HUNTING (PAVAD)

by Calle J. Brookes

  She held the shirt up for everyone to see. Malachi had no difficulty spotting what she’d found.

  Along the bottom of the shirt’s front, beneath the large bloodstain was something written in the blood. His brother’s blood.

  N and C.

  NC.

  Nathanial Collins.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  * * *

  Her ears still rang from the knock he’d given her. He’d hit her hard enough to send her sprawling back over his bed. She was dazed, and unable to stop him from tying her left hand to his bed.

  An iron bed almost identical to Malachi’s, to the bed where they’d made love in this past week.

  Even his bed matched Malachi’s. How creepy was that? “So are you trying to become Malachi? Kind of like Edward Gein-ing him? What’s next, wearing women’s skins to become your mommy?”

  “Do not be ridiculous, my dear. Of course, I’m not trying to become like Malachi. We simply have similar tastes and lives. Coincidence or fate, whatever you wish to call it.”

  “I don’t think it’s coincidence if you’ve been spying on Malachi. That’s stalking, and it’s insane.” Jules kicked at him. She bucked, scratched with her free hand. “I won’t let you do this. You will never replace Malachi with me. Ever.”

  Definitely the wrong thing to say to him. He smacked her again, a short, quick slap designed just for chastisement. Jules covered her cheek with her hand. She glared at him. “Don’t do that again.”

  “You’re confused, my dear, in thinking you have any say in what happens next. I had plans for you, and you ruined them. I am very angry with you.”

  “Well, la-ti-da.” Jules wanted to bite her own tongue. Why was she antagonizing him? He could kill her in a heartbeat. “You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to meekly go along with whatever you want to do.”

  “Julia, do you honestly think you have a choice?”

  It was the cold of his words that struck her the most. He grabbed her blouse and yanked, sending the tiny white buttons flying. His hands were firm and determined, almost clinical when he touched her bare skin. “Yes. You are a very beautiful woman, aren’t you? Pity my plans are ruined. I would have greatly enjoyed having you as a wife.”

  “Why do you need a wife?” She tried to focus on anything other than the feel of the serial killer’s hands on her body. “And why did you choose Paige and me to fill that role?”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  * * *

  He admired her calm. Many women when faced with what he intended for them acted either weepy or vicious. A third of his victims had been female, though he had had no romantic interest in any except the woman beneath him, and the one currently tied up neatly in his guest bathtub. Those women had been pitiful, either crying or cursing at all times. He was intrigued that Julia acted neither.

  She was resisting him, but that was just the passion the woman possessed fighting to get free. He’d witnessed that passion via the camera he had in Malachi’s bedroom. Julia was a very passionate woman. Soon he would feel that passion for himself. Her bra was no hindrance at all, she was small enough that a single snap in the front was all that held the silk together. With a flick of his fingers, she was naked from the waist up. She screamed—no yelled—at him, calling him a full range of foul names, ending with looney tunes batshit crazy bastard. He found that mildly amusing.

  He took the time to savor the touch of her skin. His fingers actually trembled. He wanted this woman so very, very badly; he would have her.

  No, even though a great risk would remain, he would keep this woman alive for a long, long time. It could be done; the news was full of such stories recently. And he was certainly smarter than those men.

  He gave it a moment of thought and the idea had definite appeal. With time, she would react to him as passionately as she did that bastard Malachi. He would keep her here, privately, and find himself another woman to use as a public wife. He could not ever let Julia go, the publicity would be too much of a nightmare. And there would always be a chance of someone putting it together, but there was no reason he couldn’t keep her in the basement of this place. It was certainly big enough to support a small suite of rooms in the basement. Yes, that’s what he would do.

  He wanted her passion, and he would have it.

  He took his time enjoying her beneath him. Sex was not something to be hurried, especially with a woman like Julia Bellows. So he would appease himself with just a few touches and tastes. A bite or nip or two.

  She fought him, hard, and after a while he backed away. She would wear herself out eventually, and he had other business that had to be attended to. He did not want her broken, just more cooperative. And if he forced her now, it would break her spirit. It was best to give her some time to adjust. To realize it was just the way things were going to be from now on. Otherwise, he might have to hurt her more than he anticipated. And that was something he did not want...yet. And he had much to do this evening, if they were all to remain safe.

  Namely, the inferior woman in the other room.

  Paige was just stirring when he checked on her. He knew she would have a headache, and he felt a small moment’s regret at that.

  He had intended to kill her, but if he was planning on keeping Julia alive, why not Paige, as well? He was certainly up to the challenge. He could spend time molding her into the ideal woman, testing his theories and methods. He would have Julia to compare his progress to. As a control subject, for example. And they were close, it would give them each a companion when he couldn’t be with them.

  Paige was a very beautiful woman, though she was not enough yet to excite him as quickly as Julia.

  But then again, Julia was special.

  Julia was Malachi’s. Or had been.

  Maybe that was what set Paige apart from Julia? Paige had never been an object of sexual focus for Malachi, so he had always found her lacking? It could explain why he’d yet to feel true stirrings of lust for Paige. Malachi had not lusted for her. And neither had Nathanial. It was a possibility, and one he would entertain later. Perhaps he could change that lack of lust with the proper training of Paige.

  “Good evening, my dear. How is your head?”

  “Nate? What’s going on? Why do you have me here?” Paige was still befuddled, but he could see her becoming more aware by the second. “What have you done?”

  “Just implemented the next stage of my plan. How do you feel, my dear?” He’d tied her much tighter than he had Julia. Time had been a bit more abundant with Paige than with the smaller woman, for one thing. For another, Paige was a federal agent, Julia Bellows a doctor. One was trained to kill, the other to heal. No, Paige would be a bigger challenge than Julia.

  “Confused. And pissed. Very, very pissed. What’s going on here?”

  “Simple. You’ve become the black queen.”

  “What? Are you serious? You shot Agent Knight, didn’t you?” Her eyes were wide and total shock was on her face. It pleased him that he had fooled her for so long. She was not an unintelligent woman, by any means. And he had kept her in the dark as to his true nature. Yet again he’d triumphed.

  “Him, and many others.” He brushed that hideously chopped hair off her forehead, then leaned down and kissed her. His Paige would make an exquisite creation. He had no doubts about that. She fought the kiss much less than Julia, the drugs no doubt still making her sluggish. Perhaps he had used too much for a woman Paige’s size? Still, the drugs would wear off. If not, he had a doctor in the next room. “I have not yet decided just what it is I’ll be doing with you, yet. Plans can change, after all.”

  Chapter Seventy

  * * *

  Jules fought the urge to puke and cry. She could still feel his hands on her skin, his mouth on her breasts, and the sickness it invoked was almost overwhelming. She could not fathom him doing that again.

  But she knew he would, and would do something far worse next. She knew where he was now; she’d heard Paige’s weak call
, too.

  What was he doing to Paige?

  Was he about to kill Paige? Rape her?

  What did he have planned for the two of them? And how was she supposed to get away from him?

  First she had to get off of this bed.

  He’d tied her left hand—her non-dominant—using what appeared to be a silk scarf. He’d tied it tightly, but that didn’t mean it was tied well. Maybe she’d get lucky, and he’d only tied her one hand loosely?

  She rolled on her side, reaching for the green silk. It took little time to slip the material from her wrist.

  Too easy. All a part of this guy’s need to control her.

  The door was locked, and there were windows. He’d planned this well.

  She tied the bottom of her ripped blouse together to cover herself, and then grabbed her cardigan. He’d taken her coat. She listened at the door for a moment, then searched the room. There had to be a weapon of some kind, even if she had to make it herself.

  There was an attached bathroom, and Malachi’s actions the last time flashed through her mind. She didn’t have time to sharpen a blade or two from the porcelain, but she could get a big enough chunk to wrap the silk around as a handle. It was either that or peel some of the loose trim off the wall in the closet, and hope it broke into a spike.

  She had no guarantee that would work, so she’d stick with what she knew. She put the porcelain toilet lid down on the comforter from the bed—the comforter identical to Malachi’s—as the sounds of Paige’s yelling and cursing grew more vocal. If Paige could just keep him distracted for a little while longer...

  She wrapped the blanket around the lid, then kicked, ramming the heel of her shoe—small and flat though it was—to the center of the lid. It took a few tries, but she was finally rewarded with a crack. She pulled the edges of the blanket back, and nearly cried when she saw not one, but two pieces of porcelain big enough to do some damage.

  Jules was more than intimately familiar with the damage a blade or spike could do to the human body. She’d autopsied more than a fair share of impalement and stabbing victims. She knew where to aim, too.

  But she’d only get one chance to get it right.

  So she’d better make it count.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  * * *

  The drive from the hospital to Nathanial Collins’ house took too long. Malachi road with Lorcan, Hell, and Fin—men he trusted with his life...and with Jules’. His sister road in the backseat, saying nothing.

  “What do you know about this Collins?” Hell asked as Lorcan approached the Chesterfield neighborhood.

  “We’ve been friends practically my whole life,” Al said. “I’m not even sure when he first came around.”

  “We were in some of the same classes in elementary school, when we were living in San Francisco the first time. His mother and ours were close friends, who’d met at a garden club the year Al was born. Nate and I were the same age, so were expected to play together.”

  “And did you?” Fin asked.

  “Sometimes. We were friendly, but not close. He was different, more studious, and definitely more of a sore loser. But he was a middle child with large gaps between him and his half siblings. And lonely.” Malachi tried to remember the little boy he’d known—the one who was always on the fringe of everything, but never really a part of it. Had he contributed to this? Should he have made more of an effort to involve Nate?

  Nate was in their lives, still. They’d moved when Mal was eleven to England. His mother had gotten a teaching fellowship and his father was in a place with his career to relocate. They’d stayed in England for four years, long enough for Mal to enter high school, and Mick middle school. Al had just been in early elementary when they’d moved back to the San Francisco area. Nate’s family had relocated by that point, too. “They moved back to San Francisco about the time I was graduating from high school. We were never really close after that. He stayed in the area for a while. I’m not sure when that changed.”

  “We went out a few times.” Al said the words low and Malachi could feel her disgust. “Nothing came of it, then about the time I entered the Academy, he was in New York. Transferred there a few months after you did, Mal.”

  “So why did he come to St. Louis?” Lorcan asked as he pulled onto the street that Carrie had told them Nate lived on. Mal had never been to the man’s house. Now he wondered at that. “Did he follow you?”

  “I think he may have followed Malachi. Or my mother. He’s always been close to our mother. Closer than to his own, I think. Mom said he showed up at the house about a year or so ago, and reintroduced himself. Said he’d transferred to the area, and his mother had mentioned most of our family lived here.”

  “But he most likely already knew that, didn’t he?” Fin said. “Question is, why did he focus on Malachi so strongly?”

  “Because of his mother, clichéd as it sounds. She was always asking him ‘why can’t you be more like Malachi’? I heard her many times. It would crush him. Finally, I heard our mother point it out to her.” Al leaned up between the seats. “He’s a very competitive person.”

  “And whenever we’d play, he would lose. Almost every time. Except in chess. He was a much better chess player. Until I started beating him at that, too.” Malachi remembered those childhood incidents so vaguely. But did Nate? Or had they had that much of an impact on the other man?

  “So you took even that from him. At least in his mind. What are the chances he took them to his home? Would he be that arrogant?” Hell asked.

  Malachi thought for a moment. “Yes. He would. He’s been killing for years, and we’ve been able to attribute at least thirty victims to him. And I’ve not stopped him—found him—before, why would now be any different?” Malachi fought the disgust he felt. The anger at himself. He should have seen it, long before now. “But he won’t keep them there. Not for long. He’ll have someplace else set up for them. At least for Paige. I’m not so sure he intended to take Julia. I didn’t even know she’d be at my house this afternoon. She wasn’t scheduled to leave until six. She must have taken off early. I don’t know why.” Him. Because of him. She was running from him; that was why she’d left early.

  But why would she have put her rings, those precious bands of gold and diamond, on his grandmother’s equally precious necklace before Nate took her?

  What did that mean?

  And why had she been at his house, if she was running away?

  So many questions...he just prayed he’d get the chance to get the answers. “We need to hurry. He might not be at his house for long. If he’s even still there.”

  Malachi ordered a silent approach. He didn’t want Nate suspecting they were on their way. “When we get there, Lorcan and I will go in first. Hell, take the back. Fin, you check for side entrances. Al, you’re in charge of everyone else, including locals. This bastard has killed in forty different ways, there is no way to predict what or how he’s doing things inside.”

  Or what he was doing to the women Malachi loved.

  ***

  The house was so similar to Malachi’s he cursed himself again. Had he ever been to Nate’s he would have been struck by the parallels. Would he have put it together in time to save the latest rash of victims, to save his friend Allan?

  There was no way for him to know. That would sit on his soul for the rest of his life.

  He pushed the console button that would connect him to the other PAVAD vehicle traveling a few car lengths behind them. “J.T., get me a floor plan for this place.”

  “Coming to your tablets now.” his team’s computer specialist said. “Looks just like yours, boss.”

  “He wants to become you,” Fin said. “And that’s why he’s taken Julia. I’m not sure why he took Paige, though.”

  “Because before Julia, Paige was the woman I was closest to, who was not an actual member of the family or involved with anyone, like Georgia or Ana. Until Julia...”

  Hell put a hand on Malach
i’s shoulder, a silent testament of support. Hell had been there; Georgia had been the victim of a madman, too.

  Julia had been that same madman’s victim.

  And now she was one again.

  He’d done a piss poor job of protecting her, hadn’t he?

  He looked at the men who were his closest friends, men he knew would understand. “I’m going to find him, and if he’s touched her, or hurt her, in any way, I’m going to kill him. Just so you all know.”

  No one said a word. Because each and every one of them had been in his shoes before.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  ***

  Malachi gave the signal, and Lorcan took a crowbar to the front door knob. They had their warrants—exigent circumstances—and everyone knew what to do. They’d get inside as quietly as possible. Once inside they’d search the house for Nate and for Paige or Julia.

  Malachi seriously doubted he was keeping them in the same room. Together, they would be too difficult for the man to control.

  Unless they were injured.

  But he wouldn’t let himself think of that.

  The house was big enough that someone could easily come in the back or garage doors, or even the front door, without someone on the third floor knowing. Just like Malachi’s home. That’s what they were counting on.

  There were a few lights on in the house, in what Malachi suspected were the study on the first floor and the master bedroom suite on the third.

  He nodded to Lorcan, then pointed up. They would take the master bedroom, and send Fin and Hell toward the den area. Hopefully, they’d find the women. Or Nate.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  * * *

  Julia waited behind the door, her makeshift weapon in her hand. She was forcing herself to count in Greek, a trick she’d learned in med school to keep herself calm in stressful situations. If this wasn’t one of those stressful situations, she didn’t know what would be.