“You’ve lost a lot.” Kay’s tone was soft and full of sympathy.
Chris nodded. “Mother’s part of the estate was placed in a trust for Chelsea. As executor, I was to ensure she successfully completed a six-month stint in rehab before half of the funds were made available to her. If she stayed clean for one year, my instructions were to give her the balance. I’d failed in my attempt to find her, so I hired a private detective. He located her living just outside of Dallas in North Riverview. She hadn’t been but twenty-five miles away from us the whole time.”
“I’m guessing it was too late,” Marcus said.
“Yes.” Her words were a whisper, but he heard the pain in her voice.
“With your sister’s death, you inherited everything?” Nate asked.
“I’m the only living relative, so that would be a yes.” Her eyes darkened to a chilling blue. “If I’d arrived at my sister’s house one day sooner or even an hour earlier, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“How so?” Marcus asked. She’d piqued his interest.
“Because Chelsea might still be alive and living with me in Dallas.” Chris closed her eyes as if to gather herself. “Her wounds were fresh when I got there. According to the medical examiner, she probably died a few minutes before I pushed my way inside.”
“Wait,” Marcus interrupted. “Are you saying the killer was there when you broke in?”
“Yes. I still have nightmares.”
“That’s a tough image to carry around.” He’d seen death, knew the mark it left on you. Guilt for not being there when a loved one needed you could eat at a person. It hadn’t helped when people told him it wasn’t his fault, so he wouldn’t waste time telling her. “Sorry for the interruption. I wanted to be sure I understood. Please, go on.”
Chris nodded and said, “Her car was home and a light was on. Given her drug history, when she didn’t answer, I forced the door open. Her murderer attacked me from behind, but I fought back and got away.”
“Did you get a good look at him?” Nate asked. He leaned forward in his chair, and Marcus recognized the expression. They had a new case.
“Yes.” Her hand went to her neck. “I saw his face when he choked me, but when the police arrived and questioned me, I couldn’t describe him. My doctor diagnosed it as a kind of retrograde amnesia.”
“I’ve heard that’s not uncommon when someone goes through something that traumatic. The fact you escaped is incredible.” Kay’s tone was sincere. She knew all about escaping a killer.
“And the police didn’t turn up any clues?” Marcus asked.
“None were ever found. Well, that I know of.” Chris pushed the file to the center of the table. “Like I said, her case is considered cold.”
“You want us to find your sister’s killer?” Nate asked.
Marcus rested his hand on top of the folder. No doubt, it contained painful memories, and he saw no need to open it in front of Chris.
“Yes. If he’s not caught and locked away, you’ll be looking for my killer.” She paled at her own words. Her back was stiff, and her hands, curled into fists, rested on the table. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily as if the simple act of breathing exhausted her. “Sooner or later, Chelsea’s murderer will kill me, too.”
“What makes you think the killer has come back for you after all this time?” Marcus asked. He was glad he’d helped her decide to come in and talk.
“He never went away. I move and he finds me. He’s stalking me,” she said.
“How did you come across Lost and Found?” Nate asked.
“Dalton Murphy said you were the best in the business when it came to helping people.”
“You’re a fed?” Marcus formed a quick image in his head of her wearing dark pants, a white blouse, and low-heeled boots. It didn’t work. Sitting there in front of him in a silky blue blouse over crisp white slacks, she looked more like a model. She was maybe five-foot-eight, trim, and sexy right down to her red toenails peeking through her strappy sandals.
“No.” She smiled, and he was struck by her beauty. “I volunteer at Dallas Animal Services. We received word the FBI had busted a dog-fighting ring, and the shelter in Atlanta needed extra hands.”
“I remember him busting that operation,” Marcus said.
“I didn’t work directly with him. Hundreds of dogs needed medical attention. I helped crate and load many of them.”
Kay leaned down and put her hand on Diablo’s head. “Sheesh. That had to be a heart-breaking assignment.”
“It was tragic. I still worry about those poor animals.” Chris shook her head, as if pushing away images best forgotten. “Anyway, during a few minutes of downtime, I caught myself spilling my guts to Dalton.”
Nate huffed out a breath. “It’s a talent of his. Nobody can keep a secret around him.”
“Do you have any family here?” Marcus pressed.
“I have no one anywhere.” Chris was silent for a minute, as if weighing what to say. “I’m the last Holland.”
“Let’s get back to your sister’s killer and how you know he’s after you.” Nate looked up from his legal pad.
“Up until last night his only contact with me was to send me flowers with cryptic messages. He knew where I lived in Dallas, and now he knows exactly where I moved to in North Dallas. He was in my town house last night. He covered my mouth with a rag. Something was on it that knocked me out.”
“What did he say?” Marcus asked. Damn, the woman’s story was intriguing.
“He warned me that I couldn’t have new friends.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips.
“That’s it?” Kay asked.
“I remember him rattling on about me being privileged and never having to wonder about my next meal.”
“Tell me you got a look at him,” Marcus said.
“It was too dark. I tried to pick up on something, anything that would help but couldn’t.”
“What else happened? Did he get personal? Touch you?”
“Not in the way I think you’re thinking. He kissed me.” She placed her finger on the spot. “Here.”
“The son of a bitch is brazen,” Marcus said.
Chris unclenched her fists and dropped her hands to her lap. Marcus couldn’t tell if it meant she was relaxing or about to run.
“I know my story is bizarre. I swear that I’m not some silly, high-strung female who cries wolf every time the wind rattles the windows. Sometimes, flowers just show up on my doorstep. The card sends a direct message, like, ‘You saw what I did to your sister. Wait till you find out what I’m going to do to you.’ Or, ‘Flowers like these will look good on your grave.’ Occasionally, a florist shop delivers them. Those cards are more cryptic. ‘See you soon.’ or ‘Can’t wait to see you again.’“
“How long have you lived in Dallas?” Marcus understood why she’d been skittish when he’d startled her outside. Someone was out to get her, and she was wary of any stranger.
“Dallas has been home since I was adopted. I moved to the North side of town a little over six months ago.”
“Where do you work?” Nate asked.
“I used to work for Patterson Marketing, but since my parents’ deaths, I’ve concentrated on volunteer work.”
Nate looked up from his notepad. Marcus recognized the expression. They needed more information. “Go on,” Marcus prompted.
“I’m not rich by any means. But my parents’ estate left me in a good financial position, which allowed me to purchase a town house using my mother’s maiden name. I’ve kept to myself, lived simply, and have been careful not to do anything that would reveal my whereabouts.” She paused. “I could leave the country, hide on some tropical island, but I’m not going to turn my back on my commitments. After last night, I’ll have to reduce my contacts with two girls in the Big Sisters program. I’m hoping to maintain our relationship through phone calls and texts until this is over.”
“It’s a smart decision to separate you
rself from the girls,” Marcus said.
“I’m betting we can figure out a way for you to see them if necessary.” Kay shot Marcus a don’t argue look. Thank God, they had her around to be the heart of the organization.
“Why doesn’t this guy just put a bullet between your eyes?” Marcus refused to look at Kay. No doubt, she’d admonish him for not picking a gentler way to ask that question.
Chris didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to ask him that question.”
Marcus nodded slightly. “I will.”
Their new client opened her purse and removed a checkbook. “Then you’ll need a retainer.”
“We’re pretty flexible about that.” Nate held up a hand to stop her. “We’re in the business of helping people. If you can’t—”
“I pay my way.” She clicked her ballpoint pen and held it poised.
Kay glanced at her husband, and they exchanged knowing grins. “I gave Nate five thousand as a retainer to protect me. We can start there.”
“Looks like he did a good job. You’re still alive.” The corner of Chris’s mouth twitched.
“So good I married him,” Kay joked.
“I can’t take all the credit. It was a group effort.” Nate winked at Kay. “I don’t have but a couple of weeks before my next assignment. Marcus is just coming back from a week off, so he’s refreshed and ready. Kaycie not only runs the office, she’s one hell of a detective. She’s always available.”
Having Nate’s help for any length of time was a bonus in Marcus’s opinion. “Let’s get a few more facts, and then you’ll need to report the break-in. We need to know how he got in your house. While we’re there, we’ll take a look at your security system. It needs to be a top-of-the-line model.”
Chapter 2
The silent vibration from DaVinci’s cell phone was an alert. His mentor, Michelangelo, had sent samples of his latest creation. Pictures waited on his laptop. Anticipation put a bead of sweat across his forehead. At last, the elevator dinged, and the doors swished open. His heart raced, and he hurriedly unlocked the door to his apartment.
DaVinci paid little attention to his luxurious surroundings, caring only that the door had locked behind him and he was in the privacy of his living room. His fingers trembled as he shrugged out of his suit coat and then unlocked his private office. Once inside his sanctuary, he sank into the plush executive manager’s chair and logged on.
His breathing became labored as he scanned through the different poses. The clarity and beauty of the snapshots were classic. He hated to be bested, but he had to be honest, Michelangelo had created another work of art.
The second time his cell vibrated, a smile crept up his face. No need to wonder who was calling, because only one person had this number. “The final presentation is a masterpiece, my friend. Truly breathtaking.”
“I thought you’d like them.” Michelangelo’s velvety smooth voice slid through the phone. “The work took awhile to accomplish, but the end result was worth the effort.”
She’d suffered a lot. DaVinci could see the fear and agony on her face. The bulging veins in her eyes, her slack jaw, and swollen tongue had been captured beautifully. Her legs were spread open so the world could see her overused cunt. What pushed this picture into the winner’s circle was how the flesh on her chest hung loose, and that she held a breast implant in each hand.
“Brilliant. Just splendid.” DaVinci tamped down the jealousy brewing in his stomach. How could he not love this work of art? “It’s new and fresh. Without a doubt, it has never been done.” He might as well surrender. “I’ll have a check written and waiting.”
The laughter drifting through the phone reminded him how much he appreciated his old friend and mentor.
“Thank you. For what it’s worth, I feel a bit guilty about taking your money.”
“I might have been poor when we met, but I’m not anymore. I pay my debts.”
“I wasn’t insinuating you didn’t. You haven’t been at the top of your game for the past couple of months.”
Even though he knew it to be a true statement, DaVinci’s temper flared. “Are you saying you allowed me to win last time?”
“I’m saying you have been distracted of late.” A long moment passed. “I don’t understand your continued fascination with the Holland women. Frankly, it’s bizarre.”
“Keeping tabs on her has gotten much easier now that Christine has moved to Plano.” He instantly regretted sharing that tidbit. He clicked off Michelangelo’s masterpiece and opened a clear image of Christine’s front door.
“You cannot be serious. Next you’ll be telling me you’re neighbors.” Venom dripped from his mentor’s words. “How’d you find her?”
“It cost me a bundle, but I needed to know.”
“You hired someone to trace her?” Michelangelo’s tone was sharp, irritated.
“No worries,” DaVinci said, trying to soothe his mentor’s angst. “After he located her, he mysteriously disappeared. Forever.”
“Fine. You killed one of them already. Now kill this one and be done with it.”
“In my own good time. For now, I’m having fun.”
“Don’t make me do it for you.”
“That would be a mistake.” He hoped the icy tone in his voice sent a clear message. He had no words to explain how important Christine was to him. She had much suffering to endure before he killed her. Not even his dearest friend and mentor would dictate when or how Christine would die. “I would react poorly to your interference.”
“Interfere? I’d be saving you from yourself.” Michelangelo’s smooth tones had turned hard. “Get her out of your mind. Our clients will not tolerate anything less than perfection. It’s time you explained yourself.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” he lied. His reason for letting Christine live was his alone.
“Prove it. Dispose of her and concentrate on business.”
“Have you received complaints?” The line remained silent for a heartbeat. “Then the subject is closed.”
“You’re risking us both. And not just our lives, but also our art and our clients.”
“This is something I have to do my way. Please understand.”
Michelangelo’s deep sigh indicated his surrender. “I have a buyer for your Van Gogh reproduction. I’m leaving for London tomorrow.”
“Perfect. I’ll start on a replacement piece right away. Have it ready for your next buyer.”
“You have a showing next week. The damage to your reputation will be irreparable if you let the artist and the public down.”
“I have trained personnel who are capable of receiving and uncrating the paintings. I’m going to the studio after lunch to ensure things are going as planned. The exhibit will be perfect.”
“Good. But remember we have other clients, too. If things go well in London, you’ll have new orders to fill.”
The line went dead, and DaVinci dropped the cell on the desk. He closed his laptop and his eyes, letting his memory wander back to his youth. His mentor had found him on a street corner selling cardboard copies of the great artists made with stolen paint. He was sixteen years old and a runaway, and nobody had given a shit about him. Michelangelo had moved an unknown kid into his home, educated him, and trained him on the finer things in life. His guidance had turned an undisciplined painter into a true artist. For that, DaVinci would always be grateful.
In Michelangelo’s position as art buyer, he brushed elbows with the elite. He’d quickly found a lucrative market using DaVinci’s ability to clone the great masters.
DaVinci had been twenty-one when he’d killed his first whore. He’d confessed his predilection for torturing blond sluts when Michelangelo had caught him with a white shirt covered in blood. Much to DaVinci’s surprise, his mentor had begged to be included the next time.
Over the next few years, they’d worked as a team, perfecting their abilities. Their careers had separated them when DaVinci opened his art gallery in Plano, and Michelang
elo had accepted a position as the art director for the Willingdale Museum in Sundance Square over in Fort Worth. Soon after, the competition had begun.
DaVinci had never confided his true motivation to his friend. His plan had taken shape only after his gallery became profitable and he could afford the luxury of taking revenge on Christine and her family. Simply killing her wasn’t enough. He wanted her to suffer. Know how it felt to be alone.
He leaned forward and opened the view of her town house. She’d tried to hide after he’d killed Chelsea, but he was way too smart for her. Money had bought many things, including information, so he’d allowed her to run. Much like a rat in a maze, she’d darted from one location to the other, searching for a way out and ultimately failing.
This last move had been her best effort. It had taken a few weeks to locate her. Since then, he’d monitored her movements via the camera he’d paid to have hidden in the tree across from her town house. Now he watched and waited. He’d learn who and what meant the most to her. When the timing was right, he’d systematically take it all away from her.
DaVinci shook his head. For the next few days, he had no time for her. He had to concentrate on the gallery show and his next project. Michelangelo had thrown down the gauntlet with his latest win. It was time to pick it up and meet the challenge.
****
“We didn’t call Dalton,” Marcus commented as Nate drove out of the parking lot behind their new client.
“I figured we could talk on the way.” Nate pushed a button on the steering wheel and dialed Dalton Murphy.
“Hey, Nate. What’s up?” The FBI agent’s baritone matched his dark suits. All business.
“Marcus and I have you on speaker.”
“Okay. How was the vacation, Marcus?”
Marcus took the lead. “Short. Congrats on cracking the dog-fighting ring. Too bad the bastards didn’t fight back.”
“True enough. How’s the dog you brought back from Colombia?”
No Chance in Hell Page 2