The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  His fingers flew across the keyboard working on the latest contract for CW FOG and his foot tapped, but his mind, his mind kept circling on what Charlie was doing, what he was accomplishing with paying off the loan, with the coke. The bastard wanted him mortgaged up the wahzoo, with no way out.

  His fingers stopped and he turned, staring at the paper, and a new thought dawned on him. He swiped the newspaper off his desk and crossed to Charlie’s office, stepping inside and closing the door despite the fact Charlie was on the phone.

  Crossing, he slid the paper on the desk and took a seat in the chair, ignoring Charlie’s glare.

  “Can I call you back?” he asked, and a moment later, the phone rested on the cradle. “What’s up?”

  Steve pointed to the paper. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

  Charlie’s lips thinned to a white line and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t think she earned that?”

  Steve laughed. “Hell, yeah, she definitely earned a glowing review but this,” he started and waved the newspaper at him. “This puts her on the map. Big time and I don’t know, I just have the feeling you might have pulled some strings.”

  Dimples appeared in Charlie’s cheeks along with a smirk. “I called in some favors and had the right people go to the show on Saturday night.”

  “Did you pay them to write this?” Anger laced his tone and tingled across his skin along with the cocaine rush.

  “No. I didn’t. I merely suggested they take the time to see the play,” he said, leaning forward. “But I didn’t tell them why.”

  Steve chewed on the side of his cheek, his gaze bouncing from the paper to Charlie’s face and back. “Why?”

  “Because she’s fantastic and I thought getting a break would be a nice thing for her.”

  “Oh.” Steve leaned back in the seat, his mind still firing off in different directions, none of which could reconcile with the decency of Charlie’s act.

  “I’m not a bad guy, Steve.”

  He exhaled and met Charlie’s gaze. “Yeah, well, putting a gun to a guy’s head brings forth some serious doubts where that’s concerned.”

  Charlie allowed a small chuckle and a shrug.

  “Same with bugging my apartment and sticking a tail on me.”

  “It’s not personal.”

  “Bullshit! It’s very personal.” He stood and crossed to the window. “It means you don’t trust me. Not one bit and out of everything that you’ve pulled on me in the past week, that’s the thing that pisses me off the most.” In the window’s reflection, Charlie’s eyebrows rose.

  Steve turned and crossed to the door. “And I hate that this shit makes me so fucking talkative.” He left the office with Charlie’s laugh following him out.

  Chapter 23

  Charlie watched Steve cross the expanse of the office and then he rose and closed his door. Returning to his desk, he dialed the familiar number.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem,” Kyle said.

  “I thought you were going back to Vegas?”

  “So did I, but something came up. Looks like I’ve got another week in town. You want to grab dinner later in the week?”

  “Sure. Did Tony buy the five percent?”

  “Not at first, but I persuaded him.”

  Charlie closed his eyes and exhaled. He knew how ballistic Tony got when someone challenged him, and considering that he viewed Charlie as his less than favorite drug-dealing lackey, he could only imagine the conversation. Thankfully, no one could negotiate like Kyle, except maybe his new lawyer. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “I’m expecting some payback. Like a date with your lawyer’s girlfriend.”

  Charlie laughed. “I don’t think so. If anyone’s in line for a date with that fox, it’s me.”

  “I bet she’s a wildcat in bed.”

  “I bet you’re right.”

  “You sure you don’t want that lawyer taken out of the picture? I can make it look like an accident.”

  He let silence fill the line as he gave the offer due consideration. “Nah, I’m having fun digging my hooks into him. Besides, he’s the best financial whiz I’ve ever employed.”

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, Steve slid behind his desk and opened his drawer, staring at the vial of coke. His gaze traveled from the Starbucks coffee cup back to the white powder and then to the office door. Licking his lips, he dropped the vial back in the drawer and closed it, turning to his computer and some new contracts instead.

  His attention kept refocusing on the drawer, as if the cocaine was calling him, mocking, teasing and finally he gave in.

  Just one hit. That’s what he told himself as he crossed to close his office door. The first hit stung and the second hit numbed. He closed the container and tucked it away, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

  When the rush came, he stood and crossed to the window, staring at the street for a moment before catching his reflection. He wiped away a smudge of white and returned to his seat, his fingers running over the keyboard at a faster pace than usual despite the self-loathing that raked his skin.

  God damn it.

  He glared at the drawer and then inhaled. This was exactly what Charlie wanted, what he planned, and Steve was walking straight into the trap.

  If I’m not careful, I’ll end up hooked on the fucking street product and this craving will eat up my life. If I’m not careful, I’ll fuck up everything and end up getting both of us killed.

  He knew he was talking himself out of a losing situation. The craving already took hold yesterday and he’d resisted until this morning, until he stared at the clear container.

  “Fucking drugs,” he muttered, snapping a glare at the door and back to his desk. The withdrawals from the pain medicine last year had been bad enough, but this, this was going to be infinitely worse, especially if this assignment took another six months.

  He shuddered and turned his thoughts away from that to a more pressing issue. Jennifer. He needed to figure out what to do with her. He didn’t want Charlie to think he had a shot, and with the flowers, the candy, and the glowing reviews, he was stacking the chips against him.

  His fingers paused and he stared beyond the screen.

  Would Charlie contract a hit on him just to get Jennifer? If the tables were turned, would he?

  * * * *

  He resisted the urge to crack open the cocaine for the rest of the week, but the questions he asked himself still assaulted his mind, shading everything he did. When the weekend rolled around, he buried himself in tracking the money trail. He finally finished to the background cheers of the crowd in Mile High Stadium on the television.

  Steve stood and stretched, cracking his knuckles and staring at the document on his computer screen that outlined the trail of drug money from the time Charlie was a street runner to last week. Fifteen years of financial ledgers was excessive, but then again, everything Charlie did was excessive.

  Steve sat and leaned back in the chair with the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. The computer beeped and he glanced at the screen confirmation that the report he promised Jack transferred. He shut the connection down, closing the laptop.

  Lying on the couch, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d be able to convince Jennifer to go. Sighing, his thoughts wandered back to Charlie and the spark of interest he had seen in his eyes when Charlie looked at Jennifer. He was damned if he’d let Charlie think he had even the slightest chance. He would have to do something about that, but the question was what.

  Steve sat up straight. “Ha!” He hit his palm to his forehead. “I am such an idiot.” He jumped out of bed and crossed to their bureau, rummaging through the various boxes on the top until he found what he was looking for. He held up her engagement ring and smiled.

  The jangle of keys caught his attention and he yanked the door open before she could slip her keys into the lock. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her insid
e slamming the door.

  “Marry me!” he blurted.

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “No, I’m serious Jen,” he dropped to his knee and held the ring out. “Marry me.”

  Jennifer looked between the ring and his face, her brow creased.

  “If you insist on staying, you have to play this out,” Steve said from his vantage point, still holding the ring out to her. “You’ll get to plan the wedding of your dreams.” He offered a smile.

  “I already had the wedding of my dreams,” Jennifer said but she took the ring anyway, slipping it on her finger. “I guess this means we’re engaged?”

  Steve grinned and stood. “I guess.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. “I’m sorry for being a son of a bitch yesterday.”

  “Asshole is more appropriate.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I just want you to be safe.”

  Jennifer sighed. “You keep forgetting I can take care of myself.”

  “And you seem to be forgetting that it’s not just you anymore.”

  Jennifer pushed him away and headed into the bathroom. “Asshole,” she muttered and slammed the door behind her.

  Steve waited until she came out. “If I really was an asshole, I’d have Jack take you into protective custody.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, studying the floor before raising his eyes to hers. Shifting his weight and tilting his head, he spoke again. “But I don’t think you’d ever forgive me if I did.”

  “You’re probably right.” The crooked smile that graced his lips shot straight to her heart. She crossed the room and slipped into his arms. “I’d still love you anyway.”

  He kissed her, moving her toward the bed.

  Chapter 25

  Another stellar morning of vomiting! Jennifer thought, running the toothbrush over her teeth and tongue to get rid of the acidic taste. She spit and rinsed her mouth, wishing Steve could have played hooky this morning to take care of her. Sighing, she wiped her lips with a hand towel and headed back to bed.

  She opened the bathroom door and froze, her eyes bulging at the man with the knife. Ice filled her veins, stopping the breath in her lungs as her gaze locked with his hard grey pupils before darting to his right wrist. Cold numbness slapped at her cheeks, the blood rushing away in full retreat, leaving her lightheaded. “Jesus,” she wheezed and lunged toward the nightstand where the cell phone sat.

  Oh God, please.

  He moved quickly, but he wasn’t fast enough. She reached the cell phone and pressed the speed dial before he reached her. He swung the blade.

  Jennifer blocked the arch of the knife with the hand holding the phone and spun out of the way, ducking out of his reach and sending a kick into his kidney that sent him stumbling into the bed.

  Steve answered on the first ring.

  “Help me! He’s here!” was all Jennifer got out before the man sent her crashing into the wall with a kick of his own, the phone flew from her grasp, sliding across the floor. A detached voice bellowed her name.

  “You son of a bitch!” Jennifer spun out of the way. Adrenalin pumped, turning the liquid ice in her veins to fiery fuel. She threw a powerful kick when he lunged. Her foot caught his wrist, sending the knife sailing across the little apartment toward the door.

  His face contorted with rage. When she tried to slide by, he threw a punch into her ribcage, sending her to the ground, dazed enough for him to get a grasp on her arm. He yanked her to her feet and slammed his fist into her face, splitting her lip. “Bitch!” He threw her toward the bed.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  The silent mantra played on in her head and Jennifer twisted out of his grasp, lunging toward him. She used the inertia to execute a roundhouse kick that connected with his chest, sending him onto his back. She scrambled for the phone.

  He reached out, grabbing her ankle.

  She lost her footing, sprawling on the floor face-first and he was on her.

  “No!” The scream filled the apartment.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  Her mind kept the repetition although her voice failed beyond the first scream. As she struggled underneath him, only harsh grunts came from her chest. She clawed at the floor, trying to get purchase to pull out from under his weight. Coherent thought ceased for her, replaced instead by the visceral will to survive.

  He forced himself between her legs, pressing his full weight against her. Slamming his elbow into her shoulder, he stunned her while he fumbled with his zipper. His hand slid under her neck, squeezing, cutting the raspy grunts to a dull hiss.

  Visions of the other murders clouded her mind.

  I don’t want to die! Not like this!

  She clawed at his hand, trying to break his grip on her airway. When he slammed his hard shaft inside her, her entire body went rigid. Debilitating burning pain flared, pain like she’d never felt before. Even if his hand hadn’t been crushing her airway, she wouldn’t have had the ability to draw a breath. The second pump of his hips was no better, but she tried to buck him off anyway.

  “Bitch,” he whispered, pressing his full weight into her in vicious sodomizing thrusts.

  Sirens in the distance stopped his assault and he pulled away, scrambling to his feet and bolting. He snatched the knife off the floor and pivoted in Jennifer’s direction.

  “I’m not done with you,” he said and slipped out the door, slamming it closed.

  Chapter 26

  Steve scanned through his emails and his cell vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the number, flipping it open. “Hey, babe.”

  “Help me! He’s here!” her panicked voice screamed. The thump of the phone against the floor came through the line.

  “Jennifer!” he yelled, hearing the tussle on the other end. His mind reeled, trying to figure out what was happening and then his train of thought snapped in place.

  Dear God, the Slasher!

  Already moving, he sprinted out of the office and down the stairs with the phone plastered to his ear.

  The car peeled out of the garage and he shot into the street, cutting off the traffic and dialing 911. “This is Special Agent Williams of the FBI. I need assistance at 1621 Broad Street apartment 4A. Rape in progress, and I have reason to believe it’s the Slasher,” he spouted, taking the turn onto the Brooklyn Bridge and dodging the morning traffic like an Indianapolis 500 driver. He swerved into any free spot regardless of the traffic direction, avoiding accidents with seconds to spare, navigating his souped-up BMW through the crowded streets.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he prayed, “please let me get there in time.” His heart pounded, feeling like it would leap from his chest at any moment while the images of all the victims flashed before his eyes. “Not Jenny, please God, not her.”

  He slid in front of the building and reached under his seat, grabbing his gun, bolting into the building, sprinting up the stairs. He barreled into the hallway, still at full tilt, throwing his shoulder into the door. The hinges shattered and he fell inside the apartment, catching himself and swinging the gun into the room. His eyes darted to Jennifer lying face down on the floor, detecting the small rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing. His heart skipped in his chest and he surveyed the rest of the apartment, his gun following the track of his eyes.

  “He’s not here.”

  Her voice brought his attention back to his wife. Jennifer slowly pushed herself to her hands and knees as he crossed to her, flipping the safety back on the gun before wrapping his arms around her shaking frame. Steve swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and blinked away the burning tears. “Jenny,” he managed to say, before her sobs filled the room.

  “Freeze!” The voice bellowed from behind them.

  Steve slowly raised his arms with the gun hanging on his index finger and the rest of his fingers spread out. “I live here,” he answered with Jennifer still clinging to him. “She’s my girlfriend.” He turned his head toward the officers converging on the entryway, their guns all pointed
in his direction. “She called me.”

  “Step away from her slowly.”

  Steve took a step back, but Jennifer kept her grip on him, her face still buried in the fabric of his suit muffling her sobs.

  “Jenny, you have to let go,” he said, lowering his free hand.

  “Keep your hands up!”

  Steve stiffened. “She’s my girlfriend and she’s hurt!” He shot a glare in the direction of the officer and put his hand back in the air.

  The officer came forward, still focusing his sights on Steve until he was within reach of his hand. He peeled the gun off his finger. “Is this man your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.” Jennifer nodded, turning her tear-stained face toward the officer.

  “Is he the one who hurt you?”

  “No!” Indignant by the officer’s question, she pushed away from Steve, looking between her husband and the officer. “I called him.”

  Steve put his hands down, reaching for her face and tilting her chin up. “What happened?” A slight shake laced his voice, born from the slow fizzle of panic and adrenaline.

  “You just missed him.” She tried to steady her voice, but to no avail.

  “Can you describe what he looks like?” Steve asked, moving Jennifer to the edge of the bed. The officer flipped his notebook open.

  She winced when she sat, straightening up again. “Dark curly hair, stubble like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. Expensive sunglasses, he was a couple of inches taller than you. I scratched his arm up pretty bad…”

  Her words faded as his stare honed in on the handprint around Jennifer’s neck. His gaze fell to the bruises on her elbows and knees. “Did he…” He raised his eyes to hers, unable to finish the question.

  “He had a tattoo on his right wrist. I think it’s of a rose, but I can’t be sure. The knife was just like the one in Rambo. I knocked it out of his hand, which is probably why I’m alive,” Jennifer continued on autopilot, unable to look at Steve.