by Leslie Wolfe
“In her own way, she’s fascinating,” Tess said to Fradella on their way out of the precinct. “The way she gained access to all those houses, her strategies, her timing.”
“Yeah,” Fradella replied, “and I’m so glad it’s over.”
“No kidding,” she laughed.
On the front steps they ran into Michowsky, whose five o’clock shadow, dating back at least three days ago, lent him a new look, albeit a little more hobo than macho. Tess swallowed a chuckle and hugged the man, ignoring the smell of sweat and grime put out by the clothes he hadn’t changed in more than one stakeout.
“What are you still doing here?” she asked. “Go home, get some rest.”
“I caught some sleep in the car, while your perp was gathering votes,” he replied. “Nice work, you two.”
The sun had completely risen and threw darts of almost unbearable light in their direction. Tess shifted her position to put a palm tree between her tired eyes and the reason for her squinting.
“It’s been a few hours since we caught the Taker, Gary. Where in the hell have you been all this time?”
“Definitely not taking a shower,” Fradella quipped, and Michowsky quickly elbowed him in the side.
“If you really need to know, I borrowed a speedboat yesterday. I had to return it before, um—”
“Before you got caught?” Fradella laughed.
“Oh, don’t tell me,” Tess said, putting two and two together. “You didn’t…”
“Yeah, I did,” he confessed, lowering his gaze and staring at the asphalt for a moment. “I heard on the radio they weren’t getting anywhere with seizing that coke, and I knew he already had it near the water, so I made a run for it. The thing was right there, by the ramp, begging me for a good race.”
“He’s going to kill you,” Tess said, only half-jokingly.
“Nah… he won’t know. That’s what I’ve been doing all night, wiping the thing dry.”
That moment, Michowsky’s phone rang. The display showed Donovan’s name.
“Uh-oh,” Tess said.
Michowsky put the call on speaker. “Go for Michowsky, Fradella, and Winnett,” he said, as if it were just another normal day at work.
“Imagine my surprise,” Donovan said, in a low voice, “when I watch the news about this major cocaine bust, and I see my damn boat in action!”
“Listen, I can explain,” Michowsky said. “I’ll never—”
“I don’t want to hear a single word, Michowsky. If you ever have to do this again, at least have the courtesy to take me along for the ride, okay? At least that much field action I should get, don’t you think?”
“Understood,” Michowsky replied quickly, but Donovan had already hung up.
“What? You were on the news?” Fradella asked.
“Yeah, and driving a stolen vessel no less,” Tess laughed. “Our very own hero. Fantastic work, Gary.” She hugged him again. “Thank you very much for your help.”
Then she hugged Fradella. “You too, Todd. You broke the case, you know that.”
“Me?” he reacted. “How come?”
“You figured out the mathematical model to replicate the Taker’s choice of targets. Donovan went too complicated, but you nailed it. You asked the right questions.”
He grinned widely, apparently at a loss for words.
“Now, does anyone want to touch on the fact that our profile was completely wrong?” Tess asked, her laughter replaced with a frown.
“It was spot on, and it worked,” Michowsky replied. “You caught the Taker.”
“Well, Althea Swain might be Caucasian, but she’s definitely not a male.”
“Ah, that,” he reacted, and the three of them burst into laughter.
“Are female serial killers that common though?” Fradella asked.
“They’re not, and that’s why we typically jump to concluding the male part of the profile. Women account for ten percent of the perpetrators of all the murders in the United States, but they are responsible for twenty percent of the serial killing victims, and that percentage has been slowly increasing over the years.”
“So male, Caucasian is no longer the norm?” Michowsky asked.
“The Caucasian part has definitely gone away; like I mentioned before, beginning with the nineties, the majority of serial killers have been black, and Caucasian whites have dropped to the second spot. The gender majority is still held by men, but even that is shifting.”
“How are they different, men versus women, when it comes to serial killing?” Fradella asked.
“Women are less likely to physically torture their victims,” Tess replied. “That should’ve been a warning sign for us that the profile was wrong, combined with the absence of sexual assault. We should’ve seen this, guys; next time we’ll be more careful before applying statistics blindly.”
“Hey, cut yourself some slack, willya?” Michowsky said, patting her on the shoulder vigorously. “We caught the perp, and that’s because of you and what you saw in Christina’s suicide.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Fradella turned around and went back inside. “I’ll get us some coffee, okay?” he shouted from the top of the stairs.
She sat on the last step and stretched, drained yet happy, a subdued sense of exhilaration fueling her entire body. Michowsky sat next to her, leaning against the bannister. Then he started laughing softly.
“What?” she asked.
He looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “Have you noticed how his phone’s not ringing anymore, not that often?”
She fidgeted a little. “Now that you tell me, yeah. Why?”
“Our boy’s off the market,” he said, his grin widening.
She didn’t get it at first, but as she started to understand what Michowsky was hinting at, she felt her cheeks burning.
“Yeah,” Michowsky added, “I believe my partner is totally, head over heels—”
Fradella kicked him playfully with the tip of his shoe. “And desperately interested in joining the FBI,” he added, speaking faster than he normally did. “Think you could put in a good word for me, Tess?”
She hid her blooming smile and replied, as professionally as she could muster under the circumstances. “Sure, I can. I think you’d be great. I’ll send you a link to fill out some forms.” The words came naturally; he had talent for the job and he’d probably make a great career for himself as a federal agent. He made her proud.
She stood and took the paper cup filled to the brim from his hand, then took a sip.
Fradella continued to look at her intently, as if he still wanted to say something. He squinted in the merciless sun and smiled hesitantly.
“Wanna grab some really, really late dinner, then maybe catch a movie?” he asked.
Tess smiled and looked briefly at Michowsky, whose grin hadn’t vanished.
“You kids go ahead,” Michowsky said, groaning as he stood. “I haven’t seen my family in days.”
She shook his hand and watched him walk to his car, then disappear after turning the corner. Then she closed her eyes and let the warm rays of the sun caress her skin. She saw herself on the beach, lying on the hot sand next to Fradella, eating grapes and letting the heat wear off the tension in her body. Dozing off. Feeling safe. Somehow, that idyllic image looked like the perfect ending to a long weekend filled with darkness and pain.
“How about the beach instead?” she asked.
He smiled and took her hand. “You got it.”
~~ The End ~~
Read on for previews from:
Las Vegas Girl
They’re two fearless, driven, unrelenting cops. They trust each other with their lives… only not with their darkest secrets.
*** and ***
Dawn Girl:
(Tess Winnett Series Book One)
A short-fused FBI Agent who hides a terrible secret. A serial killer you won’t see coming. A heart-stopping race to catch him.
~~~~~~~~
>
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Preview: Las Vegas Girl
LAS VEGAS GIRL
Leslie Wolfe
A Novel
*** PREVIEW ***
Elevator Ride
Her smile waned when the elevator doors slid open and her gaze met the scrutiny of the stranger. She hesitated before stepping in, looked left and right uneasily, hoping there’d be other hotel guests to ride in the elevator, so she wouldn’t have to share it alone with that man. No one came.
Her step faltered, and her hand grabbed the doorframe, afraid to let go, still unsure of what to do. The hotel lobby sizzled with life and excitement and sparkled in a million colors, as can only be seen in Vegas. Nearby, clusters of gaming tables and slot machines were surrounded by tourists, and cheers erupted every now and then, almost covering the ringing of bells and the digital sound of tokens overflowing in silver trays, while the actual winnings printed silently on thermal paper in coupons redeemable at the cashier’s desk. That was Las Vegas: alive, filled with adrenaline, forever young at heart. Her town.
The elevator had a glass wall, overlooking the sumptuous lobby. As the cage climbed higher and higher, riders could feel the whole world at their feet. She was at home here, amid scores of rowdy tourists and intoxicated hollers, among beautiful young women dressed provocatively, even if only for a weekend.
She loved riding in those elevators. Nothing bad was going to happen, not with so many people watching.
She forced some air into her lungs and stepped in, still hesitant. The doors whooshed to a close, and the elevator set in motion. She willed herself to look through the glass at the effervescent lobby, as the ruckus grew more distant with each floor. She didn’t want to look at the man, but she felt his gaze burn into her flesh. She shot a brief glance in his direction, as she casually let her eyes wander toward the elevator’s floor display.
The man was tall and well-built, strong, even if a bit hunchbacked. He wore a dark gray hoodie, all zipped up, and faded jeans. He’d pulled his hood up on top of a baseball cap bearing the colors of the New York Mets. A pair of reflective sunglasses completed his attire, and, despite the dim lights in the elevator cabin, he didn’t remove them. The rest of his face was covered by the raised collar of his hoodie, leaving just an inch of his face visible, not more.
She registered all the details, and as she did, she desperately tried to ignore the alarm bells going off in her mind. Who was this man, and why was he staring at her? He was as anonymous as someone could be, and even if she’d studied him for a full minute instead of just shooting him a passing glance, she wouldn’t be able to describe him to anyone. Just a ghost in a hoodie and a baseball cap.
Then she noticed the command panel near the doors. Only her floor number was lit, eighteen. She remembered pressing the button herself, as soon as she’d climbed inside the cabin. Where was he going? Maybe she should get off that elevator already. Maybe she should’ve listened to her gut and waited for the next ride up.
A familiar chime, and the elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and a young couple entered the cabin giggling and holding hands, oblivious to anyone else but each other. She breathed and noticed the stranger withdrew a little more toward the side wall. The young girl pressed the number eleven, and the elevator slowly set in motion.
That was fate giving her another chance, she thought, as she decided to get off the elevator with those two, on the eleventh floor. Then she’d go back downstairs, wait for the stranger to get lost somewhere, and not go back upstairs until she found Dan. She’d call him to apologize, invent something that would explain why she’d stood him up. Anything, only not to go back to her room alone, when the creepy stranger knew what floor she was on.
A chime and the elevator came to a gentle stop on the eleventh floor. The young couple, entangled in a breathless kiss, almost missed it but eventually proceeded out of the cabin, and she took one step toward the door.
“This isn’t your stop, Miss,” the stranger said, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine.
Instead of bursting through that door, she froze in place, petrified as if she’d seen a snake, and then turned to look at him. “Do I know you?”
The stranger shook his head and pointed toward the command panel that showed the number eighteen lit up. Just then, before she could will herself to make it through those doors, they closed, and the cabin started climbing again.
Her breath caught, and she withdrew toward the side wall, putting as much distance between herself and the stranger as she possibly could. She risked throwing the man another glance and thought she saw a hint of a grin, a flicker of tension tugging at the corner of his mouth.
With an abrupt move, she reached out and pressed the lobby button, then resumed leaning against the wall, staring at the floor display.
“I forgot something,” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible, “I need to go back down.”
On the eighteenth floor, the doors opened with the same light chime and quiet whoosh. The stranger walked past her, then stopped in the doorway and checked the hallway with quick glances.
She was just about to breathe with ease when he turned around and grabbed her arm with a steeled grip, yanking her out of the cabin.
“No, you don’t,” he mumbled, “you’re not going anywhere.”
She screamed, a split second of a blood-curdling shrill that echoed in the vast open-ceiling lobby that extended all the way to the top floor. No one paid attention; lost in the general noise coming from downstairs, her scream didn’t draw any concern. It didn’t last long either. As soon as the man pulled her out of the elevator, he covered her mouth with his other hand, and her cry for help died, stifled.
He shoved her forcefully against the wall next to the elevator call buttons and let go of her arm, pinning her in place under the weight of his body. Then his hands found her throat and started squeezing. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, trying to see anything beyond the reflective lenses of his sunglasses, while her lungs screamed for another gasp of air. She kicked and writhed, desperately clawing at his hands to free herself from his deathly grip.
With each passing second, her strength faded, and her world turned darker, unable to move, to fight anymore. The man finally let go. Her lifeless body fell into a heap at his feet, and he stood there for a brief moment, panting, not taking his eyes off her.
Then he picked her up with ease and carried her to the edge of the corridor that opened to an eighteen-floor drop, all the way to the crowded lobby below. Effortlessly, he threw her body over the rail and watched it fall without a sound.
The noises downstairs continued unabated for a few seconds more, then they stopped for a split moment, when her lifeless body crashed against the luxurious, pearl marble floor. Then the crowd parted, forming a circl
e around her body, while screams erupted everywhere, filling the vast lobby with waves of horror.
His cue to disappear.
~~~End Preview~~~
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Preview: Dawn Girl
DAWN GIRL
Leslie Wolfe
A Novel
*** PREVIEW ***
Chapter One
Ready
She made an effort to open her eyes, compelling her heavy eyelids to obey. She swallowed hard, her throat raw and dry, as she urged the wave of nausea to subside. Dizzy and confused, she struggled to gain awareness. Where was she? She felt numb and shaky, unable to move, as if awakening from a deep sleep or a coma. She tried to move her arms, but couldn’t. Something kept her immobilized, but didn’t hurt her. Or maybe she couldn’t feel the pain, not anymore.
Her eyes started to adjust to the darkness, enough to distinguish the man moving quietly in the room. His silhouette flooded her foggy brain with a wave of memories. She gasped, feeling her throat constrict and burning tears rolling down her swollen cheeks.
Her increased awareness sent waves of adrenaline through her body, and she tried desperately to free herself from her restraints. With each useless effort, she panted harder, gasping for air, forcing it into her lungs. Fear put a strong chokehold on her throat and was gaining ground, as she rattled her restraints helplessly, growing weaker with every second. She felt a wave of darkness engulf her, this time the darkness coming from within her weary brain. She fought against that darkness, and battled her own betraying body.