The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  Jennifer tilted her head, her eyes locked with his.

  “Do you want some wine?” Steve asked.

  “Um, no,” Jennifer answered. She waved her parents toward the seats on the far side of the table and then slid into the chair next to Steve. “Thanks for the dinner.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Thanks for letting me take off for the day,” he replied. “Joe, Allison, any wine?” He held up the bottle and filled both glasses when they nodded. “Dig in.”

  “Jen said you flew down to Martha’s vineyard?” Allison asked.

  Steve nodded. “The weather was beautiful. Clear skies all the way down. The return trip was a little different. I’m surprised you didn’t get any storms up this way.”

  “Who were you with?” Joe asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

  “A friend of mine from Yale.” The accusatory undertone in his father-in-law’s question didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Yale?” Joe raised his eyebrow.

  Steve sighed and nodded. “My first field case was at Yale. Ted was my roommate while I was there.” He glanced at Jennifer and then at her parents.

  “Does he know you’re with the FBI?”

  Steve nodded. “He didn’t know while I was his roommate. But he knew before I left Yale.”

  “It must be tough to lie about who you are all the time,” Joe commented.

  Steve shrugged, ignoring the dig. “I caught the bad guy.”

  “So lying is second nature to you?” Joe pushed.

  Steve set his silverware down and stared at his father-in-law. Anger raged, burning through the fear and setting his pulse on overdrive. “I’m not doing this.” He stood up.

  Jennifer grabbed his arm. “Please.”

  Steve looked into her green eyes and slowly sank back into the seat. He turned his attention back to his father-in-law, reaching for his glass, draining it, refilling his goblet, silently daring Joe to make a comment about his drinking.

  “Dad, please stop,” Jennifer said, “Steve is a good man.”

  Joe turned toward Jennifer. “He lies for a living.”

  “He puts criminals behind bars,” Jennifer countered.

  “You know, I had a long day. I come home and cook this nice dinner for you, and this is the way you thank me?” Steve stood up, this time shaking Jennifer’s hand off his arm as she tried to stop him from leaving the kitchen. Steve stormed across the living room and slammed his office door behind him. He stood for a moment. “Fuck it,” he muttered and opened the door, stormed back into the kitchen and leaned across the table, grabbing the full wine bottle and his wine glass. He returned to his office feeling the stares on his back as he closed the door again.

  * * * *

  “Thanks a lot, Dad.” Jennifer threw her napkin on the table. Her vision blurred with tears. The pleasant day went to hell in less than a half hour because her father just couldn’t keep his opinion to himself where Steve was concerned. “I think you should go.”

  “Jennifer, he’s a time bomb waiting to explode,” Joe said. “He’s been unstable all his life.”

  Jennifer laughed. “Bullshit.”

  “Joe, stop,” Allison piped in.

  “He freaked out after his sister died and I heard he freaked out when his fiancé died a few years back,” Joe pushed.

  “I freaked out when I saw his sister’s death too,” Jennifer snapped. “That was the first time I had an asthma attack, and you know who saved my ass back then? The man you just insulted.”

  Jennifer stood up and crossed the room, leaving her parents staring after her. She stepped into the office, startling Steve enough that he dropped the stack of paper he was looking at. A couple of pages drifted onto the floor at the side of the desk.

  Steve scrambled to collect the copies, but she was faster, reaching down and picking up two of the pages. She froze at the photocopy in her hand. The details burned into her consciousness by her very vivid visions. Her gaze shot to his. “Where did you go today?”

  Steve reached down and plucked the copies from her, avoiding eye contact. When he finally met her gaze, she knew.

  “You didn’t,” she gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

  Steve looked down at the mess of paper on his desk and nodded. He raised his eyes but didn’t say a word.

  The strength left her legs and she sat down in the chair facing his desk. “But?”

  “But what? I’m in the middle of an active investigation, Jen,” he snapped and held up the photocopies. “The shit thing is that I may have compromised the entire case.” He took a seat behind the desk. “I broke into his apartment and got this without a warrant. It’s inadmissible.” He threw the paper onto the desk and leaned back, covering his face. “Kyle is the Slasher,” he said and raked his hands down his face.

  “I know.”

  Steve’s eyebrows creased and he leaned forward. “You know? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Jennifer leaned away from his angry glare. “I didn’t know until today. He killed again and I saw his face, okay?”

  Steve snapped his mouth closed and glanced at the array of photographs on the desk. When he looked back at her, he nodded.

  “Was there even a Ted?”

  “Yes. Ted was with me,” he answered. “He owns a private charter company and I called him.”

  Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “How much did that set us back?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You expect me to believe you?”

  “I saved his wife from the rapist at Yale.”

  “Oh.” Jennifer blinked and looked down at her hands. Steve didn’t call in favors unless he was desperate and she knew her visions pushed him into that category. The magnitude of his stunt crashed down on her and she bit her lip, blinking back the mist that covered her eyes. He could have been killed today. The thought resounded in her head over and over.

  The man stalking them was the same one who attacked her in New York, the same one who killed all those women, the same one who made her chop off Steve’s arm in her vision.

  The depths of his darkness terrified her, and the thought of him actually finding her alone in the cottage just added to her horror.

  * * * *

  After her parents left, Steve walked into the nursery, flipping on the light and staring at the empty crib. A part of him was glad she wasn’t home yet. At least he knew his daughter was safe. He took a deep breath and headed out of the nursery toward the bedroom.

  Leaning on the doorjamb, Steve watched Jennifer pretend to read. He knew she was angry but instead of talking with her, he grabbed the wine and headed outside to the gazebo. The last of the light faded behind the mountains and he finished the bottle of wine, rocking gently with his thoughts.

  After a while, Jennifer slid onto the seat next to him. She didn’t speak, she just sat with her hands folded in her lap and let the silence build between them.

  Steve reached over and took her hand.

  Jennifer pulled it away, glaring at him. “You lied to me,” she finally said.

  “Yep,” Steve agreed. He reached for the bottle, pouring the last drops into his glass and drained it.

  Jennifer stood up to leave and he grabbed her arm.

  “Sit for a while.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because,” he answered, blinking the misty film from his eyes.

  Jennifer stared at him and the tight muscles in her jaw relaxed. She slowly lowered back onto the seat. “I’m still pissed at you,” she said after a few minutes.

  “I know.” He took her hand.

  She allowed him to lace his fingers through hers as they rocked in silence. The slow creak of the swing filled the dusk.

  “What if my dream had come true?”

  Steve let the air out of his lungs. “That’s why I let Ted to come with me. I figured it would change the outcome.” He paused. “I was right.”

  “How could you put yourself in danger like that?” she snapped. She a
ttempted to yank her hand from his but he clamped down.

  He finally looked fully in her direction. “It’s my job.” The words hissed from his chest.

  “But you put your friend in danger, too,” she pointed out.

  Steve closed his mouth, gritting his teeth together. “He knew what he was getting into.”

  Jennifer tilted her head. “Is he a cop?”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  Jennifer shook her head, laughing slightly. “You’re still using people to get what you want.” She shot a glare in his direction.

  “I’m aware of that,” he whispered, looking out at the water. A tear cut a hot path down his cheek. “But I’ve got to know I did everything I could possibly do. Otherwise, I’ll go insane.” He looked back at her. “If I can’t stop him…” he trailed off.

  The fear that seeded in his stomach today took over his entire body at the thoughts following that statement. A shadow passed over his eyes and he looked away, running his hand through his hair. “If I can’t stop him, we’ll all end up in Brooksfield Cemetery.”

  Chapter 73

  Shuffling through the pictures in his office, Steve took a deep breath and began matching them to cases in the file, achieving a chronological record of Kyle’s transgressions. Kyle didn’t have all the pictures of his victims in his closet in New York. Steve was willing to bet a month’s salary that pictures of the remaining women from his case file were hidden in Kyle’s Las Vegas homestead.

  The case file had twenty victims in the last eight years. He studied the locations of the deaths again and glanced at the itinerary, his brow creasing. He typed in a search request for the same modus operandi against the Interpol database and let out a tuneless whistle when the results came back. Another half dozen cases matched his criteria spread throughout the major cities of Europe.

  He had struck in London, Paris, Barcelona, Rome and most recently Milan. Steve glanced at the itinerary and covered his face with his hands as he pushed the chair away from his desk.

  He leaned back and took a deep breath, picking up the photographs of Kyle’s foster parents. The whole signature was different. He took his time with them, relishing each atrocity versus the relatively quick deaths of the women Kyle had killed. This was personal, and Steve wondered how they would fare, because Kyle’s vendetta against him was definitely personal.

  He got lost in the research, his heart hammering in his chest loudly enough to drown the sound of the doorknob turning.

  Steve hammered away on the keyboard until she cleared her throat. He looked up to see Jennifer leaning against the doorjamb with her arms folded across her chest. He met her questioning green eyes. “I’m mapping a correlation between the assassinations we attribute to the Bondino’s and the killings in our files,” he said and looked back to the computer screen. He had been cross-referencing items back and forth for the last couple of hours. He glanced back at the doorway and she wasn’t there anymore.

  “Shit,” he mumbled and saved his research. He stood up and wandered through the house, finding her back in the bed, under the covers with her back to the door. He slid under the covers behind her, kissing her shoulder.

  * * * *

  Jennifer didn’t respond. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She knew her husband had a dark and dangerous side when pushed too far. She was scared to death that when all this was said and done, he would plummet into that abyss and never return.

  Chapter 74

  Steve smiled down at Samantha and glanced at Jennifer. “I’m going to grab lunch. Anything you want in particular?”

  Jennifer nodded. “A cheeseburger?”

  He kissed her and headed toward the cafeteria, pulling his cell out of his pocket. “Morning, Jack,” he said when the voice answered.

  “Hi, Steve. What’s up?”

  “Kyle Wisnowski is the Slasher.” When his boss sucked the air in between his teeth, Steve waited for Jack to process the information. “We need to search the house in Las Vegas.”

  “How did you make that connection?”

  “I’ve got proof,” he mumbled, knowing he was going to get reamed.

  “What did you do?”

  Steve placed his order at the counter and took a seat in the wings, waiting with his ticket number. “I took a little trip yesterday,” he finally said to Jack.

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “I pulled some strings and got a lift down to the city,” he said. “I paid a visit to our friend and found some interesting photos in a couple of shoe boxes in the closet.”

  “You did what?” Jack barreled into the phone.

  “He’s the Slasher, Jack. And I found proof leading to his foster parents’ death. And he’s in Italy right now. I found an itinerary there and Jennifer had another vision, and there was a murder in Italy that corresponds to the Slasher case. She saw his face this time, Jack, and said he’s the spitting image of Charlie.”

  “You entered a suspect’s house without a warrant?” he growled.

  “I’ve got the trail, both in dates and bodies, and there’s a direct correlation with some of the hits we pegged to the Bondino’s. It’s enough to get a warrant to search Kyle’s house.”

  “You need more than just a hunch, and what you obtained is inadmissible.”

  “God damn it, Jack, this guy is the one who attacked Jennifer in October!” He turned his back to the patrons who glanced his way, shielding the mouthpiece with his hand. “We both know what this guy is capable of.” His voice rumbled from his chest.

  “Steve, you broke the law and compromised our case.”

  “I didn’t take anything. I made copies and put things back.”

  “If I send someone in there now, will they find your fingerprints?”

  Steve closed his eyes and let himself slump in the chair. “Shit,” he said, knowing exactly where his boss was going.

  “They’ll say you planted evidence.”

  “My fingerprints aren’t in Las Vegas.”

  “Can you tie him to any of the crime scenes without the evidence you found?”

  Steve was quiet. “I’ve got the correlations to mafia hits and we have the DNA profile, which was similar enough to Charlie’s that it was written off as him—but it didn’t match exactly, which tells me it has to be family and the only living relative is Kyle.”

  “I’ve got a marked grave and death certificate that says otherwise. They’re exhuming Kyle’s body on Monday, but it could take a couple of weeks to get DNA results. In the meantime, I’ll start the paperwork to get a warrant for the Las Vegas residence, but you may have fucked up any case we have against the bastard. Get me a tie that would put him at or near the crime scene without compromising the case any further,” Jack ordered.

  “Okay.”

  “Steve?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m serious. Don’t do anything else that will compromise this case,” Jack spat through the phone.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Steve hung up the phone and closed his eyes. He knew damn well he was lucky to still have his badge. The fact that Jack didn’t threaten to pull it was nothing short of a miracle.

  Chapter 75

  The plane touched down at JFK airport at a little after five, by the time Kyle strolled into his apartment it was close to seven-thirty and he was ravenous. He walked over to his desk, picked up the phone to order take-out, and froze. The printer was on. Kyle turned, scanning the apartment for anything else that was out of order. His eyes landed on the couch and coffee table. The pillow was wrong and the magazine wasn’t the way he left it. He put the phone down. Walking to the other side of the desk, he reached under the drawer, pulling out his handgun. He flipped off the safety and slid off his shoes so he would be soundless as he stalked through the apartment.

  He stood in his bedroom with the closet open. His mouth parted as he gazed at the shoeboxes. They weren’t lined up perfectly.

  “Shit,” he said and crouched down, opening them up
. He quashed the urge to throw the boxes across the room. The contents had been disturbed.

  “God damn it!” He stood up, pacing across the room and back.

  He emptied half of his drawers into a suitcase, closed it, and stormed into the living room, flipping the safety back on the gun and slamming it on the desk.

  He flipped on the computer and did a quick search, finding the poor soul who was going to suddenly and violently die in the next couple of days. Same height, same weight, and same tattoo, but that’s where the similarities ended. He opened the desk drawer and looked at the slightly disheveled items.

  Nothing in the drawer had his picture on it. He leaned back in the seat and looked around.

  Whoever had been in the apartment was good, but leaving the copier on was a slip-up. If he wasn’t such an obsessive-compulsive person, he would never have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Even the copier could have been overlooked.

  His transition plans needed to be executed more quickly than expected. He dragged his suitcase down to the car and returned to the apartment.

  Kyle went about the tedious task of cleaning every surface in the apartment, including each picture in the shoeboxes. He swore under his breath as he slid the boxes back in the closet. The mementos of his adventures would need to be left behind. He opened the box that held the pictures of his first kill and he shuffled through them quickly, stopping at the last shot of the carnage. “Fucking asshole,” he said and tossed the picture back in the box, covering it.

  It took Kyle close to six hours to scour every surface in the place and then he dropped all the cleaning supplies, including the vacuum bag, into the incinerator on his way out. His last look around the apartment produced a heavy sigh and then he closed the door on that chapter in his life.

  Once he’d settled into the house across the lake from his pet project, he’d come back to the city to finish the job of wiping Kyle Winslow off the face of the earth. A quick stop at Grand Central Station procured his identity documents. His normal drop locker contained credit cards and a driver’s license in the name of John Sheridan. Whistling, he pocketed the items and returned to his double-parked car, starting the long trek north.