No Chance in Hell

by Jerrie Alexander

  Nate walked next to her with Marcus on the other side. Under different circumstances, having two giant bodyguards might have been funny. Marcus held open the car door for her. He glanced down at her purse.

  “You know how to use that gun?”

  “Damn right.”

  If he’d gone through drawers or checked under furniture cushions while inside her town house, he’d have found weapons stashed all over the place. Getting caught at Chelsea’s without a means of self-defense had taught her a valuable lesson. Granted, her previous classes in karate had saved her life, but she felt safer with added protection.

  ****

  Marcus opened the door to the Lost and Found office, allowing Nate and Chris to step inside.

  “Honey, we’re home,” Nate called out with a laugh.

  Kay jumped out of her chair and rushed toward her husband. A smile the size of the Rio Grande River was spread across her face. Diablo got up, stretched, and trotted to Marcus. His tail worked overtime as Marcus scratched his ears.

  “We’ll work out of the conference room,” he told Chris, starting back and leaving the two lovebirds to do husband and wife stuff.

  “Wait.” Kay grabbed him by the arm. “I have good news. No, outstanding news.”

  Nate’s eyebrows rose in question. “Well, share it with us.”

  Kay grabbed Chris by the hand. “I’m sorry to talk about people you don’t know, but I have to tell these guys or I’ll pop.”

  “Please, don’t worry about me.” Obviously uncomfortable, Chris pulled away. “I’ll wait for you in the conference room.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Kay said.

  The warmth in Chris’s expression as she waved off Kay hinted at sincerity. But Marcus remembered Chris’s earlier comment about not having friends. He’d never have survived without his friends.

  “Jake is being released soon.” The words tumbled from Kay’s mouth at lightning speed.

  Her energy lifted to celebration level. Jake Donovan had been the youngest of Wolfe’s Pack. He’d been tough as nails on the football field, but had always morphed into a big-hearted kid the minute he took off the uniform. To hear the girls tell it, Jake was a hunk. Marcus had learned early on not to argue with women.

  He worried that Jake was being released too soon after surgery. The tumor pressing against his brain had explained his erratic behavior. Thinking the doctors were trying to kill him, he’d escaped the military hospital. The pressure had caused memory loss, and they had found Jake working for a human-trafficking ring.

  The surgery to remove it had been almost as life threatening as leaving the damn thing alone. But he’d survived and had gone through intense therapy. Jake had been involved in some nasty shit, including damn near getting Kay and her best friend, Holly Hoffman, killed. Marcus would reserve his judgment for a while.

  “All your trips to spend time with him must’ve worked. Congratulations.” Nate gathered Kay to his chest. Beaming down at her, he dropped a kiss on her lips.

  They were opposite sides of the same coin, completing each other’s personalities. A zing of something like loneliness passed through Marcus, which he quickly shoved away. He’d put the past behind him. Trouble was, his memory hadn’t received the memo.

  “Enough. I’ll have that image burned into my retinas.” Marcus mockingly rubbed his eyes, pretending to wipe the sight from his mind. They’d known this day was coming, had waited eagerly for a date. “Give us facts. When? I take it they accepted you as a sponsor.”

  “They did,” Kay responded with a proud smile. The pink that had rushed up her cheeks receded. “No exact date yet. And he’ll be required to attend regular sessions with a psychiatrist until he can deal with his actions. And we guaranteed he’d have a job here at Lost and Found, Inc.”

  “What did they say about his memory?” Marcus asked.

  “Most of the past returned. He doesn’t remember the last few months before surgery. But he knows what he did. He heard it all at his hearing.”

  “It’s best that he’s here with us.” Nate walked to Ty’s old desk and gave the chair a spin. “We’ll find work around here for him.” He glanced at his wife. “When he’s strong enough, maybe the two of you can get out in the field. You’ve been itching to get more involved.”

  “You got that right.” Kay wrapped her arms around her husband and hugged him. “I was just about to remind you that I didn’t sign on to be a secretary. I hate being cooped up in this office.”

  Marcus could only nod his support. More than once, she’d reminded him and Nate that her experience as a detective for Child Protective Services more than qualified her for a spot on the team.

  “I know. It’s hard for me to willingly put you in the field,” Nate confessed. “But I will.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s get to work.” She marched them into the conference room and then passed out a stack of folders. “I made copies of the information Chris brought us, and then I added the stuff Dalton sent. You’ll want to sit before you dig in. The pictures are graphic.”

  Marcus stopped them both. “Chris needs to stop by the Big Sisters office. Why don’t we let Kay escort her?”

  “My first assignment outside this office.”

  “I’m not sure I like that,” Nate said.

  Kay straightened her shoulders and scowled back at her frowning husband. “You think I can’t protect Chris? I’m as good a shot as either of you.”

  Nate huffed out a breath. “Fine. Let’s take a look at the intel you’ve collected first.”

  Marcus settled in the chair next to Chris. Diablo dropped at his feet. The first few pages were standard documents. Proof she’d been to the police a number of times. Her complaints hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. The cops just hadn’t found evidence to track back to who had sent the flowers. A throwaway phone and a prepaid credit card were impossible to trace.

  “Holy shit,” Marcus muttered, turning to Chris. “You don’t have to see these pictures or hear the discussion we’re going to have. Kay’s going to drive you to your Big Sisters meeting. It might be best for you two to leave now.”

  “No. I can do this. I’ve seen the pictures, but was never given copies. Please. Do what you need to.”

  Marcus took a deep breath and read for a few minutes before speaking. “The medical examiner’s report says Chelsea Holland had been tortured for hours prior to having her throat cut. Multiple stab wounds covered her body, gashes deep enough to hurt and make her bleed but not lethal. The body appeared to have been posed. Why would you pose a dead body? Shock value? A message to the cops?”

  “Fuck,” Nate growled. “Baby, you didn’t look at these, did you?”

  “I did. You can’t shield me from these things. Not if I’m going to work cases with you.”

  “Marcus,” Nate said. “You get to the pictures?”

  “Yeah.” Marcus slid the glossies from the folder onto his desk. He stared into the face of a thinner, washed-out version of Chris. Stale coffee shot up his esophagus and flooded the back of his throat. “This is one sick bastard.”

  The pictures confirmed the medical examiner’s report. Chelsea Holland’s naked, bloody body had been posed. Anger rolled into a knot in Marcus’s gut. Even in death, a human being deserved respect, but she’d received just the opposite. Her legs had been spread open, leaving nothing to the imagination. One hand rested on her stomach. Blood had run down her body from the knife wounds into puddles on the floor. Some had pooled between her legs.

  He turned the pictures facedown. “Killer took his time.”

  “He wanted to humiliate her,” Kay said. Her tone dripped with disgust.

  “Yeah,” Nate commented. “The question is why?”

  “Track marks on her arms are obvious and multiple.” Marcus felt a stab of sympathy for Chris. Discovering her sister in this condition had to have devastated her.

  “Chelsea was still using,” Chris said, speaking for the first time in minutes.

  “You thinki
ng the murder was drug-related?” Nate asked Marcus, turning his copies facedown, too.

  “No. It took her a long time to die. This bastard had her death planned out. He stuck around and watched. Probably got off on the suffering he was inflicting. He made a statement. Now we figure out what’s he saying and who he’s talking to.” Marcus feared that they’d just scratched the surface of this case.

  “Statement, my ass.” Kay stopped pacing and fisted her hands on her hips. She’d copied and put the files together. Marcus had no doubt that she’d read them. “He’s screaming. He’s a thrill killer, or he hated this woman a lot.”

  “I don’t disagree. Which is why I think he’ll kill again. If he hasn’t already.” Marcus reread the police report on the murder. “No semen was found at the scene or on the body.”

  “Read on,” Chris said. “The medical examiner’s statement says there was no evidence of rape.”

  Nate scowled. Deep concern was written all over his face. “I don’t like exposing you or my wife to this crap. You’ve both been through enough.”

  Kay’s expression softened. “I love you, too. But you’re not shutting me out of this case.” She turned to face Chris. “We’re going to catch this bastard.”

  Nate opened his mouth, but Marcus waved him off. “Maybe you and Chris should head downtown before you get caught in rush-hour traffic.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Kay stood and left the room. She hurried back, wearing a jacket and, no doubt, her pistol.

  “I’ll call Tomas and Wayne,” Marcus said. “They usually appreciate getting the extra work.”

  “Tomas volunteers so he can be close to her.” Nate winked at Chris and held his hand out to Kay. “But I agree. We can’t protect Chris twenty-four/seven and work the case,” Nate said.

  Marcus nodded. The Lost and Found team had gotten off to a shaky start with DPD homicide detectives Tomas Mendez and Wayne Kerns. After Kay’s rescue, they’d been pissed as hell that Nate had kept his plans to himself. Truth be told, it was Dalton who’d smoothed things over. Since then, both Tomas and Wayne had become part-time members of Lost and Found’s team. Marcus welcomed their help on this job.

  “One more thing,” Marcus added while he had everyone together. “Since Dalton’s agreed to help, I want him to run the murder through the national database. See if there are any other homicides with these same markers.”

  Chris stood and joined Kay. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”

  Chapter 4

  DaVinci clenched his fists, ignoring the urge to throw his laptop across the room. Drawing his assistant’s attention would pique her curiosity. The poor soul fancied herself an expert in the art world. Her promotion had been a wise choice on his part. She was devoted to him and the gallery, allowing him to concentrate on Chelsea and now Christine.

  Satisfied his head wasn’t going to explode, he replayed the video, slowing it to a crawl. Christine had allowed not one but two men into her home. Why now? He’d been watching her for months, and not once had she brought anyone home with her.

  The young man who’d delivered the flowers had been jerked inside. A few minutes later a man followed the delivery boy out of the parking lot. The jackass had thrown the flowers in the dumpster. Exactly what had she told her new friends?

  None of it made sense.

  He studied the two men as they exited her house. Both were the size of those fighters who got inside a cage and beat the shit out of each other. Wearing dark slacks and white shirts, they both moved as if they owned the ground under their feet. Just who were her new friends?

  His pulse ratcheted up again at the way she lingered at the door until one spoke to her. His lips were easy to read as he issued the order, “Lock up behind us.”

  If she grew attached to anyone, he’d kill them. And do it without hesitation. She needed to understand the conditions of staying alive. Rules had to be followed or consequences would be levied.

  He closed his laptop and locked it in his briefcase. He’d made plans to drive to Austin. The perfect candidate worked in a strip club just outside of town, but he’d canceled the date. She’d sounded disappointed. Well, so had he been. His plans for her had been really quite creative.

  But Christine was his focus. He would not lose sight of the end goal. She thought she’d outsmarted him. Little did she know, he’d just begun to make her squirm. She would not be allowed to make new friends. The two bruisers she’d had in her town house could easily be dealt with. He sighed, straightened his suit jacket, and then walked out to the gallery.

  “Here he is now,” one of the clerks announced. “I’ll let him tell you what inspired this painting.”

  He plastered a fake smile on his face. “Love to.” He strolled to the potential buyer and linked her arm in his. “I’d just returned from a week in California where I’d been overwhelmed by the colors of summer and the feeling of the breeze wafting over the ocean. I had to commit that beauty to canvas.” Partially true, the painting had burst from him right after he’d killed Chelsea Holland.

  “May I ask the price?”

  “I couldn’t bear to part with this one. But I do enjoy meeting someone who appreciates and feels the message.”

  The woman made a soft sigh of approval.

  “Message?” An older man spoke from across the room. His cowboy boots clomped as he crossed the distance. “Looks like the paint fairy puked.”

  “Harold,” the woman whined. “Don’t be rude.”

  “It’s all right.” Swallowing back a harsh retort, DaVinci struggled to keep his cool. “Not everyone understands abstract art.”

  “That ain’t art. Looks more like chicken scratching to me.” The man socked his Western hat on his head and started toward the exit.

  “Sorry.” The customer’s face flushed red, but she hustled after him.

  DaVinci nodded his dismissal. He hated that he hadn’t told the old bastard that his paintings were on display only to be observed and enjoyed. He’d never sell one of his favorite memories.

  “Jerk,” his assistant, Janet, muttered.

  “Exactly.” He turned to face her. “Let’s take a look around. Show me how you arranged the paintings.” He tucked her hand through his arm and allowed her to take the lead.

  He’d blessed his lucky stars the day he found this location in Dallas. A heavy-foot-traffic area with lots of high-end eateries that drew in- and out-of-town visitors. His initial investment plus the remodel had cost him a pretty penny, but he’d easily recouped his money.

  The offerings in the upcoming show came from a handful of local artists, ones he considered to be worthy of his attention. He had paintings on display for sale, but certain special works were priceless, never to be sold. His first one was particularly stunning. Angry slashes of dark hues against a background of pale blue. His mother had never looked so good.

  Janet’s voice pulled him from his deep thoughts. “You’re displeased?”

  “Not at all. The arrangement will pull the traffic through nicely, allowing the customer to pause and enjoy each piece.”

  Before she could gush and get under his skin, he insisted she leave early and get some rest. Tomorrow was a big day for Janet, as he’d given her total control of the show.

  ****

  Someone pounded on her front door. “Chris,” Marcus shouted. “On three, I’m coming in.”

  Chris jumped out of bed, ran and opened the door. His brown leather boot was raised, and Diablo stood next to him. A low growl came from the dog, hackles raised, the scruff on his neck standing straight up.

  “Easy, boy,” Marcus said. He took the gun from her hands. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” She backed inside, and he followed.

  “Then why didn’t you answer your phone?” The area around his mouth relaxed, but behind his brooding gaze, Chris saw concern. Even though they were strangers, he cared.

  “For the first time in many months, I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear anything.”
That statement alone frightened her. Marcus banging on her door had startled her and, hard as she tried, she couldn’t slow down her heart rate. Looking for some normalcy, she started a pot of coffee. “At first, I didn’t want to set foot in this place, but knowing you were outside made me feel safe. I didn’t wake at every little sound.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. But you make a good point, maybe you shouldn’t stay here at all. Be easier to protect you in a safe house.” His gaze swept across her body, searing her with heat. Then, as if he realized he was staring, he looked away. “We’ll wait in here while you change. Come, Diablo.”

  “Be right back.” Her knees wobbled as she darted into her bedroom. How had she forgotten the fact that she wore nothing except a cami and jogging shorts? Mortified, she grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on. She followed with a sports bra and a T-shirt. After a splash of water on her face, a quick brush of her teeth, and pulling her hair back in a clip, she attempted to ignore the fact he’d seen her almost naked. She rejoined him and acted as if nothing had happened.

  He’d poured the coffee by the time she slid onto one of the stools at her kitchen breakfast bar. Heat burned her cheeks. Thankfully, he made no mention of her earlier state of undress.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you by banging on the door. It’s my job to keep you safe.” Marcus shoved his fingers through his hair. He’d returned to his usual stoic self. “But when you didn’t come out ready to go to the shelter, I called.”

  Chris finally relaxed. “I can’t imagine you panic often.” Marcus’s expression of horror made her laugh out loud.

  “I didn’t panic,” he growled out his answer. His hand covered hers. “I’ll admit to being concerned.”

  His touch was warm and strong, leaving her unable to speak with his hand on her. Marcus jerked his hand away, almost as if he’d startled himself by touching her.

  Her cell sang out, and Chris ran to retrieve it. She checked caller ID. It was the shelter. Today was free adoption day, and she’d promised to help. She apologized profusely to the facility manager and went back to the kitchen.