The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  Steve shook his head. “But I’ll live. How’s Sam doing today?”

  “She’s doing all right. You should head over when you’re feeling a little better.”

  Steve allowed a slight nod, which his stomach immediately reacted to. He was able to control the flop, swallowing the bile that started to rise. Time to grab some aspirin.

  “Jennifer tells me the stories on the news about you were accurate,” Joe said as Steve walked out of the bathroom.

  Steve sighed and nodded. He knew damn well Jennifer talked to him shortly after the news hit the airwaves, but it was another cause for Joe to get his digs in. “Yep.”

  “I don’t like the fact that you put my daughter in danger like that, again.”

  Steve took a deep breath and turned, looking out at the lake as the anger engulfed him. He counted to ten silently before he turned back toward his guests. He didn’t dignify the jab with an answer. Instead, he glanced at Jennifer and turned. Crossing into his office, he closed the door, but it still didn’t shut out the conversation.

  “Dad, why do you always do that?”

  “You know damn well why! He ruined your life.”

  “No, he didn’t, Dad,” Jennifer said.

  No one reacted when the office door opened.

  “He put you in the middle of his investigation, twice.”

  “It was never my intention to put Jennifer in danger,” Steve answered, causing everyone to turn toward him.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Joe blurted, which earned him a stern look from his wife.

  Steve actually laughed at his father-in-law. “I was working undercover, Joe, and I didn’t have any idea of what I was up against. I swear if I had any clue I would have gotten Jennifer as far away from this town as I possibly could, regardless of the ramifications.” He glanced at Jennifer. “I didn’t want her in New York with me last fall either.” His gaze returned to his father-in-law. “Believe me, that was an ongoing argument between Jennifer and me for months.”

  Joe scoffed at him. “Bullshit.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows at Jennifer. “I’m not doing this.” He closed the office door again, this time turning the lock so no one could interrupt him. Crossing to the desk, he slid into the seat and unlocked the drawer, pulling the vial out. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the cap and took a hit off the little metal spoon. He wasn’t going to deal with her father without help today. Leaning back in the chair, he hoped that between the aspirin and the jolt of cocaine, he’d feel better in a little while.

  He turned on his computer and began the search for Kyle Wisnowski, A.K.A. K. Winslow. Steve typed in the name Kyle Winslow and the search results brought back fifty-one one entries, of which, two were identified under age thirty, and several were not identified by age at all. He sighed and saved the results. He tried K Winslow and some two hundred and fifty-five entries came back, most of which had no age tied to them.

  “Let’s try our database,” he whispered and pulled up the FBI database, typing in both versions of the name. Twenty-five names came back within the age parameter between twenty-three and thirty.

  Steve crosschecked the lists and took a deep breath. He requested photo identification. Nineteen came back with photos and he paged through them. Only one remotely looked like Charlie. He saved that page and looked at the six that had no photo in their file. One was living in Las Vegas, three were out of New York City, and the other two were slated as living in the Chicago area. He requested social security numbers of the six people as well as the photo that he had set aside.

  His eyebrows rose when the results came back. One of the numbers appeared twice, once in Las Vegas and again in New York City.

  “Hmmm.” He looked at the results again, looking back to the common social security number.

  He did a separate search on only the social security number and three sets of results came back. The first result set was for a man who died close to thirty years before.

  Steve smiled.

  “I do believe I just found Kyle Wisnowski,” he said as he saved the results and turned the computer off. The cocaine was already pulsing through his system, denying the hangover any traction.

  * * * *

  Later that evening, after her parents left, Steve stood in the living room with the phone in his hand, punching Jack’s number into the keypad.

  Jack’s phone dumped into voicemail and Steve sighed, waiting for the beep. “Jack, Kyle isn’t going by the name of Wisnowski, he’s under the name Winslow. He has an apartment in New York and a house in Las Vegas. Call me.” He snapped the phone shut and turned around.

  Jennifer leaned against the bedroom doorframe. “You’re going after him.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  Chapter 65

  Jennifer stood in the middle of a busy Manhattan city street.

  Steve entered the building in front of her with his gun drawn and she hurried, catching up to him in the stairwell. Steve climbed the stairs with the gun in front of him and his badge hanging from his belt, announcing his status as a federal officer to anyone he might encounter.

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered, but he didn’t hear her. She was just a ghost to him.

  He entered the hallway and slid to the apartment door, holstering his gun and pulling a lock pick set from his pocket.

  A shadow moved behind him and Jennifer gasped. A small pop filled the hallway and Steve slumped against the door, his eyes wide and his body limp.

  A man still cast in shadows crouched in front of Steve. “I knew you were coming and I just wanted you to know I’m going to have a field day with your wife and daughter before I kill them.”

  Steve turned his eyes upward, looking beyond the silenced muzzle of the gun pressed between his eyes.

  Another pop echoed and the back of Steve’s head blew all over the door.

  Jennifer sat up and hitched her breath in the dark room. “He kills you,” she gasped. Steve crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her before pulling away and gently running his fingers over her wet cheek.

  “Another nightmare?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and immediately filled with tears, blurring her vision. “You’ll die if you go after him.” She swallowed, still stunned by her dream.

  “It was just a dream, besides, you know damn well I have to try.”

  “He knew you were coming. He was waiting for you.”

  “Where?”

  She pulled away from him and wiped her face. “An apartment building in the city.”

  “Which city?”

  “You already know which city.”

  “New York.”

  Jennifer nodded. “You can’t go.”

  “Yes, I can,” he said and shot his gaze back at her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. “I can stop the son of a bitch. I have to.” He stormed out of the house.

  * * * *

  Steve made his way through the woods to Paradise Cove, stomping on roots and old pine needles covering the path, ignoring the painful stabs in his bare feet. He walked onto the moss and glared at the water. Fury, like a caged animal throwing itself against the walls of its prison, built inside him. He’d stop the bastard any way possible.

  “I’m a cop, he’s a criminal.” He screamed at his reflection, trying to justify his murderous thoughts, and came up short.

  He could almost hear his grandfather chuckle. “Justice and vengeance are two very different things, Steven, and we both know justice isn’t what you’re after.”

  The air went out of his chest and he fell to his knees, knowing he’d hit the nail on the head. He didn’t want justice; he had no intention of arresting Kyle if he ever found the man. Staring at his reflection, he knew he was on the edge of the abyss and realized if he didn’t step back, he’d be no different from Charlie.

  Chapter 66

  In Milan, Kyle Winslow walked into the office and handed the receptionist a business card. He was John Sheridan, CEO of Sheridan L
imited, owner of several specialty boutiques throughout the United States.

  “Landerfaulk is expecting me,” he said, utilizing his homegrown Brooklyn accent and winning smile.

  The receptionist smiled and buzzed her boss. “Eccolo John Sheridan,” she said into the phone. She nodded at the response and hung up the receiver. “His assistant will be with you shortly.”

  “Grazie,” Kyle said and took a seat in the waiting area.

  A tall anorexic looking redhead came out a few minutes later. “Ciao, Mr. Sheridan,” she said, extending her skeleton like hand to grasp his.

  “Ciao, bella,” Kyle smiled and kissed her hand. “I understand the new line is to die for.”

  “Yes, it is. My husband was so pleased you contacted us. I hope we can accommodate you.” She spoke fluent English.

  “You are Mrs. Landerfaulk?” He feigned surprise even though his briefing had informed him she would be the one to show him the line of clothing.

  She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Yes.”

  He let her lead him into the display room. Racks of garments lined the walls; there were several mannequin busts scattered throughout the room with samples of the line hanging from them.

  Kyle walked around, studying each display before he turned to her. He let the smile spread over his lips. “These are fabulous. I want exclusive rights.”

  Her face fell. “Mi dispiace. We cannot do that.”

  Kyle knew that would be the answer. He had also been advised on just how to react. He nodded and began to head out of the room.

  “Aspetta!” she said before he reached the doorway.

  Kyle turned and looked at her. “I want exclusive rights,” he repeated.

  “That cannot be done Mr. Sheridan.” She hurried to his side. “We already have contracts with major department stores in place.”

  “No me importa!” Kyle said. “I cut my vacation short to come to Milan because there was an indication that I could get exclusive rights. I would never have left my family, otherwise.” He turned to leave again.

  “Per favore. Aspetta! Please wait.” She grabbed his arm. “I’ll see what can be done. Please, wait here,” she said, closing the door as she left the room.

  Kyle smiled. Her reaction was just as he had been told. He wandered around the room again, looking at the designer clothes. Some of the items were very interesting, but he would never categorize them as within the confines of his taste. He liked Armani suits or blue jeans, there was no in between.

  Women were entirely different. In his mind, the sexiest thing on a woman was nothing. The next best thing was clothing that hinted and accentuated what they had underneath. What he was looking at would barely cover anything. Most of the dresses looked downright sluttish and he stopped to inspect one.

  Mrs. Landerfaulk entered the room a few minutes later.

  “Mi dispiace,” she began.

  “Mrs. Landerfaulk,” Kyle said, taking note of the fact that she apologized again.

  “Call me Gigi,” she interrupted, batting her eyes.

  “Gigi,” he began again, letting his voice drop lower as his eyes drifted. “I don’t want apologies. I want this line in my stores.”

  “I am sorry. We cannot give you exclusive rights to the entire line; however, there are a few new pieces that will be presented at the show tomorrow. We could work out a deal for.” She positively purred as she circled him.

  Kyle looked into her chocolate eyes and crossed his arms. “What kind of deal?”

  She offered him a sly smile. “We could make those pieces exclusive–but they will only come with the rest of the line.” She stepped closer to him and ran her finger down his chest.

  He caught her hand as it approached his waist. “I’m married.” He tilted his head and allowed a wisp of a smile to play on his lips.

  She looked at his hand. “You don’t wear a ring.” Her eyes met his gaze.

  Kyle shrugged. “I lost it on my honeymoon in the Caribbean,” he ad-libbed. “We never got around to replacing it.” He still held her wrist and he let his gaze slowly take her in, a smile forming on his lips. “I want to see the merchandise before I make any type of deal.” He let go of her hand and cocked his head to the side.

  Without hesitation, she closed the door and flipped the lock before unclasping the halter-top holding her dress in place. It drifted to the ground and she raised her gaze to his.

  Putting on just the right amount of surprise and shock, he said, “I meant the clothing.”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw loosened for a heartbeat, and then she scrambled to pull her dress back up. “I’m sorry, I thought…” She trailed off, her cheeks blooming with embarrassment.

  He raised his eyebrows, looking as innocent as an altar boy. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  Dumbstruck, Gigi fumbled with the clasp on her dress and turned away, unlocking the door and holding it open for him.

  Kyle paused in the doorway, looking back at the array of clothing. “I will be at the show tomorrow, and then perhaps we can discuss having some exclusive pieces.” He offered her a smile before he walked out of the office.

  He waited until he’d left the building and was out of sight before he let the grin reach his lips. What a pretentious bitch. He couldn’t wait to get his hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.

  It was a little after one by the time he arrived back at his hotel. He changed into a pair of jeans before popping his laptop open. With a few keystrokes, he activated the video stream from the cottage just in time to see Steve walk into the bedroom with the phone. He clicked on the bedroom camera view and turned up the volume.

  The words that tumbled out of Steve’s mouth caused Kyle’s heart to drop to his knees and his jaw to follow. The son of a bitch knows who I am.

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “How the hell did you track my name down?”

  Perhaps Steve Williams was more of an adversary than he thought. Admiration mixed with irritation and he slammed the laptop closed, walking to the window and staring out over Milan.

  “Fuck.” In twelve years, no one had ever suspected he was alive, even after his foster parents’ brutal death.

  He turned, glaring at his computer and with a deep breath, crossed back to the desk and raised the screen.

  “I am going to have such fun tearing your life apart,” he said to Steve’s image and then dumped out of the feed. He began the tedious task of moving all his bank accounts in a mass exodus from Kyle Winslow to his new identity.

  “Shit,” he muttered. This is going to be such a pain in the ass.

  Chapter 67

  Steve stepped into a quiet house after an evening sitting by Samantha’s side. Jennifer looked up from her curled position on the couch, folding the book in her lap and sighing.

  “Did you have a nice time with your folks?”

  “Yeah. How’s Samantha tonight?”

  “She seems to be doing a little better.” He yawned. “I have to do a little more research for Jack.” He caught a quick kiss and headed into the office.

  Flipping the computer on, he accessed his email and opened the case notes Jack had sent. The picture of the most recent victim, this one in New York City, stared back at him. He skimmed through the case, flipping back to the picture. She had been sodomized like all the other women and her throat was slit wide open, almost to the spine. Jack confirmed the DNA match. It was the same killer. Steve sighed, closing the file.

  He switched gears, pulling up the list of Social Security Numbers again.

  He did a separate search in the system for all accounts related to the social security number. The authorization screen appeared and he plugged in his code, waiting for results. When the screen came back with the information, Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

  Every single one of Kyle’s accounts was closed as of the end of the business day.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Their values were all significant enough to put t
hem on the radar of all the monitoring agencies, especially since the money went overseas. He banged another command into the keyboard.

  Steve swayed in the chair, looking at the results. “Where did the money go?” He typed more commands on the keyboard.

  Tracing the wires to five overseas accounts, he tried to pull the owners of those accounts, but they were only identified by numbers in the database.

  “Shit. He flew the coop.” The irony of the timing struck a chord. “It’s almost like he knew I was onto him.” He leaned back in the chair, staring at the computer.

  Reaching for the phone, he placed a call. “Jack, did you ever send the sweepers?”

  “You weren’t there,” Jack said.

  “Send them now.” Steve stood, looking around the office for a camera or microphone.

  “Why?”

  “Kyle knows we’re onto him. All his bank accounts were transferred out today.”

  “What?”

  “Kyle Wisnowski,” he said, looking at the computer. “I called you this morning and now all the bank accounts are empty.”

  Steve heard the tapping of a keyboard. “They’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you find a solid connection?”

  “I’m working on it. Can we at least check out the residences in New York and Las Vegas?”

  “Not without a warrant and I need proof to get that,” Jack said.

  Steve glared at the computer screen and held his tongue. “I’ll get you proof. Talk to you later.” He hung up before Jack could say anything else.

  Flipping through his rolodex, he came across the name he wanted—an old college buddy from Yale. He stared at the number, drumming his fingers on the desk, and made a decision.

  “Hi, Ted, it’s Steve. You still flying?”

  “Steve, Jesus, it’s been a while. How the hell are you?”

  “I’m good, but I need a lift to New York City tomorrow. Are you still flying?”

  “You bet your ass, and as luck would have it I don’t have any charters tomorrow. The wife and I were supposed to go pick out tile for the bathroom. I’d do anything to get out of that. You still up in New Hampshire?”