No Chance in Hell

by Jerrie Alexander

  No Chance in Hell

  By Jerrie Alexander

  COPYRIGHT 2014 by Jerrie Alexander

  Published by: Jerrie Alexander

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by: Meredith Blair © Author’s Angels Meredith Blair © Author's Angels www.AuthorsAngels.com

  Prologue

  North Riverview, Texas

  Two years ago

  A sense of pride washed over him. So he gave in to vanity and took a moment to bask in the glow of a job well done. A few adjustments to the focus on his camera improved clarity and provided brilliant shots of his latest masterpiece. He concentrated on highlighting her cold, dead eyes.

  He repositioned her arm, closed her hand, resting it on her stomach. Yes. That was much better. Of course, he was uncompromising in his work, a demanding perfectionist.

  After all, death was an art.

  And he was the DaVinci of the twenty-first century.

  DaVinci brushed her long blond hair off her shoulder and then straightened her legs out in front of her. At last, this was the money shot. He lifted the camera, taking multiple pictures.

  A loud knock startled him. Damn it, interruptions would not be tolerated. Too much time and effort had been invested in locating her.

  The pounding grew louder.

  “Chelsea,” a woman called out. “Open up. I didn’t come this far for you to shut me out.”

  DaVinci moved to the window, lifted a slat on the blinds, and took a peek. The last rays of the sun washed over the blonde at the door. The hair on the back of his neck rose. She could not be here. She was going to ruin everything.

  The knob jiggled as she tried to enter. She stepped back and angled her shoulder toward the door. Son of a bitch. She was going to break in.

  Anger boiled through his veins. He took a cleansing breath. A cool head in this situation was critical. If she crossed the threshold, she’d have to die today. There was too much at stake.

  DaVinci quickly moved to stand behind the door. He unbuckled his belt, slid it out of his pant loops, and then wrapped the ends around his hands. Not his favorite method of killing, but it would suffice if she crossed that threshold. Please, don’t come inside. Go away.

  A loud bump and the door pushed open. The intruder stormed into the house.

  “Chels...”

  Without hesitation, he dropped the makeshift garrote over her head and tightened it around her neck. Her scream morphed into a gurgle.

  She elbowed him in his ribs. The move caught him off guard. She rolled her shoulders forward, and damn if she didn’t stomp his foot. He usually loved it when they struggled, but this was different. She couldn’t be allowed to break free. The possibility she’d see his face was too great.

  The woman whipped her head back, barely missing his nose but solidly connecting with his chin. The belt fell free, and the intruder spun around on him. He grabbed her neck. Their gazes locked for a split second. The bitch looked directly into his eyes and never flinched. Anger blinded him for a second, but he pushed all emotion to the side and squeezed tighter.

  He would dance around her dead body.

  His groin exploded into a raging fire. Her knee had connected with his balls. Nausea rushed him. Blinded by excruciating pain, he folded like a broken kite. He dropped to his knees, and involuntary tears flooded his eyes. The darkness called, but he struggled against it. He could not lose consciousness.

  The bitch ran screaming out the front door, her footsteps hitting the wooden porch rapidly. A surge of panic gave him a badly needed burst of energy, but she was already banging on a neighbor’s front door. He grabbed his camera, stumbled out the back, and hobbled to his own vehicle. The burning sensation radiating from his groin blurred his vision with every step.

  Damn her. They would meet again, he vowed. And she would be his greatest masterpiece.

  Chapter 1

  Dallas, Texas

  Present day

  Chris Holland’s eyes flew open. The room was pitch black. She always left the light in the kitchen on. It should have been burning brightly. Her muscles tightened, coiled, ready for her to spring out of bed. She slipped her hand under her pillow, reaching for the cool butt of her gun. She found nothing. Before she could react, something hard pressed into her temple.

  “Looking for this?” a male voice whispered.

  A wave of terror washed through her, filling her with emotions she’d never experienced. She didn’t think for one second that he was a burglar. This was the murdering bastard who’d butchered Chelsea.

  “You’d better use it now. If I get out of this bed, I won’t be as easy to kill as my sister.”

  He made a low-pitched sound that filled her veins with ice. Had he actually chuckled? The tip of the pistol pressed deeper into her skin.

  “Calm down. I didn’t come to kill you. But it’s time we talked.”

  “You mean like over a cup of coffee?” Chris did her best to keep her voice steady. No doubt, he’d heard the tremble in her words. “Put down the gun, and I’ll go put on a pot.”

  He wouldn’t accept her offer, and she knew it. But it might buy her some time. If she could get to the kitchen, she might get to the weapon hidden in the back of a drawer of utensils. Chris lifted her shoulders, as if trying to rise.

  “You really didn’t think I’d fall for that.” A gloved hand stroked her cheek, sending her into a full-body shiver. “Your sense of humor is refreshing.”

  Chris strained to see some part of him in the dark. Anything that might wake up her memory would be helpful. “How’d you get in?”

  “I can’t give away all my secrets, but I found you again, didn’t I? Suffice it to say, I’m a great deal smarter than you think. The only reason you’re still alive is because I want you that way.”

  “Oh. I get it. You’re a god. Deciding who lives and dies must weigh heavily.”

  “Do not push me. You think you’re so much better than I am. Growing up in the lap of luxury, you never had to worry about your next meal. Some of us were lucky to eat once a day.” His soft tone had turned hard, menacing. “I’ll be back. When depends on you. If you make new friends over here in your new neighborhood, let them hang around you, I will kill them. It would be a mistake to bring them into your home.”

  The pressure eased on her temple, and icy lips brushed her forehead. Something covered her nose and mouth. “Breathe.”

  She fought his command, holding her breath. A sharp blow landed to her abdomen, and she gasped, inhaling deeply.

  ****

  A steady and annoying beep beep beep forced Chris awake. Her brain was foggy, but she managed to hit the off button on her alarm clock. A second later reality hit and fear rocketed through her system. She sat up on the side of her bed, but the room spun, forcing her back down.

  Last night’s visitor slammed into her memory. The killer had been in her bedroom. Jesus, she’d actually talked with him. She pieced their conversation together while willing away a bout of nausea. Whatever he’d used to drug her had to be responsible for her upset stomach. Frantic, she slipped her hand under her pillow. Relief eased the pain as she wrapped her fingers around the grip and pulled her pistol into view. She stared at her cell. Should she grab it and call for help?

  Was he still in the house? She felt sure her stalker had left by now, but no way was she taking chances.

  Chris forced herself out of bed. Holding the Glock exactly like the instructor had taught her, she flattened herself against the wall. She checked the bedroom across the hall, took a quick look in the bathroom, and then ma
de her way to the living room.

  She paused and let her unsteady feet catch up with her racing mind. Why hadn’t he hurt her? The sicko bastard had broken into her home in the middle of the night and issued warnings about how she should behave. The next time he just might fulfill his threat.

  Her hand hovered over the phone. Should she call the police or take the advice of an FBI agent she’d met recently? She’d tried the cops, but they couldn’t protect her all the time.

  Decision made, she dressed, grabbed her purse, and walked to her front door. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the cool knob and turned. Gathering her courage, she stepped out into the sunshine and headed for her car.

  The hair on Chris’s arms stood on end. The sensation of ants crawling under her skin sent a shudder down her spine. She’d worked extra hard to cover her tracks. Now, her latest attempt to find a safe haven had failed. Was he out there this morning, watching her?

  This time was different. Until last night, he’d never contacted her in person. She’d never feel safe until he was locked away somewhere.

  It took all her strength not to scream to the heavens. The cowardly bastard didn’t want to face her in the daylight. Two years ago, he’d learned firsthand that she had the skills to fight back. He’d had to sneak up on her.

  Next time he might kill her just as he’d murdered Chelsea.

  Chris gritted her teeth and kept walking. She shifted her purse to her right side and slipped her hand inside, welcoming the feel of the pistol grip. Silently, she thanked Texas for the gun law that allowed private citizens to carry a concealed weapon. She slid behind the steering wheel of her car, started the engine, and drove away as if she didn’t know he was just out of sight.

  She’d given up her job and her friends. Heck, she’d turned her back on everything except the Big Sisters program and the Animal Shelter. Abandoned as a child herself, Chris’s commitment to mentor foster kids meant a lot to her. She’d bought a town house in Plano using her mother’s maiden name. Breaking off with her contacts hadn’t helped for long.

  The bastard would not make her run anymore. Something had to be done before he killed her.

  While in Georgia to volunteer on an animal rescue project, one of the FBI agents who’d been working the dog-fighting side of the case had suggested a company that could help. Even his glowing recommendation hadn’t filled her with optimism, but after last night, she’d decided to talk with the people who ran it.

  She parked in front of the office of Lost and Found, Inc. and debated whether this was a good idea or a waste of time. Why had Dalton thought she should talk to these people? Could they really help her? The police department hadn’t been able to. She got out of the car, still unsure. She turned, paced a few steps, and then reversed direction.

  “If you need help, you’re at the right place.”

  She jammed her hand inside her purse, locked her fingers around the butt of her Glock, and whirled toward the male voice.

  A mountain of a man smiled down at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  He stood too close, so Chris stepped backward. Something moved at her feet, and her gaze homed in on the dog looking up at her.

  “Are you okay?” The tall stranger moved closer, reaching out as if to touch her arm.

  “I’m fine.”

  He dropped his hand, and she breathed a little easier. The beautiful dog lay down at her feet.

  The man motioned with his hand. The dog immediately moved and stood at his master’s side. “Good dog.”

  “Does he bite?” She kept a close eye on the animal.

  “Not unless told to. Offer him the back of your hand and let him get your scent.” The man leaned down and scratched the dog’s ears. “Go ahead.”

  Chris cautiously did as he suggested. The dog sniffed briefly and then rewarded her gesture with a lick. Her heart melted a little. “Aren’t you handsome?” She sank her fingers into the brown and white scruff around his neck. “What’s his name?”

  “Diablo. And you are?”

  “Not sure I should go in.” Chris still had second thoughts about bringing strangers into her problem. She hoped Dalton was right about this organization.

  “Well, Not Sure, you won’t know unless you go inside.”

  Tall, tan, and broad-shouldered, he reached around her and pushed the door open. His muscles flexed, stretching his white shirt sleeve to the max. Cool air caressed her face. His scent, clean and masculine, filled her senses.

  “Coming?” he asked. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Head and shoulders taller than Chris, he looked down at her with warm brown eyes. A lock of chestnut-colored hair fell onto his forehead, and he raked it back with a large hand.

  “You work here?” She hoped his answer would be yes. His eyes projected a quiet confidence, and the way he carried himself left no doubt that he feared no man.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  There was only one way to find out if Dalton had been right about Lost and Found, Inc. “Then let’s do this,” she said.

  ****

  Marcus Ricci held the door open to allow the woman to enter the office first.

  “Thank you.” She nodded, never taking her gaze off him.

  “No problem.” That he even noticed a hint of citrus trailing behind her surprised him. He sometimes imagined Lynne’s perfume on the pillow, but that was late at night when he was alone and thoughts of her sneaked up on him.

  He followed the blond-haired woman inside, pushing away his memories. If the faint circles under her eyes were any indication, the lady hadn’t slept well in a while. Even looking exhausted, she’d stop traffic with her creamy complexion and that body. Her eyes had been full of defiance when she’d backed away from him. Yet, behind that bravado, he’d seen an underlying fear. That troubled him. She had the look of a woman who was losing hope while clinging desperately to her pride. She exuded mystery, and Marcus loved nothing better.

  He paused just inside while she stopped and looked around the office. The work space was laid out much like a police station bullpen. Everyone had a desk and chair, a couple of filing cabinets, and no privacy. Few of their cases functioned as a one-man operation. Even if the help came from one of these desks, backup was always available. The only way to describe their work space was “organized clutter.”

  Except for Ty Castillo’s area. Now that he lived in and worked out of Colombia, his desk had turned into a wasteland. Nate was probably holding that spot open for Jake Donovan, the fourth male in a friendship that had formed in college. Ten years later, three of Wolfe’s Pack, as Nate’s wife, Kay, had called them, had joined forces when her life had been threatened. After the crisis had ended, Nate and Kay had married. Marcus and Ty had joined the newlyweds at the agency, mainly because each one carried their own personal guilt for something. Maybe helping others would atone in some small way.

  “Nate,” Kay called over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. She came out from behind her desk with a silly smile plastered on her face. “Marcus is back, and he brought a friend.”

  “No.” He squashed that idea quickly. No point in getting Kay started down the wrong path. “She’s a lady who’s not sure she should’ve come inside.”

  “Then let’s figure it out together.” Nate Wolfe walked out of the break room holding a cup. “Black? Cream and sugar?” he asked the woman.

  “Black, please.”

  “Come in.” Kay took over while her husband went for the coffee. She introduced herself and then Nate when he returned. “You’ve met Marcus Ricci?”

  “Not officially,” Marcus said as he disconnected Diablo’s leash and then extended his hand.

  “Christine Holland.” Her grip was strong for such a small-boned woman. “I prefer Chris.”

  Her hand fit his as if made from a smaller mold. Heat traveled from her fingers up his arm, forcing Marcus to release her.

  “You okay with a group meeting?” Nate asked.

  “That
’s fine,” Chris agreed.

  Kay escorted their guest to the small room they used as command central. Diablo followed Kay, dropping at her feet when she sat. Marcus, figuring Chris would feel more comfortable next to another woman, parked himself next to Nate on the opposite side of the table.

  “So what brings you to Lost and Found?” Nate went straight to business.

  “My sister was murdered...no, slaughtered, two years ago this month.” A deep crease formed between her eyes. “I need help.”

  Marcus liked that she was quick and to the point. He also picked up on an underlying bitterness in her voice. “I take it no arrests have been made.”

  “None. No suspects have been identified, either.”

  “You’re not satisfied with how the police are handling the case?”

  ‘‘I’m sure they did their best. I’m told the case has gone cold.”

  She removed a file from her oversize handbag, placed it on the conference table, and then laid her hand on top of it. She set her purse on the floor. The muffled thud it made caught his attention. He glanced at Nate, whose eyebrows rose toward the ceiling. He’d heard it, too.

  The lady carried a gun.

  “You have a license to carry?” Marcus asked.

  “Of course.” Chris blinked a couple of times, as if surprised by the question.

  “Tell us how we can help.”

  “Maybe I’d better start from the beginning. My sister, Chelsea, had a lot of problems. Drugs, to be specific. When she started stealing from our family, things really got bad between her and our parents. They’d paid for her rehab a number of times, but nothing worked. When our father died and the will was read, we learned he’d had her name removed from all bequests. He’d divided everything between our mother and me. Chelsea went off the deep end. She blamed us. Accused us of turning Dad against her. Soon after, she disappeared, breaking all ties.”

  “Did you try to locate her?” Kay asked.

  “Yes. I’m pretty savvy with a computer, so I regularly searched online for her. Called the few friends of hers I knew, but she’d vanished.” Chris paused and sipped her coffee. “Our mother couldn’t survive without Dad. She overdosed in February. The last thing she asked me to do was find Chelsea.”