by S. T. Abby
ME: Fuck. What?
My phone rings, but Lana doesn’t even stir. I answer reluctantly.
“So, this little town is covering up the fact there was a serial killer ten years ago. Sexual sadist much like our dearly departed Boogeyman.”
“Too soon,” I state dryly.
“Right. Sorry. But there’s literally not one mention of this ever in their papers.”
“What does the serial killer have to do with anything?”
“That’s the thing, it doesn’t look like they put away the right guy.”
I slowly sit up, careful not to disturb Lana. I’d normally go to another room, but not right now.
“What?”
“The Godfather profiled him to be in his mid-thirties to early forties, and a blue collared worker. But Leonard—yes, I called him first—said that it didn’t make sense. The guy was well organized, and displayed psychopathic tendencies when he killed. The women were brutally assaulted perimortem, antemortem, and postmortem. This guy was seriously into annihilating the body.”
“What’d he do?”
“In short, he carved them up, with a serrated knife, then drilled nails into their foreheads. It started off being mostly after they died. Then it started happening before they were dead. He developed into a true heartless bastard.”
“He’s a psychopath with sadistic tendencies. Not a sexual sadist. Sounds like sex was an afterthought. What does this have to do with our killer? I admit it sounds crazy to have another serial killer from that town, but this is obviously not a copycat situation. Our unsub’s motivation is revenge.”
“That’s what I was saying. I think the Godfather locked up the wrong guy. Serial killers rarely have kids. Psychopaths rarely have kids. Hell, ninety percent of all unsubs are childless because they can’t form healthy relationships long enough to have children. The guy they locked away was a doting father of two kids. Single parent too. His wife died five years earlier in a car accident. His kids were never late to school or neglected in anyway. They argued how impossible it was that he was the killer, claiming he was home with them every night and helping make supper as a family.”
“Why did he get pinned with it then?”
“DNA. They found his jizz at the crime scenes.”
“Way to be professional. But that is pretty incriminating.”
“Or brilliant. Who gets off on controlling a situation?”
“Narcissists. You think the killer was a narcissist?”
“Maybe it’s because of the Boogeyman thing still being so fresh, but yes. I think there was a whatever you said with some narcissism tossed in there. I think the true killer framed our guy. Why else would someone so organized blatantly leave behind DNA? And get this, they found two types of spermicide on each victim.”
“But spermicide is from condoms. If he left behind sperm, then why wear a condom?”
“Sounds like questions that should have been asked ten years ago. Anyway, he had two kids, but they’re no longer in Delaney Grove. There was an accident that happened shortly after their father was found dead in the county holding cell.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “What happened in the holding cell?”
“Yeah. Robert Evans died the day he was convicted. The coroner’s report had three words: He hung himself. Legit, that’s all it says. Then the kids went missing two nights later.”
“Fuuuuck. What happened?”
“I had to dig deep to find the report, because they went to a hospital five towns over. Long way to drive for a doctor when one is right in town. Supposedly there was a car accident, but the boy—seventeen—had severe signs of sexual trauma, and get this…he was castrated.”
I swallow the bile in my throat. “That’s our unsub.”
“You’d think. But unless he’s killing as a zombie, it’s not possible. He died that night in the hospital after somehow managing to drive him and his sister there, despite his injuries. If he drove from Delaney Grove… Hell, I don’t know how he didn’t die from the blood loss alone. The sister was beat to hell and back, stabbed multiple times, face caved in, a huge piece of glass sticking out of her. She had severe signs of sexual trauma too, but she claimed it was a car accident, just like he did. It’s noted they were too scared to speak, and the girl died later that night from complications. That’s all I could charm out of a helpful nurse without a warrant.”
My hand runs over the scar on Lana’s side, even though it’s covered by her clothing. Lana is sleeping hard, not noticing the way I touch her. The glass part strikes a nerve, reminding how she’s actually come close to dying twice now.
I’m going to put her in a bubble.
“That’s fucked up. All of it is fucked up. Get those case files. Why have I never heard of this before?”
“It never made headline news because of some terrorist threat that was going on at the same time. If they locked up the wrong guy—”
“Then that means there’s another serial killer who has had ten more years to pile up a body count. And it also could have set the dominoes in motion for this revenge killing spree. Small town justice is always an issue. We usually have to transport prisoners ourselves, but….why the kids? How sick is that town?”
“The girl was just sixteen at the time. The boy had a scholarship to a drama program in New York. They were leaving town eventually. I know that town put them in that hospital. That’s why they drove far away from it to die. The guy might have survived if he’d stopped sooner. But he didn’t. He just drove as far as he could to get them away from Delaney Grove. I can’t prove it, but my gut is telling me that’s what happened.”
“Talk to the town. See what you can figure out.”
He grows quiet. For a long time.
“Any chance he won’t take innocent bystanders down?”
“The unsub?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Revenge killers always take it too far, killing too many people for the smallest infractions. Don’t try to make him a hero. He may kill some monsters, but he’ll take out some good people too. And no one has the right to decide who lives or dies.”
I’m not entirely sure I’m convinced of that even as the words leave my mouth. If Lana had died at the hands of Plemmons, I would have stalked the world until I found him and put him in the grave.
I don’t say that aloud though.
“Right. You’re right. I just… These cases are always the hardest.”
“You empathize with the killers when you understand their motives. I get it. Just don’t forget we’re the law. If everyone goes around killing people who’ve wronged them, then we’re suddenly an extinct species. It’s obviously someone close to them. Dig into their pasts. Dig into Lindy’s past too. She was friends with the unsub.”
“On it. Leonard is working it too now. Elise is at the hotel you guys are at. Apparently everyone is creeped out by their houses right now since Plemmons broke into Lana’s and locked Hadley in a closet.”
My hand instinctively tightens on Lana’s hip, and she stirs in her sleep.
“I’m getting some sleep. I’m taking at least a few days, and I mean it. I need several days of straight sleep.”
“And straight sex,” he quips.
Rolling my eyes, I hang up, curl up behind Lana, and she shifts in closer subconsciously, still very much asleep. She’s not screaming or tossing around. There’s a small smile on her lips like all is right with the world.
Thank fuck for that small miracle.
She’s so damn strong. I was waiting on her to break, but she’s impressing me more by the second.
“I love you,” she says, though it’s the confession of a sleeping girl.
My core still tightens, and my body feels like electric wires are coursing over the top of my skin.
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek, smiling as she sighs. And even though I’d rather stay awake and keep my eyes on her all night, the long days finally catch up to me, and I fall asleep with her in my arms.
Chapter 5
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
—William Shakespeare
LANA
“You’re serious,” I say to Logan, grinning as he nods, not the least bit unsure of himself.
“Alright then,” I say on a sigh, matching his bet, pushing in all my Tootsie Rolls. “Show me what you got.”
He grins before putting down his cards. “Read em’ and weep. Flush, baby.”
It’s when he waggles his eyebrows that I start laughing, because he’s pretty cute when he’s competitive.
“Before you get too excited…”
I put my cards down, and his face falls instantly, causing me to laugh harder as he stares in disbelief at my royal flush.
“But…but…but…”
I pull the Tootsie rolls toward me, and he suddenly launches himself at me, tackling me to the bed as I laugh. His lips find the curve of my neck, and I grin as he kisses a small spot there.
“Somehow, you’re cheating,” he says against my neck.
“I just have an awesome poker face,” I say, winding my legs around his waist.
For three days, I’ve had him all to myself. I’ve heard that time heals all wounds, but that’s not true. Falling in love? That’s what makes you forget your anger. If it wasn’t for my brother and father, my quest for vengeance would be over.
The media is all over my lawn, which is concerning. Jake had to sneak in and check my secret kill room, making sure no one had tampered with it. Fortunately, no one realizes there’s a room inside a room.
Craig went to my house and retrieved my purse and some clothes for me. He had to take them to work—which Logan got bitched at endlessly for requesting, since people are still giving Mr. Pretty Boy hell for carrying a purse into the building. They even checked it at the search point, while he waited in the purse line, apparently seething.
I find this hilarious, of course.
Then, he passed it onto Elise, who put it inside her duffel bag—Craig was pissed that idea never occurred to him—and she brought it and my clothes to us, so that the media wouldn’t learn where we were.
Also, there were some paparazzi shots of Craig carrying my purse. I really love the things that interest the news some times.
I also hate them. Because that makes moving down my kill list harder.
I’m going to have to speed up the timeline once things settle down. My bruised face was splashed all over the newspaper and such, but everyone wants an interview with the girl who killed a man that managed to elude all types of law enforcement.
So, yeah. I didn’t think this all the way through. Being a woman who took down a woman’s nightmare has made me an accidental celebrity. Celebrity status is not fun when you’re a serial killer who needs a low profile.
Logan has gone Peter Pan, essentially sewing himself to me like an errant shadow these past few days. Not that I’m complaining. I could get used to having him to myself so much.
Logan’s phone rings, and he groans, still on top of me, as he reaches over and grabs it. My legs stay wound around his waist, keeping him where he is as he answers.
“Bennett.”
His brow furrows, and he lifts off me, frowning. I release my legs from his waist as he stands up completely.
“When?” When he closes his eyes, his lips tensing in a tight line, I know he has to leave. “Yeah. Don’t tell them not to touch anything. I’ll see if Hadley is up to it and be there as soon as possible.”
He gets off his phone, and he blows out a long breath while studying me. “I need to go speak to Hadley and see if she’s able to work. We just got two bodies from another one of our killers.”
Ice slithers over me. Lawrence and Tyler. They’ve finally been found. By now they’re steaming piles of rot.
“I’ll go talk to her for you,” I tell him, sliding back on the bed. “We sort of bonded with the whole Boogeyman thing.”
He studies me for a long minute. “You sure you’re okay? We haven’t really talked about what went down.”
I nod grimly. “It’s not something I’m ready to move on from just yet, but I’m handling it better than I thought I would.”
It’s misleading, but it’s not a lie. Well, not in the conventional sense. I’m handling the ‘aftermath’ better than I thought I would, considering I expected him to be more suspicious. He just seems relieved that I’m not an inconsolable mess.
“You’re amazing,” he says, thumbing my chin before brushing his lips over mine.
“I’d like to talk to Hadley for a second too,” I say, making sure I have time to clear the air with her before she’s alone in a car with him.
“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Just let me know if she’s ready to work, and let me know when you’re finished if so.”
I stand and throw my arms around his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. He holds me to him, his touch so demanding and strong. I love being in his arms, feeling that security that exists within a simple embrace.
“I’ll hurry,” I tell him against his lips.
He grabs my ass, totally groping me, then winks before heading toward the bathroom.
My smile disappears the second he shuts the door.
I’ve been delaying this, worrying about her game. Wondering why she’s not told anyone.
After tugging on some clothes, I check the hallway, always worried about someone finding out where we’re staying. When I see it’s empty, I take quick steps to the end of the hallway, suck in a breath, and knock on her door.
It opens immediately, and I swallow thickly when I realize I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.
“Been expecting you,” Hadley says, peering around me.
She steps back, but her gun stays trained on me as I step inside, closing the door behind me. I keep two feet of distance between me and the gun, ready to react if I see her trigger finger get itchy.
“I actually expected you a lot sooner than this,” she says, her eyes watching me, as though she’s waiting on an excuse.
Remaining calm, I stare at her with my coldest expression.
“Logan wants to know if you’re up for a case. He’s waiting for your answer.”
“Don’t pretend that’s why you’re here right now,” she says, an edge to her tone.
“Why haven’t you told Logan who I am?”
She slowly backs up, and she gestures for me to sit on the bed closest to the door. I do as the gun-wielding girl silently beckons, sitting down, and she steps back, sitting across from me on the other bed, never lowering her weapon.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I tell her, and she snorts out a laugh.
“I’ll be the judge of that. And to your other question, it’s because you told the Boogeyman you were killing him to keep Logan safe. You had no idea I was there, obviously, so that wasn’t a show. I believe you actually think you’re in love.”
“I am in love,” I immediately blurt out, then grimace. Didn’t mean to tell her before I told him.
Her eyebrows go up. “Psychopaths can’t love. They can only imitate.”
“You think I’m a psychopath? I mean, I joke that I’m psycho, but I’m not the true definition of the word.”
“Really? I saw a different story.”
I lean forward, and she wraps another hand around the gun handle.
“Easy,” I tell her, holding a hand up. “Just getting comfortable. You’re calling me names without knowing anything about me. A good profiler digs into the past.”
“I’m not a profiler. I’m a forensics expert and a tech genius. I saw what I saw. And I’m telling Logan. I just wanted you to know that first, since you killed my own nightmare and saved me from Plemmons. Call it a courtesy.”
Tears bubble up in my eyes, and the first one spills down my cheek. The air is sucked from my lungs, and my entire body feels like it’s dipped in a vat of ice.
She cocks her head, studying me, and I bat away a tear.
“Then give me a five minute head start,” I say
quietly.
I start to stand, and she moves with me, keeping her gun trained at my head.
“This gun is the only thing keeping you from killing me right now,” she says randomly.
I spin so fast that I hear her hiss out a breath, and I snatch the gun from her hand, then completely disassemble it, all in less than two seconds. I toss the pieces to the bed, feeling broken and defeated.
“No. I’m not killing you because you don’t deserve to die,” I tell her as she stumbles backwards. “Guns don’t scare me.”
“But losing Logan does,” she says quietly, her throat bobbing.
“There are only two people in my life that I love. One is like a brother. The other is the first person I’ve ever been in love with. So yes, losing Logan terrifies me.”
“Revenge killers have had a psychotic break. They lose sight of their intended goals and their morals get skewed. Revenge becomes their sole focus, and anything or anyone that gets in the way becomes collateral damage in the name of revenge.”
“You’re profiling me, yet claim not to profile. You should stick to your day job, because you know nothing about me or what I’m capable of.”
I turn to leave, and she calls out, “Wait! It was a test.”
Confused, I turn around as she stands up, her body shaking a little bit.
“Care if I put my gun back together? Obviously you’re quick enough to disarm me, but it still makes me feel better to have it after what I saw you do to Plemmons.”
“Just use the one you have under your pillow,” I tell her, watching as she pales.
“How’d you—”
“You’ve gone through a lot in the past week. It’d make sense to sleep with one under your pillow if you need it to feel safe right now. You’d have more than just your service gun. I need at least two guns to feel safe when I’m at my most vulnerable.”
She sighs harshly before grabbing the gun out from under her pillow, and I sit back down, facing her, staying at the exact right distance I need to disarm her again if the need arises.
She doesn’t point the gun at me this time.
“Start at the beginning. Explain what could have turned you into this,” she says, gesturing toward me with her hand.