Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel)

by Herron, Rita

  He peeked inside her condo, but the place was dark. Completely dark. She wasn’t home.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Enraged, he punched her number into the burner phone he’d picked up at the convenience store. The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer.

  Her voice mail clicked on, and he started to leave a message. But goddammit, her sister was married to a fucking cop. What if they listened to Amelia’s messages?

  He couldn’t leave a trail.

  He punched disconnect, furious. Where was Amelia? Had she left him?

  No . . . she couldn’t have. He needed her.

  He jiggled the back door and then slipped around her condo to her bedroom window and picked the lock. Maybe she’d just gone out for a while.

  She’d be back. She wouldn’t desert him like everyone else. They had meant too much to each other over the years for her to do that. He’d met the alters long before she even knew they existed.

  Soon she’d return and let him fuck her. She’d beg him to give her pleasure.

  Because she needed him just as desperately as he needed her.

  He crawled into her bed and pulled up the covers, inhaling her sweet scent and imagining that she was lying naked with him. Kissing him, climbing on top of him.

  Moonlight slivered through the blinds, casting lines across a canvas against the wall.

  The outline of a man. Dark features. Sharp angles. Evil, dead eyes.

  It was him.

  What did the painting mean?

  That she was in love with him? That when he finished punishing the ones who’d hurt him, he and Amelia could finally be together?

  His hand eased between the covers, and he began to stroke his thick cock, the blood churning and making it harder. Making it throb until he felt erotic sensations splinter through him, felt the first spurts of his cum dripping down his thigh.

  Yes, when the mission ended, he and Amelia would have a life together. Free of the experiment. Free of their tormentors.

  Free of the Commander.

  Amelia would look at him as her hero.

  And no one would ever tear them apart again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rafe’s body craved more with Liz, but her phone buzzed, and he froze. He desperately wanted to tell her not to answer it. To close her eyes and stay in bed with him forever.

  But the call might be about the case. Or if Harlan was back, he might taunt her on the phone. He’d done it before he’d kidnapped her. Called and left sick, breathy messages. Whispered nasty things he wanted to do to her.

  Challenged her to find him before he took her.

  Her phone buzzed again.

  Liz made a frustrated sound, not of pleasure this time. “I guess I should answer that. Maybe we’ve got good news or a lead.”

  His body throbbed for release, but the case and her safety were more important, so he handed her the phone.

  “Hello. Agent Lucas.”

  Rafe frowned as she sat up, tugging the sheet over herself. “Yes. What?” A pause, and she rubbed at her forehead. “Who is this?”

  A second later, she growled in frustration and slammed her phone down onto the bed.

  Rafe’s pulse hammered. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Liz said. “A man. He said that our second victim, Beaulah Hodge, used to work at Slaughter Creek Sanitarium.”

  “How does he know that?” Rafe asked.

  Liz shook her head. “He hung up before I could ask.”

  Rafe considered the information. “She could have been involved with the CHIMES project.” Rafe slid from bed, grabbed his jeans, tugged them on, and reached for his phone.

  Liz stood beside him, the sheet wrapped around her beautiful naked body, her expression torn. Remnants of their lovemaking lingered in her eyes, in the rosy color of her skin where he’d heated her with kisses. He wanted to throw her back down on the bed and make love to her again, this time fast and furious, until he was inside her, obliterating the memory of any other man’s touch.

  She stroked his arm, turning him toward her, desire darkening her eyes. “We . . . I . . . we could go back to bed.”

  He offered her a tender smile, although the raging need inside him wasn’t tender. That smile fueled his need to have her. If he was honest with himself, she’d always meant more to him than a case or sex.

  He didn’t want to lose her again.

  But those thoughts were dangerous. Everyone he’d ever cared about had died.

  That fear made him step away. But he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he did. “Not tonight, Liz. I need to call Nick and Jake and tell them about this call. Maybe it will convince Amelia to draw that sketch of Six.”

  Disappointment flickered in Liz’s eyes for a moment, but she accepted his reasoning.

  He dropped a kiss into her hair. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the sanitarium and snoop around.”

  “We also need to talk to CSI Castor.”

  Rafe arched a brow. “What about Castor?”

  “My friend from Social Services came through. Apparently the son Ester gave up was adopted by a family named Castor. Truitt was also adopted the same year.”

  Rafe’s pulse kicked up a notch. Maybe they finally had some leads and they’d catch this bastard.

  Liz was tempted to beg Rafe to stay, but she had too much pride for that. If Rafe wanted to be with her, he would join her.

  Besides, he was right. This case took precedence. If she allowed her head and heart to get too involved, she might miss something important about the Dissector’s profile, just like she had with Harlan.

  She crawled back in bed, certain she wouldn’t sleep. When she closed her eyes, though, for the first time in ages, she felt sated and content.

  And safe. She always felt safe with Rafe.

  Darkness hovered around her, normally making her feel uneasy, but tonight she put thoughts of Harlan and this latest unsub out of her mind, allowing the blissful memory of Rafe’s hands and mouth pleasuring her to replace the gruesome images that haunted her at night.

  Using visualization skills she’d learned in therapy, imagining Rafe’s arms around her, his steady breathing on her cheek, she fell into a deep sleep.

  Hours later, she woke to see sunlight streaming through the window. A few snowflakes drifted down, melting as soon as they hit the ground.

  She felt more rested than she had in ages. But when she reached for Rafe, she found the bed beside her empty. His masculine scent lingered on her pillow, making her miss him already.

  Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, and she tensed. It had to be Rafe, not an intruder.

  But after the break-in, she needed to be sure.

  She tiptoed to the kitchen and saw him pouring coffee for himself. Would it be awkward between them this morning?

  Hoping to stall, give herself time to pull herself together, she jumped into the shower. While she washed her hair, she forced her mind back to the case. She needed to work on the profile for the Dissector.

  Serial killers normally chose one MO and stuck to it. This unsub had removed one woman’s hands, another’s eyes.

  Seven had been part of the experiment, and she’d targeted men who’d worked for the project, men who’d guarded her, kept her locked up, abused her.

  If this unsub was Six, he might be doing the same thing by targeting nurses. The fact that the perp had used Ester’s hands to beat her might mean she had abused him with those hands.

  And Beaulah Hodge? She’d worked at the sanitarium . . . perhaps with the project? Why had he cut out her eyes? Because they were the windows of the soul—and he perceived her as having no soul?

  What exactly had Beaulah done to him?

  And who would he target next?

  Another nurse?

 
If they could locate a list of the nurses who’d worked with the project, they could warn the next victim. That is, if that list existed.

  She rinsed her hair, toweled off, grabbed her robe and pulled it on, then padded to the kitchen. Rafe was making omelets.

  She poured coffee into her favorite oversize mug and leaned against the counter, studying him as he scooped the omelets onto two plates. The toast popped up at that moment, and she took it out, spread butter and jelly on it, and added it to their plates.

  Sharing the kitchen with him felt so intimate that she almost forgot that he was only here because a psycho killer was on the loose.

  Rafe listened quietly while Liz relayed her theory about the unsub. “All the more reason to talk to the director at the sanitarium.”

  They polished off the food and cleaned up together, a routine that felt so comfortable that Rafe thought he could get used to it.

  It had never occurred to him before he met Liz that he’d want to spend all his time with one woman, but with Liz he’d thought about it months ago.

  And this morning, when he’d peeked in to watch her sleep.

  The very reason he’d have to ask for a new partner when they closed this investigation.

  “Did you talk to Jake?” Liz asked as they walked out to the car.

  “Sadie agreed to talk to Amelia again. She thinks Amelia bonded with Six because of the way they suffered together. She has to convince Amelia that he’s dangerous.”

  “So Sadie believes Six has been in contact with Amelia?”

  “Amelia’s definitely been seeing some man,” Rafe said as he drove toward the hospital. “Now Sadie believes it’s Six.”

  “I suppose I can’t fault her. She’s protecting him because, like Seven, he’s cleaning up the people who abused the subjects.”

  Rafe nodded as he veered onto the winding road leading to the sanitarium. “After what they endured, it’s difficult to argue with that logic. By the way, Lieutenant Maddison called. Forensics show that the senator was murdered. There was no gunshot residue on his hands, no sign of the weapon, and they still haven’t located the driver of the sedan that raced away from the hospital. They also identified the soap found on Beaulah. It’s antibacterial hospital soap, but it can be bought almost anywhere, including on the Internet.”

  “That soap means something to our killer. It triggers sensory details that are painful and reminds him of the people who hurt him.”

  “He’s getting rid of evidence,” Rafe pointed out. “That means he’s smart and organized enough to plan these murders.”

  Liz nodded. “Our killer might also have a background in medicine or law enforcement. Castor fits that description.”

  “Maybe the director can tell us more about Ms. Hodge. Then we’ll question Castor.”

  “We can assume that all the victims hurt our unsub or represent someone who did, but the perp’s manner of killing them varies. Each death is personally tailored. There must be a reason.”

  Rafe nodded. “About the medical background—what if our unsub is some kind of mad scientist? Maybe he’s trying different ways of killing, to see which one causes the most pain? Or which method takes the vic longer to bleed out?”

  Liz shivered at his theory. “That’s a possibility. We can’t rule out anything at this point.”

  “If the bastard was part of the experiment, the Commander could have given him commands, trained him to experiment on other humans.”

  “That would fit with the experiment as well.” Liz wrapped her arms around herself. “Sadistic and cold-blooded, but we know the Commander used mind control to train Giogardi as a hit man.”

  He glanced at Liz and saw the wheels turning in her head, knew she was diving into the killer’s mind. Venturing into the darkness was dangerous for her and left her drained and exhausted.

  She hadn’t worked a case since Harlan, and Rafe was worried she wouldn’t be able to survive going into that dark place again.

  Liz rubbed her arms in an effort to ward off the chill that seemed to pervade the hospital walls as the receptionist led them to the director’s office.

  The director, Anderson Loggins, wearing a suit that set off his stark features, was attractive, although a small scar at his temple made her wonder if he’d been injured or had had some kind of medical treatment himself.

  “Mr. Loggins,” Liz said, “we appreciate your seeing us on such quick notice.”

  “Agent Hood said it was important.” He offered coffee, but they both declined, seating themselves across from his desk.

  Liz took the lead. “You understand that we’re investigating the death of the senator as well as that of two women who’ve been found murdered in Slaughter Creek.”

  “Yes, the security team pulled copies of all the tapes on the day of the senator’s death.” He gestured toward Rafe. “Do you want to see them now?”

  Rafe nodded. “Yes. Why don’t I look at them while you and Agent Lucas talk?”

  Mr. Loggins nodded, punched his intercom, and requested a security guard. A heartbeat later a husky bald man appeared and escorted Rafe into the hall.

  When they’d left, Loggins faced Liz. “How else can I help you?”

  “I received an anonymous call about the second murder victim, Beaulah Hodge.” She paused to see if he recognized the name.

  “And that brought you here because?”

  “The caller said that Ms. Hodge worked at the sanitarium at one time. I hoped you could find records to confirm that.”

  He steepled his hands on the desk. He had blunt nails, calluses, and a jagged scar on his right hand that ran deep. “How will that help you?”

  “Studying victimology, knowing as much as we can about victims and finding a common pattern among them, can often lead to the killer. Most repeat killers—”

  “You mean serial killers?”

  “Yes, they establish a pattern and target victims for a specific reason, usually because the victims remind them of someone who hurt or abused them. The first victim, Ester Banning, had a nursing background and was fired from a nursing home for abusing patients. When she left, she applied for a job with a company that provided home health care for patients.” She paused. “Our working theory is that both victims worked with the CHIMES project.”

  “I see. So why did you come to me?”

  Liz checked her notes. “Because we believe our unsub is one of the subjects. And if he’s targeting nurses who worked with the project, we need a list of those nurses so we can warn them.”

  His dark gaze shot to hers, a muscle twitching in his jaw. A minute later he stood, walked over to a filing cabinet, and dug inside. “Actually the files for that period burned in a fire a while back. Employee records were lost. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I’m a resourceful man. I managed to find a backup copy of a file regarding the project.”

  Adrenaline pumped through Liz like a shot of caffeine. “You did? Where?”

  “In a file box that had been placed in the basement.”

  “Can I see it?” Liz asked.

  “Yes, of course. Although I’m afraid it’s pretty slim. Not a lot of details inside.” He removed the folder and handed it to her. “I believe it has the names of the subjects of the experiment. There were seven, correct?”

  “Seven that we know of.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You think there are more?”

  “It’s possible that there were sister experiments performed in other towns.”

  “Oh, I see. That makes sense.”

  Liz opened the folder and skimmed the first page. It was indeed a list of the subjects. There were scattered notes on treatments, shock therapy, pharmaceuticals they’d tested, hallucinogens, sensory deprivation, and mind control techniques. It sounded like something out of a horror movie, bringing back the reality
of the pain that victims like Amelia had suffered.

  She studied the few names listed, for the first time seeing concrete evidence of the subjects’ names, not just the numbers they’d been assigned. Amelia had first given them that clue—she was number three. Seven had no name as far as she knew, other than Seven. Here she was listed as Seven Blackwood.

  She zeroed in on the sixth listing.

  But just as with Seven, there was no name listed, just the number—as if he hadn’t been important enough to have a name.

  Unless Blackwood had found a way to erase the names so they would never be found.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rafe finally managed to get hold of the security tapes from the hospital—damn red tape had nearly made it impossible.

  He studied the footage of the hallways leading to and from the senator’s room, noting very little activity. A nurse popped in to check on the senator during the two hours of footage that Rafe was scanning; he recognized her as Mazie, the head nurse on the floor.

  She’d worked at the hospital for years, and had insisted that she didn’t know about the experiments when they were running. She certainly had no reason to kill the senator and was middle-aged, not the age of the subjects. But she might recognize Six and be able to offer a description. She also might give them a list of other nurses who’d worked with Blackwood.

  He checked the camera inside the senator’s room and frowned. The senator seemed to have lapsed into a catatonic state—whether from the narcotics prescribed by the doctor or from depression was unclear. Probably it was both. But the senator was nonresponsive when Mazie checked on him, as well as when a young nurse’s aide brought him his meal.

  In fact the young assistant spoon-fed the once vibrant, confident senator, who was now as pale and listless as an injured bird.

  But the senator hadn’t been innocent. He’d allowed the Commander to take advantage of children.

  The nurse’s aide left the senator sitting in his chair, staring out the window. Rafe scrolled through the footage. Twenty minutes later, according to the time stamp, the door to the senator’s room squeaked open and a figure dressed in scrubs, complete with mask and cap, eased into the room.