then proceeded to check out the kitchen. She breathed a bit easier when all the knives—potential weapons—were as they should be, nothing looking undisturbed. Three big butcher knives and ten small carving knives. A gift from Kim three Christmases ago.
She picked up a butcher knife, wielding it like a weapon, then commenced a thorough inspection of all closets and potential hiding places in the apartment. When she was finished, she worried that Richard might have run from one hiding spot to another while she had been busy checking them, so she checked them a second time.
Nothing. Everything was as it should be.
Clutching the butcher knife so tightly her knuckles turned white, Nikki backed herself up against the nearest wall. She hadn’t cried, not even once, since this entire ordeal began, but she could feel the emotion getting the best of her and knew she wouldn’t be able to stop it this time.
“I can’t live like this,” she whispered, her voice catching in the back of her throat. “Oh God, I can’t live like this.”
Her back slid down the wall. She tightly wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. When the tears finally came, it would be another hour before they stopped. Another hour before she had the strength to pick herself up off of the floor and fall, exhausted, into bed.
She slept with the lights on.
Chapter 14
Sunday, July 20 2:07 P·M·
“He took time off?” Thomas frowned as he listened to the police chief’s explanation as to James’s whereabouts. After calling his partner’s house a dozen times, and his cell at least a dozen more, he’d had no choice but to go to the boss. “That’s weird. He never said anything to me about going to see his old man.”
“The bastard got drunk and fell down some steps, split his head open. He was rushed into the E.R., can’t recall which one. Oh wait, I scribbled it down—New York Methodist Hospital. In Brooklyn, I think.”
“Yeah, that’s Brooklyn. Huh.”
“He was rushed for time, Cavanah. I’m sure he’ll phone you when things settle down a bit and his old man gets released.”
Well, at least that explained why James hadn’t answered his cell phone. Cells are forbidden in E.R. waiting rooms. Sensible or not, however, everything seemed to be playing out a bit too conveniently. The missing report. Conflicting stories. And now James’s dad had taken a spill down the stairs.
The last one would have plausibly explained his partner’s untimely absence were it not for the fact that William Merdino had taken a dozen or so tumbles down the stairs in the years Thomas had known James—this was the first time James had felt obliged to go be with his old man following a drunken episode.
“Thanks, Chief,” Thomas muttered into the phone. “I’ll keep trying his cell.”
Nikki woke up the next morning feeling sick as a dog. She supposed she had the crash coming to her, given that she’d existed on pure adrenaline, nerves, and little else for days now. She felt sick to her stomach and had a mild headache to boot, but had still planned to go to work tonight. It wasn’t until she took her temperature and found that she was running a mild fever that she decided it was better to stay home.
She knew physicians showed up to work sick all the time, but she had personally never condoned the practice. It made little sense to her for an infected person to try to cure infected people.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I can send someone over or come check you out myself if need be.”
Nikki smiled into the phone. “I’m a doctor, too, Kelly,” she said to the chief of staff. “Remember?”
“That’s little comfort,” her boss said wryly. “We tend to think of ourselves as invincible and conveniently overlook our own symptoms.”
“True. But I’m sure all I need is some solid rest and then I’ll be fine.” Or as fine as she could be given the circumstances, she mentally qualified. “I’ll call you if I get any worse, but I think I’m just experiencing a system crash is all.”
“Little wonder,” Kelly sighed. “Look, Nik. I know you don’t want to discuss what happened Tuesday night, so I won’t ask you questions. But please know this: your job is secure. You have no worries here. So if you need to take some time off, do it. Please. Okay?”
“Thanks, Kelly,” Nikki murmured. “I’m lucky to have a boss like you.”
“Lucky my ass,” Kelly returned, making Nikki smile. “Cleveland General is lucky to have you. Now go get some sleep and feel better.”
A knock at the door startled Nikki, causing her to jump. She gritted her teeth at her ridiculous reaction, reminding herself that she could not and would not live like this. “That’s the door, Kelly. I better go answer it so I can get some sleep.”
“All right. Hang in there, kiddo. And remember, call me if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks, Kel.”
“Anytime.”
She switched off the cordless and set it down on the kitchen counter before padding out to the living room to answer the door. She was about to throw the door wide open to prove to herself she wasn’t a chicken, when she recalled that there was a fine line between living in constant paranoid fear and acting like a reckless idiot. She pressed her eye to the peephole instead, her heart—damn it, anyway—drumming faster than a Mötley Crüe track.
It was the postman, she thought, sighing in relief. Just the postman.
“Hey, John,” she said with a welcoming smile as she opened the front door. “What brings you upstairs?”
“Nikki,” he said, smiling back on a nod. He was an older man, probably in his late sixties and getting close to the age of retirement. Then again, he was also in excellent physical shape for a man his age and seemed to enjoy his job. “A package for you that wouldn’t fit in your box. Figured I’d walk it upstairs myself.”
“That was sweet. You didn’t have to do that. You could have left it in the office.”
“Hey, I gotta keep this old body in practice somehow!”
“You’re doing a fine job of it.” She grinned. “Thanks, John. You have a great day.”
“You, too.” He winked before turning on his heel and disappearing downstairs.
Nikki closed the door behind him and locked it. Glancing down at the package, she noted that it had a return address she didn’t recognize. That uneasy feeling swamped her again, and again her teeth ground together because of it.
“Stop it,” she seethed, chastising herself. “You will not live like this. Serial killers don’t put return addresses on packages unless they are too stupid to live!”
Richard, unfortunately, was not too stupid to live. She sighed as she traipsed back into the kitchen, set the package down on the counter, and carefully unwrapped it.
Nikki slowly smiled as she opened the box. “Five pounds of pistachios,” she murmured.
She had a feeling she knew who they were from. When she opened the accompanying card and realized her feeling had been right on target, her heart started thumping just as wildly as it was prone to do these past five days, albeit this time in a pleasurable way.
I had to go to five stores to find just the right kind. You damn well better eat them.
Thomas
Her eyes twinkled as she read and reread the card. His words were just like him: clipped, brash, and surly . . . yet strangely comforting.
Nikki grinned as she picked up the pistachios. Suddenly she was in the mood for pudding.
Between trying to track down his partner, different cases he had to give equal time to, and a million other things
, Thomas hadn’t had a spare moment to finish reading all of the emails exchanged between Lucifer and Nikki. It had been four days since he’d gotten through the first half of them. He was impatient to get to the second half.
Dr. Adenike had been on his mind a lot lately—far too much, in fact. The evening of her attack they had shared a nice sort of truce, albeit under horrible circumstances. She’d even begrudgingly given him her pistachios, he thought with a small smile. He wondered if the truce would last were he to approach her off the record.
Sighing, Thomas slid the CD of the emails into the proper drive. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he hadn’t been quite as eager to read the remainder of the emails as he’d like to think he was. Any good cop would want to get as much information as possible when trying to solve a case. Thomas was a good cop. Yet he didn’t like reading these emails.
There were three reasons. First of all, Lucifer was lacking many things, but intelligence wasn’t among them. The emails would give hints to his personality, perhaps even suggest possible motivations if motivations even existed, but they would not lead the CPD to him. He would have thought that out, taken it under consideration with every word that he typed out.
Secondly, stupid and Neanderthal-like as it sounded, the email exchanges were getting Thomas damn jealous. The reaction was an insane one given that he and Nikki had never even dated, but there it was. He didn’t like reading about sexual fantasies and emotional needs she’d revealed to another man. He wanted her to reveal those things to him.
But the fact was, Nikki had never given off even the smallest vibe of interest in Thomas. He supposed he was acting like an ass feeling territorial over her when the only gesture of niceness let alone interest she’d thrown his way was a partially eaten carton of pistachios. He frowned. And she’d given up the pistachios during a vulnerable moment. So not even that counted.
There was also a third reason why Thomas didn’t like reading the emails. Namely, because they gave him a hint of the sort of smooth lines and caring pretense that had been thrown Amy’s way before her death. Lines that had been used to draw her into a deadly, carefully spun web from which there was no escape.
She’d been gone for six years now, Amy. Tortured—just like the others. Raped—just like the others. He’d never forget the day her body—or what was left of it—had been found.
Thomas had worked Lucifer’s case from the beginning, when the sadistic killer had first begun his “career” nine years ago. A hotshot detective hailing originally from Georgia, Thomas had been more than eager to prove himself within the CPD, and had taken the case on with the help of his new partner, James Merdino.
Problem being, Lucifer had been smart from the beginning. Too smart. He never left trails, never left DNA behind at a crime scene, never left anything other than maimed, tortured, bludgeoned bodies. And so, hotshot detective or not, the serial killer had eluded him from day one.
Amy had been the light of Thomas’s life, his reason for being. He’d worked his ass off to give her the best that a cop’s salary could, wanting her to be happy. And she had been happy. But work kept Thomas away a lot, and left her feeling lonely. Before he knew what she’d been up to, Amy was found dead.
Her body had been badly mauled, most of the torture occurring while she’d still been alive. She’d suffered hundreds of lacerations and a dozen rapes before she’d finally been put out of her misery.
Lucifer had kept her alive, barely, for four days. That was the hardest part for Thomas to deal with. Knowing that she had been alive, praying he’d come and rescue her, for four long, excruciatingly painful days.
Thomas had sunk into a bitter depression after that, a depression it had taken the better part of a year to crawl out of. He had loved Amy with his entire being, and when she’d been murdered, a piece of him had been killed right along with her.
Which had probably been the demon’s intent.
After Amy’s death, Thomas’s work evolved into obsession. And so here he sat, six known victims later, seven if you counted Dr. Adenike, once again trying to unravel the clues that would lead him to a monster.
Somehow, he knew that he was closer. Knew too that Lucifer could feel it as surely as Thomas could.
He clicked on the e: drive and waited for the files to load.
Dear Richard,
I had a grueling day at work, but finding your emails waiting for me when I came home somehow made the day better. You have that effect on me, you do realize. Just seeing your screen name makes me smile . . . .
Thomas frowned throughout the remainder of the email, then clicked open another one to read it. The next exchange Lucifer received from Nikki was teasing and light, almost giddy. Unlike the other emails she’d sent up until now, which all read like dreamy, sometimes erotic Shakespearean sonnets, this one gave the impression of a giggly teenage girl.
I can’t believe I did this—ohmygod! I hope you like the photograph. I made it five minutes ago, just for you. *grins* If you don’t like it, I’ll probably die of mortification!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thomas’s eyebrows slowly drew together. Curious, he clicked on the attached photograph Nikki had sent and waited for it to load on his screen. When it did, when Dr. Adenike’s bare-breasted image appeared right there before him, he was so surprised his jaw literally dropped.
“Shit,” he muttered, falling back a bit in his chair. He shifted in the seat, his erection instantaneous and uncontrollable.
Her breasts were gorgeous, he thought, his dark gaze un-apologetically studying them. Large, full, soft-looking. And they were capped off by two of the plumpest, pinkest nipples he’d ever seen. He drew in closer, slowly ran his index finger over one, and then the other. His finger stilled. He squinted his eyes a bit as he noticed something else . . . .
Thomas swallowed. Hard.
“Her nipples are pierced,” he said thickly, his cock so stiff it was painful. “Jesus Christ.”
Apparently the surgeon was full of surprises. In his wildest, most wicked dreams, and he’d had a lot of those revolving around Nikki lately, he’d never envisioned such an upright (and uptight) citizen as her having pierced nipples. But there they were. A delicate gold hoop surrounding each pink, plump nipple.
He blew out a breath as he sat back in the chair. Telling himself he had no business reacting this way—with the desire to drive to her house and ride her for about ten solid hours—he shook off the arousal and told himself to get back to the task of reading the emails.
Thomas grunted. He was a good cop, but he’d never claimed to be a saint. Muttering to himself about what an ass he was, he nevertheless kept the bare-breasted photograph opened on the top right-hand side of the screen as he worked, his gaze repeatedly flicking up to it at whim.
“You’ve got mail.”
Nikki distractedly glanced up from where she stood in the kitchen putting plastic wrap over the tub of pistachio pudding she’d just made. She carried the bowl to the refrigerator, set it on the second shelf, and then walked over to the computer to check her email.
She grinned as she sat down, an email from Kim with the subject heading “Oh My God Get Over Here Before I Murder Megan” filling her screen. She chuckled as she read the email, then typed out a reply and whizzed it off.
Nikki hoped that stepmother and daughter worked their problems out soon. She knew what it was like to have a mother die on you, leaving you with the feeling that there were words left unsaid and hugs left unclaimed. She didn’t want that for Kim. Especially not when it had been apparent to Nikki since meeting Megan sixteen years ago that Mrs. Cox would have given her right arm to have a relationship with the only child she’d ever had. That Megan hadn’t been the woman to give birth to Kim had never signified.
Due to Megan’s alcoholism, Nikki could understand Kim shying away from her stepmother’s overtures at a relationship in the past. But all these years later, when Megan was clean as a whistle? That she didn’t get. She just hoped they worked it ou
t soon.
Nikki wasn’t sure what made her do it, probably habit born of a month of the same routine, but as soon as she sent off the email to Kim, she unthinkingly clicked on an icon that would allow her to see if there was any new email at her submissivegrrrl account.
Nikki’s breathing hitched when she saw that there was.
Her hand shaking, her heart rate over the top, she clicked onto the account and switched over to it, telling herself not to freak out. “It’s probably just junk email,” she said shakily. These days, she knew, junk email online was even more common than junk mail in one’s real mailbox.
There were twelve new messages. She visually scanned them, relaxing more and more when it looked as if they were all, as she had supposed, junk. But when she arrived at the last email, the twelfth and final one, her eyes widened and her stomach dropped.
The sender of the twelfth email: FallenAngel.
“Oh God,” Nikki breathed out, her entire body shaking. “Oh no.”
She sat there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds, staring at the screen, feeling as stunned and semidelirious as a deer caught in headlights. Eventually, however, sanity returned and she knew that she had to open it. She blinked, then clicked the mouse on the email from Richard.
My sweet, submissive Nikki,
I’m gravely disappointed in you, darling. I thought we understood each other. I thought you loved me as much as I love you, but you have failed to prove it. You have failed to give me your heart.
Perspiration beaded at her temples. Her stomach knotted and clenched.
I won’t let that stop me, my love. I’ll wait until the moment is right, then bring you home where you belong. Next time I’ll leave nothing to chance. I already feel as though I’ve been waiting forever to have you, but I suppose forever will have to go on just a bit longer. I don’t know how much longer I can wait . . . but I promise you that your homecoming will be sublime.
Jaid Black Page 11