“No fuckin’ way.”
“Way.”
Michael sat up, his eyes still unfocused, rubbed his eyes, blinked. The sheet barely covered his manhood. “You can’t be fucking serious. We just fucking a-well got to sleep.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Wallis. Y’know, Little Miss Trash Mouth.”
Wallis slid a hand from under the bedclothes to flip Austin the bird.
He grinned and threw a kiss at her, before he turned his attention back to Michael. “Yeah, well, Gallo, you can be the one to tell the crew why we didn’t take advantage of our time off to sleep.”
“Bugger off.”
“Nice. We still gotta go.”
Wallis finally rose up on an elbow. “Christ on a cracker, enough with the two of you. What in bloody blue hell is going on?”
Austin had returned half dressed, zipping up his pants. He sat on the chaise to pull on his socks. “Another missing woman. A movie usher left after her midnight shift ended, didn’t make it home—in two years, it never took her longer than fifteen minutes to drive home. Twenty-three years old, moved back in with her parents to save money. Pretty girl. Red hair. Blue eyes. Big smile for everyone.”
Wallis shook her head. “Ah, fuck.”
Michael rose, still naked. “Where did she go missing?”
Talking over his shoulder, Austin headed out of the room to finish dressing. “About two blocks from where we went to dinner last evening.”
With a groan, Wallis threw the blankets off her cast, swung to the edge of the bed. “All right, I’m up.”
Graced with a great view of Michael’s naked ass as he followed Austin out of her bedroom, she sighed deeply, going for dramatic effect.
Michael spoke over his shoulder. “Stop ogling me in that tone of voice.”
“Well then, stop walking around nekkid.”
Then, never being one to mince words, Wallis called the ball. “Hey, guys. Before you leave, I need to say this. Last night was totally incredible, even before the pain meds kicked in. Are you both okay with what happened? And the three of us? Are we okay?”
Both men returned, one half-dressed, one naked. Their combined bulk was wider than the entire doorway. They glanced at each other then nodded.
Austin answered for the both of them, while Michael left to pull on his clothes. “Yeah, baby, we’re okay. And, yes, we did…things…we’d consider doing again, as long as you were up for it, too. All right?”
“That’s wicked awesome. I love you guys.”
“Love you, too, baby. Look, Gallo and I need to get moving. You don’t. Why don’t you sleep in this morning?”
“Because something’s been bothering me about these cases, and I need to do some research. I can’t help out in the field, but maybe I can help from here. There’s a certifiable crazy out there, killing women. I worry about you both being in the line of fire.”
“We’re BCI. We don’t get in the line of fire.”
“Oh, yeah, right, sport. That makes me feel all warm and cozy.” She pointed at her casted leg. “I’m BCI, too. I wasn’t supposed to be in the line of fire, either. Remember?”
Chapter Six
“Glennon, I need your help.”
Wallis sat behind her desk, stared at the handsome man taking up the pixels on her oversized twenty-one inch laptop screen. She had her leg propped up on a hassock, an extra pillow under the cast.
“Wallis, for you, anything. What do you need, sweet thing?” His smile lit up the display.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, don’t laugh, but I think I have a line on a serial murderer. At least, I have an idea. You’re the only one with a wide enough data net to find the connection. Maybe.”
His expression went from sociable to serious. “Serial murderer?”
“Three women. One a month for three months. Austin and Michael found the third victim a few days ago. Another girl went missing last night. Nothing official yet, but I’m thinking she’s another victim of this guy—only she would be the fourth, and the time frame is too short. There’s a possibility it’s not the same perp.”
“Coop and Gallo, what’s their take?”
“They agree with my theory of a possible pattern. Again, I have nothing official. Seems like everyone wants to avoid panic in the streets. I guess I kinda understand where they’re comin’ from, but I’m thinking these incidents are not isolated, and the neighboring towns should be warned. Glennon, I feel it in my gut—he’s killed more than these three, maybe four. Trouble is, no one’s made the connection.”
“Understood. So, what would you like me to do?”
She cleared her throat, knowing what she was about to ask was a huge undertaking. “Search as many data bases as possible, using the variables I’m forwarding to you. Three young women abducted—assume murdered—one a month for three consecutive months, all within a thirty-mile radius. Then, nothing. I’m not sure how this fourth missing woman fits in, if at all.”
“Wallis, what are you suggesting, so I know we’re both on the same page.”
Taking another deep breath, she committed. “Here it is, then. I’m thinking there are more trios of abductions and homicides. What if the killer strikes in sets of three then moves on. Enough to get the attention of the cops, then he stops. If he’s careful, the cases go cold. End of investigation. He’s already become someone else’s headache.”
Glennon was quiet for a moment. She could see him tapping a letter opener against the top of his desk. “All right. So, we’re looking for someone who travels easily. Maybe a long-haul truck driver, a construction specialist that works big projects. Maybe a salesman of some description. Photographer, journalist. Someone who wouldn’t seem out of place showing up in new areas. Someone who is comfortable changing locations.”
Whew, he’s going with it. Doesn’t think I’m a lunatic—at least, not yet. “Exactly. I’m sure the killer is a man, someone with a huge surplus of anger. He doesn’t just kill. He tortures then humiliates his victims. But, he’s a chameleon—someone who fits in without too much effort. Your victim search should highlight young women, age twenty to thirty, pretty, reddish hair, blue eyes.”
“You’ve really been jonesing about this, haven’t you?”
“I’m sitting at home, on my ass, with two broken leg bones, a shattered kneecap, and a pile of evidence that’s going nowhere. What else should I be doing?”
“Keeping those two hard workin’ men of yours happy, that’s what.”
“Bugger off, Garrett. You’re such a chauvinist. My two hard workin’ men are so freakin’ happy that the other team members threaten to throw them down and hog-tie them, just to keep the smiles off their faces.”
That brought out a bark of laughter. “You’re tough, sweetcheeks, you’re tough.”
Glennon Garrett was a good-looking guy, tawny hair, bright blue eyes, totally buff—and also the go-to guy for matters of international surveillance and security, whether military, government, law enforcement, or civilian. He had the clearance. He’d get the job done, and didn’t play favorites. Michael had worked with him before, made the introductions to Austin and Wallis.
“Glennon, I realize there’s gonna be a ton of stuff to sift through, probably most of it bullshit, but I don’t know anyone else who has the technical chops to make it happen. Or the toys to do it. Help me, Obi-wan, you’re my only hope.”
“After that build-up, how can I resist? I’m on it, babydoll.”
He leaned back in his office chair, twirling the letter opener. “Wallis, what if I—”
Wallis held up a finger, interrupted him. “Damn. I really need to get a dog.”
“A dog. Why?”
“The screen door just slammed. Someone is in my house.”
***
Theo had watched the men leave; she’d been left in the house. Alone. He’d made sure of it. Show time.
But the heavy-duty spring on the screen door at the back of the dwelling ripped the wooden frame out of his hand.
Surprised, he failed to grab the door before it banged against the clapboards.
He had secured the Puma Vendetta cricket bat against his back with the brown leather belt threaded through the loops of his Dockers. He thought the Vendetta name was prophetic, but it would only work if he was behind her, not facing her. A quick, two-handed bash between the shoulder blades, she’d hit the floor like a sack of cement. It always worked. Bring out the duct tape, followed by the other toys. Save the knife until last. Oh yeah. The perfect, precise, dance of the blade.
Oh, yes, then the bitch is all mine.
Using only one crutch, Wallis hobbled to the office door, leaned against the door frame. She looked down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Theo? Is that you? Theo, enough is fucking enough. What the bloody blasted hell are you doing in my house?”
He stood in the kitchen, hands hidden in his front pockets. “You really shouldn’t use bad language.”
“Fuck that shit, I live here. I can use any language I damn well please. You didn’t answer me—why are you in my house?”
“I thought I smelled gas again.”
“Give it up, asshole. There’s no leak in the propane tank, and you know it.”
He took a step forward. “Must be a stranger lurking. Maybe in the outbuildings. Someone could be squatting out there, and you’d never know.”
“Theo, please leave. If you really need something, come back when the guys are home. Since you found your way in, you can find your blasted way out. Go away. I have work to do.” She turned back to the office just as all the niggling thoughts coalesced. Oh for fuck sake! Right in front of my freakin’ nose!
Wallis heard the footsteps, realized her mistake, but didn’t have time to defend herself. Doing the best she could, she ducked her head, presented a shoulder. She tried to get a better grip on the crutch, to use it as a weapon.
Too late. He was on her.
Pain radiated across her shoulder blades as something heavy crashed down and forced her to the floor of the parlor, just outside the office. She balanced on her good knee, the casted leg sticking out awkwardly to the side. There was no way to protect it.
“You bitch, you can’t get away from me that easily.”
She twisted around to sit up and reorient herself, tried to meet the attack. Holy crap, a cricket bat! A fucking cricket bat?
“Theo, for chrissakes, what the bleedin’ hell is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, bitch. Do you hear me? There’s nothing wrong with me!”
He swung the cricket bat again, a strong, two-handed blow—and smashed her cast hard enough to crack the fiberglass.
She fell back to the carpet, screamed her throat raw. In agony, she twisted onto her stomach, dragged her destroyed leg as she crawled back toward the office.
Theo grabbed her good leg, yanked, flipped her onto her back again. He dropped the cricket bat behind him, unbuttoned his left sleeve to reveal a thin black blade in a black leather sheath. He slid the knife from the sheath, leaned down, and showed it to her. He wore what looked like sturdy blue Nitrile gloves, probably to protect himself from blood and gore.
“Now, we’ll play a little game. The rules are very simple. I cut you, you bleed, then you scream and beg for mercy.”
Tears of agony morphed into tears of rage as they flowed down Wallis’s face. I may never see Austin or Michael again, but I’m sure as shit not going out begging to this worm. “You want a scream? I’ll give you a goddamn scream. Fuck off, you little piece of shit cocksucker!”
She kicked out with her good leg, caught him a lucky shot square in the middle of his shin with her heel.
Theo shrieked, dropped the knife and hopped backward. He regained his balance, rubbed his shin. “Bitch, that really hurt. You’re gonna pay!”
While he scrambled for the knife, Wallis scooched backward, into the office. Alternately cursing and crying in pain, she dragged her destroyed leg to the side, slammed the door shut. She couldn’t reach the handle to lock it, but she was able to lean back against the heavy wood, using hands, butt, and good leg as brakes.
Theo roared and crashed against the door, dislodging her slightly.
Well, this shit’s not gonna work for very long. She scanned the office, looked for a solution. Any solution. Not much I can do from the freakin’ floor.
Her other crutch leaned against the desk, but if she moved away from the door, he’d be on her before she made it more than a couple of feet. There was a five-shot Taurus Ultralite Revolver, loaded with .38 caliber wadcutters, in the bottom draw of the desk. Same problem—no freakin’ way to reach the gun before he barged in and finished her off.
“Theo, why don’t you do yourself a favor and leave while you still can. At least you’ll have a head start before the guys get back.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, all right, but not before you’re a cold corpse for your depraved lovers to find. Not before I slice you to ribbons. Not before I fuck you.”
Her blood kicked up to the boiling point. Enough is bloody well enough, you little piss-ant.
“Fuck me? You’re gonna fuck me? You little pervert, we both know that won’t happen. You can’t get it up. And you forgot your duct tape, dickhead, so my hands are free. I’m SWAT trained, buddy. You don’t want to know what I can do to you with my bare hands. I read about a woman who tore her attacker’s balls off with her fingernails when he tried to rape her. Don’t know if it’s possible, but I’m sure as shit willing to give it a try. Are you?”
She didn’t know if pissing him off was very helpful, but it took her mind away from the pain in her shattered leg, the agony of which continued to wash over her in waves.
Everything was quiet for a long moment; she hoped he’d decided to cut his losses and bail out.
Then she heard heavy breathing against the door. He must have pressed his mouth right against the wood.
“So, aren’t you the clever one, you little bitch. The duct tape. You did figure it out. I wondered. Maybe the last kill was one kill too many. The timing was off, but I needed to get rid of your bodyguards. Tell me. I’m curious. Is that what gave me away?”
The pitch of his voice changed, became whiny, insistent, child-like. Wallis knew what the expression, “and her blood ran cold,” felt like. It was everything she could do to continue breathing. Without Glennon’s data, without all the evidence in, she hadn’t actually made a concrete connection, only had a theory—but Theo had just filled in the blanks for her. Christ on a cracker, I’m toast. I’m history.
Wait. Glennon. Glennon! He’d been on the web cam, with full audio, when Theo broke in and interrupted their conversation. Glennon heard everything. Please, please, please, pray he heard everything!
She shouted toward the computer. “Glennon, omigod, Glennon, man, dial 9-1-1 if you’re still there, I’m in the office but I can’t lock the door and Theodore Carroll is the killer, he’s the Blade Man and he’s here in my house with a fucking cricket bat and a fucking knife and who knows what else—” She ran out of breath. I hope he heard enough.
Theo hit the door, harder than before, shoved Wallis about a foot and a half. He reached in with the bat, aimed low, swung it blindly. The surprise attack not only jarred her ruined leg, but caught a hard shot to her right elbow.
She screeched in pain as she threw herself backward against the door. He screamed and pulled his arm and the cricket bat back through the narrow opening. The door shut, and she braced her body against it. Rubbing the elbow joint until the hurt was reduced to a tingle, she found that her right hand wouldn’t work. Funny bone, my ass.
He must have pressed his face against the door again. His breathing was labored, his voice cracked, unnatural sounding. “About the prom. You were right, y’know. I wrote her a note, and she said yes. The little bitch didn’t really want to go with me—she wanted to meet someone else, but it was couples only. Then she laughed at me on the dance floor. Laughed at me, right to my face in front of everyone, left me standi
ng there.”
He pushed the door again. Then his mouth was at the opening, between door and doorframe. “But I fixed her. Oh, yes, I fixed that lying bitch. Terrible accident at the country club’s boat house. Just awful. Too much spiked punch, then that wet, treacherous footing. Next morning, they found her floating between her father’s yacht and the dock. Drowned, her poor body crushed by the hull. Too bad, so sad. She was number two, after pretty Colleen.”
No more talking. The next hit to the door was harder, more serious, probably with his shoulder. He snarled. Screamed obscenities. Pounded against the wooden panels, one hit after the other. Even though he wasn’t a big guy, the adrenaline made up for the lack of strength and body weight.
Wallis was losing ground. Another couple of hard shoves like that, and he’d be in the room. Glennon, please, did you hear me, man, please?
She searched the room again, but her options hadn’t changed.
She’d been SWAT trained. Think, think. Think, for chrissakes. She pulled in a deep breath, held it for a moment, let it out, slowly. Okay. Offense, not defense. If I can’t keep him out, maybe I should let him in.
Two more hits. He’d gained another few inches. Where was he? When would he hit next? She pressed her ear to the door, took her best guess. Three, two, one. She quickly scuttled away from the door. When Theo hit, there was no resistance. He flew into the room, lost his balance, crashed head-first into the heavy wooden desk. His body landed heavily on the floor.
Wallis launched herself. Gotta get the knife, gotta get the knife, gotta—
His forehead bleeding, Theo managed to twist beneath her, onto his back. He snarled in her face, furious at being tricked. He did his best to get out from under her, but she was all over him like a pissed-off wildcat.
As she wrestled with him, an immense spear of agony shot through her damaged leg, weakening her. With her right hand still partially numb, she knew she was about to lose the arm-wrestling battle. The winner would control the blade.
Blade Dance Page 6