by Cade Brogan
“And you know I keep my promises,” Rylee responded, gathering her into her arms. She nuzzled between her breasts, reaching back to unclasp her bra.
“I need to take a shower,” Kenzie whimpered, arching into her touch.
“In a minute,” Rylee responded, caressing her bottom.
Kenzie caught her breath when her hand slid under her panties. “Hey you,” she said, making firm eye contact, “I need to take a shower.”
“I know,” Rylee responded, playfully capturing a nipple between her teeth. She licked its tip as she peered upward to catch her eye. “You want company?” she asked.
“Mmmm,” Kenzie moaned, her eyes shining as she reached to unbutton the top buttons of Rylee’s shirt. “I’d love company.”
Rylee wrapped her arms around her, kissing her passionately. She groaned when ‘We Are Family,’ blared from her pocket. “It’s grandma,” she said. “She wouldn’t call at this hour unless she had a problem.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Kenzie said, stepping off.
“Grams,” Rylee answered. “So, what’s up?” She cocked her head. “Wait, wait, wait, slow-down,” she continued, furrowing her brow. “Now tell me again, who delivered it?” She met Kenzie’s gaze from across the room. “Huh,” she continued, shaking her head. “That’s a reputable courier alright. Expensive as hell to have something delivered this time of night.”
Kenzie cocked her head as she collected her short silk nightie.
Rylee shrugged her shoulders, meeting her gaze as she continued listening to her grandma.
“So, the guy said it had to be opened by eleven-thirty?” She glanced at the clock, shaking her head. “By me personally?” She rolled her eyes. “So, how’s whoever gonna know whether or not it was me who opened it? They’re not, right?” She released a loud sigh. “I’m surprised a courier would deliver it with no return address.” She poked her tongue inside her cheek, taking a breath. “And the only thing he said to you was that it was critical that I open it within the hour, right?” She blew air straight out of her lungs. “Well, shit,” she muttered. “To get there by then, I’m gonna have to leave right now… I know, I know,” she groaned, “it could be important.” She sucked in a breath. “Has to be; otherwise, they wouldn’t have spent that kind of money.” Her upper lip curled. “Okay, okay…I’ll be there shortly.” She looked up as she terminated the call, asking, “You want to go for a ride?”
“Not really,” Kenzie responded with a tilt of her head and a lift of an eyebrow. Wearing nothing but panties, she was ready to hop in the shower.
“Can’t blame you,” Rylee responded, “I don’t either.” She exhaled. “But I don’t see a choice.” She cocked her head, firmly meeting her eye. “You better be awake when I get back,” she said, “because I plan on picking up where we left off.”
Kenzie bit her lower lip, folding into her arms. “I’ll be waiting with bells on,” she promised, nibbling her ear lobe.
“That’s good then,” Rylee responded, kissing her, hungrily and slowly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, an hour at the most.”
“That’s fine,” Kenzie said with another soft kiss. “That’ll give me time to read a little bit.”
“I’ll check the back door before I go,” Rylee said.
“Of course you will,” Kenzie responded with another kiss. “Now, go on, or you won’t make it in time.”
“I’m going,” Rylee said, shaking her head “But I hate that I’m gonna miss the shower.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” Kenzie responded.
***
Rylee checked to assure that the windows and back door were locked before disturbing her dog. He had a preference for upholstery and had claimed the cushion at the end of the couch as his spot. “Come on, Buckshot,” she said softly. “Time to wake up.” He lifted his head from the pillow, and then laid it back down. His pleading expression, common to hounds, tugged at her heart. “I know, you’re comfortable,” she said, scratching his ears, “but I want company.” When she collected his leash from the table, he got up. She clipped it onto his collar and they stepped onto the porch, locking the top and bottom locks. She stood for a long moment, noting her surroundings—the mist illuminated by streetlights; the lack of traffic, on foot or otherwise; that the car usually parked over and down was gone. She shook her head thinking about how popular that gaudy color was. She walked the driveway to the backyard before walking around front. With a long breath, she opened the door of her truck, saying, “Hop in, buddy.” She took one final look around before climbing in herself. She felt a quiver in her stomach, having the feeling of being watched. You’re making yourself crazy, she thought. It’s only Friday. She’s fine. You’ll be gone for less than an hour. She exhaled, starting the engine, taking a lap around the block. As she turned the corner on the backside, she noticed a car like the other parked in a lot.
***
Joanna’s eyes bulged, unable to blink as Rylee’s truck turned the corner. Sinking to the blacktop, she was hidden by her car. With her cheek flat against the pavement, she was able to see her exhaust pipe, her muffler, and the road. Too slow, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. The sound of tires, rubber rolling on pavement, seemed loud. She’s looking for something, she told herself, but what? She’d done nothing to tip her off, nothing that should bring her to this side of the block. She stroked her weapon through her pocket. If she turned in, it’d be ready by the time her boots hit the blacktop. Images of how it would go flashed through her mind. She’d roll to her back, wait with her pipe to her lips until Rylee walked to her side of the car. As their eyes met, her lancet would fly, plunging deep into her carotid artery. She’d gasp and go down. Joanna took a breath, exhaling slowly. She’d leave her, dead or dying on the pavement, dispatch Kenzie, and go home. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. It wasn’t the plan, but it wasn’t a problem. With that thought came a rush of adrenaline as Rylee’s truck slowed to barely a crawl. She held her breath, inching the pipe from her pocket as Rylee looked right at her car.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gaudy damn color is everywhere, Rylee thought, driving off. She turned the alley, traveling several structures down before coming to a stop. Directing her spotlight to a sheltered area, she found ratty blankets, empty cans, and cardboard. A homeless person had slept there recently but wasn’t there now. When a street cat clawed his way out of a nearby dumpster, Buckshot barked. “It’s okay, buddy,” she said. “Just getting himself some supper.” She traversed the alley, emerging onto the street near Kenzie’s house. She shook her head, noting that her porch light barely penetrated the darkness. A lot of good that does, she thought. She checked her watch in the underpass as the ‘L’ rumbled above her. When she came out the other side, raindrops splattered onto her windshield, the storm crackled, and sirens wailed in the distance. It wasn’t long before she pulled to the side of the road, allowing two squad cars to pass. When she navigated back into traffic, her cell rang, and she pressed ‘speaker’ on her steering wheel. “Hayes,” she answered.
“Evening, Detective,” a male voice greeted, “Mark Garner, Boston Homicide. Your partner gave me your number. I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“No, it’s fine,” Rylee said, “In fact, I’m still out and about.” She nodded as an officer motioned for her to proceed through the intersection. “Just navigating my way past an accident,” she added.
“Take your time,” Mark said. “I hear it’s nasty in your area.”
“Yep, sure is,” Rylee answered, switching her wipers to high. She passed three crumpled cars parked at varying degrees of odd angles. “Okay,” she said, “I think I’m through the worst of it.” She changed lanes, asking, “What’ve you got?”
“Probably not as much as you’re hoping for,” Mark said.
“Whatever’s better than nothing,” Rylee responded, listening as he flipped through what she assumed were pages of his report.
“Okay, so we’ve got fifteen homicides over a period of six months,” he began, “all occurring within a ten-mile radius, and all poisoned with different substances.”
“All plant based poisons?” Rylee asked.
“Yeah,” Mark answered, “but different ones. It took us a while to figure that out.”
“Man,” Rylee muttered, “fifteen’s a lot.” She sucked in a breath, blowing it out. “Got a bad feeling our numbers are gonna go up.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Mark responded, “but who knows, maybe not.” She heard the squeak of a chair and the banter of a bullpen in the background. “Ours turned on and off like a faucet,” he continued. “We chased our tails every single weekend. Then, all the sudden, it was done.”
“Sunday’s, right?” Rylee asked. Her insides quivered as she waited for his response.
“Yep,” Mark said, “and all the victims, churchgoers.”
Rylee exhaled a quiet breath. “All biracial too, right?” she asked with a hard swallow.
“Yep,” Mark responded. “Oh, and the killer had the craziest calling card. Never did figure that out.”
“Let me guess,” Rylee said, adding, “a bramble, right?”
“Yeah, I think that’s what it was,” Mark responded. He seemed interested when Rylee shared her theory about its meaning. “What scares us,” he continued, “is that we might have some homicides slipping through the cracks as natural causes like they did in the beginning.”
“Why’s that,” Rylee asked, navigating a corner.
“Mainly, because we got this new crackerjack forensic pathologist about the time it all started,” he continued. “God knows how many we may have missed before she came. And now she’s gone,” he said, “and the new guy, well, let’s just say he doesn’t have the same grasp on poisonings as she did.”
Rylee gulped what felt like her last breath as bits of evidence ricocheted through her head. “Gotta go,” she said.
“Okay, well maybe—”
She hung up without allowing him to finish. Like a computer running too many applications, in order to process, she had to terminate the unnecessary. And in this circumstance, the unnecessary had been their conversation. In the second that followed, she experienced a moment of life-altering clarity. How could she have missed it? How could she have missed—everything? All of it had been right there, right before her eyes. The killer had been close enough to touch on multiple occasions, if only she’d seen her. How could she not have recognized the significance of that gaudy yellow car when it had been everywhere—at her grandma’s, near her building, and at Kenzie’s? She replayed each sighting in agonizing detail. Night after night, the damn thing had lurked in her neighborhood. If she’d shined her flashlight in the window, she would’ve seen Joanna crouched down in the seat. She was sure of it. She had her head under her friggin’ car’s dash taking pictures of poisonous plant seeds, for God’s sake. She knew it was wolfsbane because she killed Jodi, she told herself. She murdered her and then she performed her autopsy. She curled her upper lip, muttering, “Sick bitch!” She swallowed air. It moved, she thought. Dear God, she moved it between the time you looked out and the time you left. She dialed Kenzie, holding her breath. When she didn’t answer, her heart shifted into overdrive. She switched on her siren and strobe light, twirled her steering wheel, and spun her truck in the opposite direction. Car after car pulled over as she sped toward and through the underpass. She dialed her grandma, pressing ‘speaker.’ “I can’t explain right now,” she blurted out, “but I’m not coming over.” She scrambled to regain control as she navigated a turn at a dangerously high rate of speed. “Open it,” she said. “I need you to open the package now. I need to know what’s in it.”
“It’s a bubble envelope,” Gladys said. “I can feel something at the bottom. Just give me a minute to get my scissors.”
“Just tear it,” Rylee responded. She bit her lip at the sound of ripping paper.
“Well, would you look at this,” Gladys said, still not realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Now why in the world would anyone spend that kind of money to send you a trinket?” she asked.
“What is it, Grams?” Rylee responded, jamming her accelerator to the floor. “What’d you find in the envelope?”
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Gladys answered, “just a cream-colored piece off a chessboard. The king I think. How odd.”
Checkmate, Rylee screamed in her head. Her limbs began to shake and her heart lurched into her throat. “Don’t handle it any more than you have to,” she said. “It’ll need to be dusted for prints.”
“I won’t,” Gladys responded. “It’s still in the envelope. I just looked in at it from the top.”
“That’s good then,” Rylee said, adding, “gotta go.”
“Okay,” Gladys responded, adding, “but is everything alright.”
“Later, Grams,” Rylee said. “I can’t talk now.” With a shallow breath, she turned the knob on her police radio, advising of the situation, and requesting immediate backup at Kenzie’s address. In the last stretch of her journey back, she did what she hadn’t done since she was a child. “God,” she prayed, “please let her be alright.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “I know I haven’t done this nearly enough,” she continued, “but if you’d just see your way clear to let her be okay, I swear I’ll make it up to you with the time I have left.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was always more difficult when the target had someone else in the house. If not tonight, Joanna told herself, another night. She made her way across the block, through yards, some with lanterns some not. She crouched behind a yard barn when Rylee’s vehicle came to a stop. The beam of her spotlight had swung here and there, but not where she was. She sprinted past a shiny red swing-set, around a hammock strung between two mighty oaks, and under a sprinkler that wafted water all over her. She wiped her glasses, snarling under her breath. The low-flow indicator spun wildly as she crept the outside steps to the porch. Her heart pounded, slipping the tension wrench into the lock. She wiggled it into position with a feather-lite touch.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Nothing better than a cheap lock, she thought.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
With a sweet click, the last pin set, she turned the knob and gave the door a gentle nudge with her shoulder. Her face tightened, muttering, “Crap,” when it didn’t open. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and shoved her wrench into the second lock.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The pins set easily. She turned the knob, nudged, and peeked inside.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
A soft chime signaled the quarter-hour.
The sound of running water called through the darkness and she tiptoed up the stairs toward the shower. Her breathing halted as she reached the top. She listened, her senses on high alert. She heard running water, but no other sounds, and crept onward, gently urging the bedroom door open with her gloved palm. When the hair on the back of her neck pricked, she froze.
Running water.
Just water.
Nothing else.
She licked her lips, creeping forward, smiling when she saw light through a crack in the bathroom door. Her pulse quickened, sliding her pipe from its pocket. She was breathless when her fingertips pushed against the panel to open the crack a little wider. She bit her lower lip, pausing, allowing herself a moment to imagine what it might be like to join Kenzie in the shower. She caught her breath, watching her lean back to rinse the flowing locks of her hair under the steamy spray of hot water. She shivered with pleasure, noticing her long manicured nails. Now, she told herself, pushing the door so hard that the tarnished brass knob thumped into the wall. Their eyes met—Kenzie’s wide and flighty, and hers focused and n
arrow. Terror, she thought, Ahhh, the sweet look of terror before the kill.
***
Rylee radioed, asking that assisting officers be advised to roll in silent. She switched off her strobe, siren, and headlights two blocks out. With heightened senses, she approached Kenzie’s house. Her stomach quivered as she made her way onto the porch. Everything was as she’d left it—except that the front door was standing ajar. Her adrenaline surged as she drew her weapon, a semi-automatic Sig Sauer, no cocking required. With great care, she opened the door. Her plan was to move up the stairs, swiftly and quietly. As she palmed the inside panel, Kenzie’s screams broke the silence, and her heart stopped.
“Help! Someone help me,” she cried out.
Rylee moved briskly, but Buckshot zipped around her, thundering up the stairs, snarling like she’d never heard him snarl. She hadn’t clipped on his lead, saving time. Left with no other choice, she ran full-tilt behind him. Whatever element of surprise they might’ve had was gone.
Joanna’s head whipped to the side as the coonhound came bounding through the open door. When he sunk his teeth into the bottom seam of her pant leg, hanging on for dear life, she targeted him with her blowpipe.
In that split second, Rylee burst into the room, both hands on her 9mm. “Police! Drop your weapon,” she yelled. “Now!”
“Get back,” Joanna spat, glaring, and baring her teeth like a feral animal. Her nostrils flared and she darted toward the shower.
“Drop it,” Rylee bellowed. “Drop it or I’ll shoot. Now!” She prayed that Kenzie had had the presence of mind to shut the shower door. If only she could’ve known for sure. Had that been the case, she’d have pulled the trigger, and blown the bitch’s head to kingdom come. But she couldn’t be sure, so she lowered her gun. She lowered it, and with a guttural roar, charged toward her. She wasn’t willing to risk that Joanna’s last breath might propel her deadly dart into the woman she loved.