by Mia Thompson
Aston’s second problem was a five-foot-four heiress, harboring a burning hatred for him.
He glared at his inbox: 0 new emails.
“What if he comes when I’m sleeping?” the old woman continued. “What if he shoots Fluffy?”
Wouldn’t blame him. Aston eyed Fluffy, her teacup poodle who had bit him when the old woman first stormed in.
Between the missing heiresses, and people from 90210 to 90213 getting burglarized, Aston hadn’t had the time to go to Lynwood. Or, truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to.
With the way his plan was going, he knew Sapphire Dubois would respond in one of four ways: A) Not talk to him. B) Not be willing to listen to what he had to say. C) Knee him in the groin. D) All of the above.
Aston was fond of his groin and felt it wasn’t to blame for what happened, so he opted to protect it. More than anything he couldn’t stand the idea of her looking at him the way she had at the airport. The shock and pain on her face was already like a poster tacked on the back of his eyelids.
When Aston came back from Dubai, and lost the feeling in his legs, he hadn’t minded the paralysis. Perhaps the doctors with their “psychosomatic” bullshit weren’t so bullshit after all. Without Sapphire, Aston simply didn’t want to walk because there was nothing to walk toward. That’s how much he loved her. When Julia came in, he got his purpose back, and knew what he wanted. He wanted Sapphire safe and he wanted Sapphire. There were only two options. One: he could find her in Paris and live with her as a fugitive. Aston had met people who’d lived on the lam. To always run and look over one’s shoulder every day was no life at all.
Option number two was the only way. He would bring Sapphire home and tell the force she gave herself up. Then he’d contact the Dubois lawyer, Sal Goldstein, one of the best lawyers in the country. Aston knew Sapphire would never have hurt Charles Dubois, and that she only killed Richard Martin in self-defense. Goldstein would, no doubt, be able to clear her from the murder changes. The Serial Catcher’s charges—or put more accurately, her gazillion charges of obstruction of justice—would take more finesse; what Sapphire had done was not just citizen’s arrest. Citizen’s arrest was applicable when the person in question stumbled upon a crime and intervened. A vigilante plotted, broke laws, and withheld evidence from the authorities. To do it once may have been over-looked by a jury or judge, but to keep taking down criminals without following proper lawful procedures was where Sapphire had turned an offense into a severe crime.
He had to make sure Sapphire was found not guilty. To do so, Aston was about to pay a visit to the California Institution for Women and lock in a witness to go against Capelli. The woman’s special interest in him was terrifying, but would be the reason Sapphire got out of prison.
When Aston first developed the plan, he’d thought a few days in the BHPD cell would scare Sapphire straight from ever looking at another killer. A month in Lynwood was overkill and something he’d never meant to happen.
Therein lay the first problem with Aston’s grand plan. None of Sapphire’s rich peeps paid her bail like he’d assumed. His second major setback: Sal Goldstein was M.I.-fucking-A.
“What if, what if, what if…” The old coot bawled into her embroidered handkerchief. “What if he comes back to rape me!?”
Aston raised a brow to the old woman, tits to her ankles, and opened his mouth just as a young woman burst into his office.
“Oh my God, Hedda! Are you okay?” the young woman embraced the old coot. “I came as soon as I got your message.” A slight blush hit the young woman’s cheeks when she noticed him. “Oh hi, I’m Ginnifer with a G.”
“Of course you are.” Aston gave her a quick handshake. Another heiress with a zany name. Shocker.
“Do you think you can recover her jewelry?” Ginnifer asked.
“Maybe.” Aston tore his eyes from the screen. But probably not. All the security cameras at the burglaries had been disabled, and not a finger print found; the dude was a pro. “Just be happy your grandmother is safe.”
“Oh, no. I work for a living, just like you.” She smiled, shy eyes on Aston. “I’m her caretaker.”
Ping! Aston looked at the screen to see a new email and felt his heart skip.
“He took everything, Ginnifer,” the old coot bawled again. “Even Michael’s rare 1937 Rolex. I’m devastated. He was my second-best husband.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” Aston clapped.
Ginnifer and the old coot looked at him wide-eyed.
“Oh right,” he realized, then ushered them toward the door. “We’ll do our best to find the perpetrator, etcetera, etcetera. Good day.”
“Detective.” Officer Barry Harry entered. “You’re not going to believe…” his words stopped when he saw Ginnifer. “Hello… Barry I am.”
Barry sounded like Yoda because Ginnifer was smoking hot. The type of hot Aston would’ve tried to pull a Bang ’n’ Vanish on pre-Sapphire. Barry was so smitten he didn’t even notice Fluffy getting frisky with his leg.
“Walk with me.” Aston yanked Barry away from Ginnifer and the humping dog, then headed toward the elevator. “I’m not going to believe what?”
“She’s out,” Barry said, neck still cranked back toward Ginnifer. “Someone finally paid her bail.”
“Who?” Aston asked, feeling both relieved and nervous about it.
“I didn’t check yet.” Barry held his hands up. “I know what you’re going to say…”
“I’m going to Guayaquil.”
“’Kay, not what I thought you were going to say.” Barry stopped and stared at Aston as he entered the elevator. “Why are you going to Guayaquil? And where the hell is Guayaquil?”
“Pff, look it up,” Aston sneered as the elevator doors closed.
He left the station with his mind on three objectives: Leave and return to the States within twenty-four hours. Win Sapphire back. First, look up where the hell Guayaquil was.
• • •
Erika Phelps cried as her fingers clawed at the basement’s dirt floor. She dragged herself forward, inching toward the staircase. The concoction hadn’t worn off completely and it left her legs limp and dragging behind her like deadweights.
William Dubois held back a laugh at the top of the stairs and watched her in the light of the TV he’d set up.
It had been The Hunger’s idea not to re-dose her with the Hemlock. He’d given Erika time to feel the control of her body gradually return while dreading it wouldn’t wear off soon enough.
He was proud of his creation. It had taken him years to develop the flower’s paralyzing poison to work the way he wanted it to. Too much Hemlock would paralyze, then kill them. His concoction turned their body to stone, but left their minds awake and aware of pain. They’d die when The Hunger chose so.
Erika moaned as she dug her bloody fingernails into the dirt floor again and pulled herself closer to what she thought was freedom. She didn’t know the man she feared had silently watched her for the past five minutes.
William used to keep the women alive for a few hours before he stabbed then strangled them. Knowing their time in Beverly Hills would come to an end soon, The Hunger had kept Erika alive for weeks, soaking it all in. The longer she suffered, the more it dulled the pain he’d felt when the Dubois family disowned him for what he was. It was as if they’d cared more for the silly maid he’d killed than they’d cared for him.
It’s time, The Hunger hummed.
William approached her as the news came on next to them. He’d left the TV there to make Erika watch her family cry to the camera over and over. He wished they’d show an Erika Phelps segment now, but to his disappointment they had breaking news about an earthquake in Fresno.
“Erika.” William shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”
Erika gasped and looked up at him with big, tear-filled eyes.
“No,” she cried in distress, her hopes of freedom dashed.
William took one step at a time and kept his eyes on her. “Poor.
Little. Girl.”
She must’ve known she couldn’t out-crawl him, but she tried. Her hands lunged forward and she dragged her dead logs of legs behind her. It was like watching a snail try to make it across a freeway.
“I’ve made it so nice for you.” He motioned to the small TV in front of her cot. “I even made sure you could watch your friends and family testify to what a saint you are on the news.”
William stepped down on her ankle, thwarting her “escape.” She cried so hard saliva bubbles formed.
“Why…” she bawled.
“Why what, Erika? Why am I doing this? Why you?” William asked. “This isn’t the karma you had coming, you didn’t deserve this. You’ve spent your life helping animals and people less fortunate. Compared to so many others in your society, you are, undoubtedly, a good person.”
She sniffled and her lip quivered.
“Guess what, Erika?” William leaned down. “I chose you because you’re charitable. There is no such thing as karma. You humans made it up so the world would make sense. But good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. There is no order to the universe.”
Erika exhaled at the floor and produced a cloud of dust. “I feel sorry for you.”
“Pardon?”
“You humans,” she quoted him, her voice weak. “What a sad and lonely life you live if the only way you can connect with others is to kill them.”
William stared at the miserable woman on the floor.
Don’t listen to her, The Hunger spat. Shut her up.
William felt the anger flow through him as he grabbed her hair and yanked her off the dirt. She cried out as he jammed the Hemlock needle in her neck.
His eyes glued to the small TV screen as the picture of her popped up next to the reporter. Erika Phelps was wrong.
He did connect with someone outside of killing. She shared his dark pastime and happened to be his own flesh and blood. Sapphire Dubois was out.
It was time to introduce himself.
Chapter 5
Christina Kraft was probably the most beautiful woman in the world… according to herself.
But who was a better judge of beauty than Chrissy? Her blonde hair was playfully curly, her stomach toned and tanned, and the third set of implants had reached the perfection her previous boobies hadn’t. To her, they were even perfect-er than her new BFF’s infamous set.
Chrissy could feel the white-haired bartender in her poolside cabana at the Beverly Hills Country Club eyeball her. Someone like him, poor and old with a stupid penguin uniform, would never come close to anyone like her, so she graciously let him dream on.
“Gawd, I’m bored!” She waved off her manicurists so she could clap her hands. “Entertain me, Kate Upton.”
The famous model looked up from her massage table. “Um, what do you want me to do?”
Chrissy moaned. “I never had to tell my old BFF how to entertain me, she just did.”
A white lie. Before Sapphire selfishly abandoned Chrissy, she’d been a poor entertainer. Chrissy was the one who kept their conversations going by talking about herself. It wasn’t like Sapphire ever had anything interesting going on.
Sapphire. Chrissy pouted. Her former BFF was in jail or prison, or something. Chrissy wasn’t sure what the difference was. It made her feel sad and lonely. She didn’t like the feeling so she looked around for something to do.
“Watch and learn,” Chrissy said, then curled her finger at the country club’s manager. “Say, Jackie…”
Jack was in the middle of a conversation with the poolside chef, but scurried over the second Chrissy’s finger aimed at him. “Yes, Ms. Kraft?”
“Do you encourage your employees to gawk at your members?” Chrissy nodded at the bartender.
Jack squirmed, looking at the shocked bartender and Chrissy purred. She loved it when she made them sweat.
“I didn’t, Ms. Kraft,” the bartender hurried out from behind the bar. “I was looking at your sunglasses. I was thinking about ideas for my daughter’s birthday. I would never look at you that way; I’ve known you since you were little.”
Had he? Chrissy felt her cheeks heat and she didn’t like it. Krafts shouldn’t have to feel embarrassed. Then she touched her face and forehead. “He’s a liar. I’m not even wearing sunglasses today.”
“Well, ah, you were,” he replied.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
The bartender and Jack shook their heads frantically. “No-no-no.”
“Fired. I want him fired.” Since they insisted on humiliating her, she would teach the man a thing or two about life, like her daddy always said.
“Please,” the manager begged. “Hector’s been with us for twenty years and we’ve never had any problems…”
“I suppose I can tell Daddy to cancel our membership.” Chrissy studied her freshly manicured nails.
“No.” The manager turned to Hector with panic in his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry, Hector.”
Hector looked at the manager, and nodded. He raised his head, trying to hold onto whatever pride he believed he had, and walked off.
“That wasn’t very entertai—”
“Shut up, Kate Upt—O… M… F… Gawd.” Chrissy sat up, kicking her pedicurist away.
Whispers spread through the cabanas. Waiters’ eyes turned. Gasps of horror stretched from one end of the pool to the other.
“Is that…?” the model started.
Yes, Sapphire Dubois was back.
Chrissy crossed her arms when Sapphire reached the cabana. “If it isn’t the abander… abandander… abandier.”
“Can we talk… alone?” Sapphire eyed Chrissy’s cabana staff.
Chrissy wanted to tell Sapphire all the things that had happened while she was away. She wanted to tell her about how she and John had been together for the summer and then how she’d dumped him. About her new burgundy pumps; they were so cute.
“Anything you want to say, you can say in front of my new BFF.” Chrissy motioned to the model. “We are very close. Isn’t that right, Kate Upton?”
“I think we’d be closer if you stopped calling me by my first and last name.”
“Because Kate Upton would never leave for months without calling me.” Chrissy flipped her curls. “You realize what I’ve been through? A summer without a BFF is like… fall.”
Sapphire sighed. “If I could’ve called, I would’ve, Chrissy.”
The anger thawed. Of course. Who wouldn’t call Christina Kraft if presented the option?
“I came here to ask if you paid my bail. Which I realize now, you didn’t.”
“Ms. Dubois.” Jack, the manager, grabbed Sapphire’s arm. “I’m afraid your membership has been revoked. You’re not welcome here.”
Sapphire’s eyes drew to Chrissy.
Even if Chrissy could help Sapphire, her status wouldn’t get her out of the mess from the wedding. This is what happened to people who humiliated a Vanderpilt at the altar.
Chrissy wanted to open her mouth and scream, “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to be my BFF again, not stupid Kate Upton!” but she couldn’t. Chrissy didn’t care about what the others around the pool thought about her standing up for Sapphire. What were they going to do? Like her daddy always said, “There are people and then there are Krafts.” But she had no choice. She’d promised.
“You heard him.” Chrissy iced her voice. “You’re not welcome here.”
Sapphire looked to the ground in embarrassment, then let Jack pull her toward the gate.
Chrissy watched her leave and felt so sad for Sapphire it became anger.
“Hell-O!” she turned to the lazy staff. “Where’s my drink? I ordered it like minutes ago.”
“You fired the bartender,” the model said.
“Gawd, shut up, Kate Upton.”
Chrissy rolled her eyes and gave her hand to the manicurist as her new BFF sulked. They all stayed, no matter how she talked to them. They didn’t want to miss o
ut on the next exclusive party. Secret societies threw the best shindigs and Chrissy’s daddy was a key member. It was as funny as it was annoying to watch her “friends” put up with anything.
Chrissy shook it all off, then leaned back in her lounge chair, and thought about fun things instead, like her new pumps. Something poked her in the back and she squirmed in the chair. She reached under her and pulled out her sunglasses.
“Oh… whoops,” she chirped, then tossed them to the side and lay back down to take a gander at her perfect nails. She couldn’t understand why people were complaining so much about the heat, the economy, and earthquakes. Why didn’t they have the common sense to lay by the pool all day like her?
Sometimes, Christina Kraft thought, people were just so ignorant.
• • •
She peered at the mansion from behind the palm tree.
The minute she heard Sapphire Dubois was out, she knew she had to make a statement. She had to let Sapphire know her services were no longer required.
When the papers revealed the history of the original Serial Catcher and her trappings, they’d also mentioned certain details. The closer she studied them, the more she saw all her predecessor had done right, and all she’d done wrong. The heiress had spared the monsters. Sure they were imprisoned, but they’d gotten to keep living while the women they’d killed were gone forever. Taking the monsters’ lives was the only way to avenge the women and to make sure they never hurt anyone else. She’d kill them all if she could; just like she killed Bennett Rivers and the others.
The papers also taught her that Sapphire had made anonymous calls to the police with a device that modified the voice and that she had sometimes used recorders to capture killers’ confessions. Most importantly, she’d learned that serial killers could be lured out from anywhere, as long as you could figure out their M.O. and morph yourself into their desired victim.