THREE TIMES A LADY

by Jon Osborne

  The EMT lifted up his eyebrows on his forehead in surprise. ‘Holy shit. You’re kidding. How’d she die?’

  ‘Overexposure.’

  ‘To what?’

  Me, Nicholas thought.

  Out loud, he said, ‘Hell, I don’t know, pal. Too much excitement, I suppose. Heart gave out on her, is my guess. Anyway, the docs are going to have to cut her open to find out for sure. They don’t pay me enough to make those kind of calls.’

  The EMT laughed. ‘Yeah, I hear ya there. Me either.’

  The man paused and studied Nicholas’s face. ‘You new around her? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.’

  Like everything else in Annabeth Preston’s exquisite plan, Nicholas had prepared his lie well in advance. ‘Just helping out,’ Nicholas said, another good ol’ boy commiserating with a colleague deep in the heart of Dixie. ‘Studying to become an EMT at the community college. They wanted me to get some real-time experience, lend a hand because of the storm and all. Pretty exciting job you’ve got, huh?’

  The EMT nodded. ‘Yeah, too exciting sometimes. Anyway, pop the locks on the back doors here and we’ll take her off your hands.’

  Nicholas did as he was instructed. The other two EMTs extracted Dinah Leach’s body and slammed shut the doors before wheeling her into the hospital.

  The remaining EMT pounded once on the ambulance’s roof to let Nicholas know he could take off. ‘Thanks a lot, buddy. Good luck in school. I guess I’ll see ya around when you graduate.’

  Nicholas nodded and pressed down his foot against the accelerator. Heart thrumming gleefully in his chest, he pulled away from the absolutely perfect final act of his absolutely perfect first murder.

  See me around? Nicholas thought.

  Not if you’re lucky, pal. Not if you’re fucking lucky.

  PART IV

  TROPICAL DEPRESSION

  ‘Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: In My wrath I will unleash a violent wind and in My anger hailstones and torrents of rain will fall with destructive fury.’

  Book of Ezekiel, chapter 13, verse 13.

  CHAPTER 26

  Four months after his exquisitely flawless murder of Dinah Leach down in Atlanta, Nicholas Preston sat in his rental car outside the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office in Cleveland, Ohio, on a snowy winter’s night, idly thumbing through a slender copy of People magazine while listening to Boy George work his way through a soulful rendition of The Crying Game.

  The cover of Nicholas’s magazine featured a very pretty woman about ten years younger than himself. Short blonde hair framed a beautiful face punctuated by a pair of pale blue eyes. Her milky-white skin would have looked right at home in a Noxzema advertisement within the glossy pages of his magazine. A small brown mole sat just above the right side of her mouth. Her lips were thin but kissable – if you were into that kind of thing, which Nicholas most certainly was not.

  But Dana Whitestone was a good-looking woman, no two ways about it. Shit, she was almost as beautiful as Annabeth Preston.

  Almost as beautiful as Nicholas himself.

  According to the article he was reading at the moment, the FBI agent had never been married. He wondered why. Someone as attractive and successful as her should have been hitched years ago. The combination of her youthful good looks and decidedly cerebral nature would have presented quite the catch for most men: a real piece of arm-candy with a highly functioning brain to match.

  Nicholas shook his head. Wasn’t any of his business why she’d never gotten married. He was sure she had her reasons. Still, Dana Whitestone was another one of those people who didn’t quite deserve all the publicity she’d been getting lately. For what? For doing her fucking job? So she’d caught a few serial killers over the past couple of years and had bumped her head in a minor plane crash where hardly anybody had died at all. Big goddamn deal. What was all the fuss about?

  Nicholas pressed his painted lips together in irritation. It would take more than just a few magazine articles singing her praises as the top law-enforcement official in the country to escape his special list.

  Though Dana Whitestone didn’t know it yet, she’d be the one to ultimately ensure Nicholas’s own fame. And Nicholas knew exactly how she’d do it, too. Exactly when she’d do it, as well. His mother had spelled out everything for him in excruciating detail; right down to killing blow. And it was an absolute beauty. A worthy conclusion to this thrilling ride. Pretty soon, Dana Whitestone would know how it would all end, too. Know it until she begged Nicholas to put her out of her misery already and just let sweet, sweet death take her away.

  Nicholas narrowed his beautiful eyes when the celebrated FBI agent finally stepped out of the coroner’s office twenty minutes later, punching in a number on her cellphone as she did so. No doubt the dumb bitch was giving yet another interminable interview to the press. He swallowed back the acrid flood of stomach acid that rushed into his mouth as Dana Whitestone gleefully recounted her hopelessly boring story for the billionth goddamn time, grinning like the goddamn Cheshire Cat the entire time.

  Big mistake, honey. I’m not the sort of woman you should fuck with. Neither is my mother, for that matter.

  Nicholas chuckled softly. He just couldn’t help himself. He was feeling especially catty tonight, no doubt about it. As catty as he’d ever felt in his entire life. And why not? He was looking good tonight. His dress and shoes and jewellery had been selected precisely for the occasion, as had his hair, makeup and underwear – a bright pink Victoria’s Secret thong worn in honour of the late and not-so-great Dinah Leach. Any way you looked at it, he was ready for this.

  Still, Dana Whitestone represented the last name on his list. If she was really lucky, she might survive the night due to that annoying little technicality. No guarantees, though, of course.

  For now, though, Nicholas would simply have to content himself with watching Dana Whitestone from a distance. Watching her and waiting. When the time was absolutely right, that was when he could spring out from the shadows like a rapist in the night and catch her completely off-guard. Teach her the lesson that Annabeth Preston had taught him so well all those years ago.

  Pride cometh before a fall.

  That said, it didn’t mean Nicholas couldn’t have a little bit of fun right now, did it? Of course it didn’t. Why should he wait any longer? Why not get the festivities under way while he was looking this good?

  Stepping out of his rental car, Nicholas approached the two men in overalls who were loading boxes into the back of the coroner’s office building while Dana Whitestone gabbed into the cellphone at her ear, much too preoccupied with her own story to notice Nicholas’s movements. The men’s pupils widened in admiration as they took in Nicholas’s stunning feminine beauty, causing him to shake his head in bemusement.

  Men. They were all the same. Only interested in one thing. Eight years old or eighty, some things never changed.

  ‘Hey there, boys,’ Nicholas said, sounding exactly like the confident woman he’d always dreamed he’d be. ‘You two interested in making a little bit of money tonight? If you play your cards right, there might even be a couple of blowjobs in it for you, too.’

  ***

  As the older and taller of the two workers present in the parking lot of the coroner’s office – not to mention the tougher of the pair – Larry Randle spoke first.

  At fifty-seven years old and on work release from prison for the ninth time, he’d begun to suspect lately that working for a living just wasn’t going to cut it. Too much bullshit to deal with. Too many asses to kiss. Hell, being in prison was actually easier than living in the real world. He wanted to go back to the joint. After all, three hots and a cot certainly weren’t anything to sneeze at.

  ‘Hell yeah,’ he said, digging his elbow into his partner’s ribs. ‘Some cash and a BJ sounds just about right to us. What do you need from us, honey?’

  CHAPTER 27

  When Dana’s world finally swam back into focus fifte
en minutes later, she found herself bent forward over the driver’s-side seat of her Protégé with her jeans and underwear ripped down around her ankles.

  Cold winter air froze the backs of her exposed thighs. She tried to straighten but found she couldn’t. She’d been pinned down hard beneath a heavy weight.

  Vomit rocketed up Dana’s throat and burned the thin lining of her esophagus before flooding into her mouth and wearing away the enamel on her teeth. One of the men in blue overalls who’d been loading boxes into the back of the building when she’d been speaking with Bill Krugman on the telephone had positioned himself between her legs and was pumping himself furiously in and out, shredding Dana’s insides and grunting hard with his efforts like a wild beast in heat.

  Dana choked on the contents of her stomach. Hot tears sprang up into her eyes and blurred her vision, burning her retinas and making it impossible to see clearly. She again tried to straighten but the man on top of her shoved her face back down into the leather of the car seat.

  ‘Just stay down, bitch,’ he hissed, wrapping a thick handful of Dana’s hair in his fist to keep her in place. ‘Just stay down and try to enjoy yourself.’

  Dana closed her eyes and tried to ignore the searing pain between her legs, still fighting with every last ounce of energy she possessed. She kicked her legs. She bowed her back. She gritted her teeth. Tears streaked down her cheeks and dropped down into the grooves of the car seat, sliding down the leather and collecting in a saltwater pool at the bottom of the backrest. She wondered briefly if this was what her mother, Sara Whitestone, had felt when Nathan Stiedowe’s father had raped her over a church altar way back in 1957. A feeling of complete and utter hopelessness. A feeling of complete and utter violation. A feeling of complete and utter hatred.

  A feeling of wanting to kill the person who was doing this to you.

  Dana took in a deep breath that filled her lungs to capacity and opened her eyes. She needed to remain in the moment here; she knew that, no matter how horrific that moment might be. Marshalling every last ounce of strength left in her body, she took in another deep breath, ready to scream with all her might to alert someone to the fact that she were being raped just fifty feet away from the entrance to the coroner’s office. Suddenly, though, a different scream ripped through the night. A high-pitched yelp of terror that sounded eerily similar to that of a mortally wounded animal.

  The man on top of Dana withdrew quickly from between her legs and whirled around to trace the source of the scream. Dana did the same. Her pale blue eyes burned in their sockets, glistening with hot tears of rage and shame.

  Five feet away, the rapist’s partner writhed on the snow-covered pavement, clutching at his neck. Rivers of bright red blood pulsed from between his trembling fingers before soaking into the pristine white snow covering the ground. A horrible gurgling noise came from deep within his slashed-open throat.

  Dana widened her eyes in shock and amazement. A woman stood over the prone man, holding a long knife in her right hand. Its sharp silver edge still dripped and glinted with her target’s fresh blood.

  The primary rapist – the one who’d been violating Dana only moments earlier – fumbled with the belt on his overalls. ‘What the…’ he began.

  The words died in his throat as the woman sprang forward in a quick flash of movement and shoved the knife deep into his Adam’s apple, twisting hard before pulling it out again. The man’s esophagus collapsed on itself. Falling to the ground next to his partner, he began to choke to death on his own blood.

  Dana stared up in complete confusion at the woman holding the knife in her hand. Utter disbelief filled her mind. She found it impossible to breathe, to speak…

  To thank the woman.

  Dana blinked hard, still fighting back the insistent tears and trying desperately to process the surreal scene before her. Her saviour had dressed in formal attire for the occasion, her long blonde hair streaked with subtle shades of red. Dana’s hands trembled uncontrollably as she yanked up her pants and underwear around her waist. Wiping away the tears from her eyes, she coughed painfully. ‘Thank you,’ Dana sobbed. ‘Thank you so much.’

  The woman smiled at Dana and waved a delicate hand in front of her face. ‘Hell, don’t go thanking me just yet, honey. We girls need to stick together, though, don’t we? Anyway, you would have done the same for me, right?’

  Dana narrowed her eyes, not quite understanding the woman’s meaning. It seemed an odd thing to say considering the gravity of the moment. Flippant. Out of place. ‘Of course I would have. I’m an FBI agent.’

  The woman narrowed her own beautiful green eyes. They shimmered in her face like glistening emeralds set into a face carved out of pure porcelain. ‘Yeah, I know that, Dana. That’s why I’m here.’

  Dana pulled back her head. An uneasy feeling boiled away deep in the pit of her stomach. Still, her traumatised brain didn’t seem capable of processing the woman’s odd words.

  Her pulse crashed in her wrists. ‘How in the hell do you know my name?’ she snapped.

  The woman smiled again and adjusted one of her small gold hoop earrings; as though they found themselves engaged in a bit of mindless chitchat at the moment rather than acknowledging the horrific rape to which Dana had just been subjected. ‘Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Agent Whitestone,’ the woman said. ‘Let’s see here: I know that your parents were murdered when you were four years old – a murder you yourself had the pleasure of witnessing. I know that you live in Lakewood with your pet cat and that you enjoy watching the same television programme on Showtime every Wednesday night. Weeds, isn’t it? The one starring Mary-Louise Parker? Anyway, I also know that you probably think you’re better than me. It’s not true, of course, but in short I know plenty of things about you.’

  The woman paused and lifted up one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows ton her smooth forehead. ‘Can’t say I like a single goddamn one of them, though.’

  Dana reached inside her leather jacket for her Glock and curled her fingers around the corrugated-plastic grip. Her thumb went to the safety to flick it off. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Dana barked, following the training that told her to keep her voice even but still speaking harshly enough to display control. You could never show fear to your adversary. That would only reinforce their confidence and encourage them to attack. ‘You’d better start making sense or I’m going to arrest you right now. Tell me how you know these things about me.’

  The woman dressed in black smiled and produced a syringe loaded with a clear liquid. Dana slid out the Glock from her shoulder holster as the woman took a step forward, pointing it directly at her head. ‘Stop right there,’ Dana ordered, both her hands and voice perfectly steady now. ‘Just stop right there or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking brain.’

  But the woman didn’t stop.

  Dana lowered the gun and pulled the trigger once, aiming for the woman’s kneecap, just like she’d done with her half-brother in his underground bunker two years earlier. A warning shot meant to drive home the painful reminder that the predators weren’t in charge here. The good guys were.

  But the gun only clicked dryly.

  Dana stared down at the Glock in her hand. She shook her head and pulled the trigger again, praying that a particle of dust had somehow caused a temporary malfunction. Again, nothing happened.

  The woman in black widened the smile on her pretty face, showing off two rows of perfectly white teeth. Without warning, she shot out a hand and grabbed Dana hard by her throat, squeezing forcefully enough to cut off Dana’s air. The power in the woman’s grip was unbelievable, unladylike, to say the least, nearly inhuman.

  Pain like a scorpion’s sting bit deep into Dana’s flesh as the woman jabbed the sharp needle into her throbbing carotid artery, producing a pinching sensation that reminded Dana of the yearly influenza shots she’d received as a kid. Only then did Dana realise that the woman accosting her was the exact same woman from the one in the autopsy-room
video. The woman’s hair and clothes were different now, but her eyes were the same brilliant shade of green. Sadly, though, Dana didn’t have time to process this information before her eyelids grew heavy and her world faded away again.

  Through the fog in her brain, Dana heard metallic clinks that sounded like silver raindrops echo against the frozen pavement.

  The woman’s last words – like all her previous words – were delivered in a voice positively dripping with contempt.

  ‘In case you were wondering, my dear, those men were working for me,’ the woman said, letting the remaining bullets from Dana’s gun drop from her hand and onto the hard surface of the parking lot below. ‘We took the liberty of emptying out your gun while you were passed out the first time. Anyway, like I said before, you shouldn’t thank me just yet. I may be done with you for the time being, but I’m certainly not done with you for good. I saved you only because I want you for myself, Agent Whitestone. Sweet dreams, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you again real soon.’

  The woman paused. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, ‘Better look twice, though. I know you’re supposed to be the world’s greatest cop and all, but you probably won’t recognise me the next time around.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Dana came to again twenty minutes later, woozy and nauseous from the effects of the powerful drug still coursing through her system.

  Shaking her head hard to clear away the fresh scattering of cobwebs in her frazzled brain, Dana pulled herself up off the ground and punched 911 into her cellphone before pacing the parking lot of the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office for ten solid minutes while waiting impatiently for the cops to arrive.

  Dana forced herself to not cry during the interminable six hundred seconds. Wasn’t easy. Her head was killing her and her body temperature had soared to a feverish level despite the bitterly cold wind that was whipping in off the lake and knifing viciously through her traumatised body. Still, the bitter cold couldn’t touch her right now. Nothing in the world could touch her right now. Not today and maybe not ever again.