No Chance in Hell

by Jerrie Alexander

  “She bought me clothes?” Chris slid the pistol into the waistband of her jeans and went straight to her new things. “There’s a note. She guessed my size perfectly. And she left your things in the room across the hall.”

  Chris emptied the sack while he checked the window locks. There was nothing fancy about the place. The room held a dresser with a mirror, a nightstand with a lamp and clock and a queen-size bed. The huge white comforter caused images of her cuddled under the fluffy cloud to flip through his mind. The soft blue walls reminded him of her eye color.

  He crossed the hall and walked into the other bedroom. Sure enough, two bags waited for him. No doubt, he’d find clean clothes. “I’ll let you look through your goodies while I take Diablo outside.”

  “No, I’ll stay close to you.” She answered a little too quickly. “If you’re going out back, I’ll go to the kitchen and put what’s left of our supper on plates.”

  He got it. She was nervous. And maybe more than a little worried about hiding out with a complete stranger. She’d been his client for two days, and he’d been hired to protect her. Other than that, she knew little about him. Best if things stayed that way.

  “Your call.”

  Chapter 9

  Chris’s chest tightened. She spun toward the door and grabbed her gun from the counter. She sighed with relief. Marcus and Diablo were back.

  “You startled me.” She carefully placed her pistol on the table next to her plate.

  “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll call out so you’ll know it’s me.”

  “I’m just a little jumpy. Our burgers and fries are cold, but I’m guessing they’ll do for sustenance.”

  “I’d think you were in shock if you weren’t.”

  Chris sat at the table and swirled a fry in catsup. Diablo curled around her feet and stared up at her. “He’s even prettier when he begs.”

  Marcus’s eyes sparkled over the rim of his cola. “He’s a male. Guys aren’t pretty. Besides, he knows he can get to you with that hang-dog look of his.”

  She smuggled a fry to the dog. “Of course men are pretty. Some I’d even call beautiful.”

  He grunted. “Well, I can’t imagine what a beautiful guy would look like.”

  Chris decided against clueing him in. Instead, she took a bite of hamburger and chewed. Anything to keep her mouth busy or she was going to tell him the truth. He could be the poster boy for the beautiful guy category. The rugged symmetry of his face, the dark sultry eyes, and sun-kissed dark brown hair placed him right at the top.

  They both took sips of their sodas. The ice had melted, watering down the cola. “That’s pretty bad,” Chris said.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Probably quite often if you were in the military. Were you in Iraq?”

  “And Afghanistan.” He glanced at her then went back to eating.

  Chris almost shivered. His brown eyes had turned cold and forbidding. She wouldn’t push. Maybe memories kept him from talking about the war easily. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No worries.” He finished off his burger and neatly folded the wrapper.

  A day’s worth of tension was taking its toll on her neck and back muscles. Marcus, as her dad would’ve said, had to be wound just as tight. A few hours’ sleep would benefit them both. “I think I’ll take a shower and call it a night.”

  He nodded, stood up, and piled the scraps onto his plate. “Here you go, boy.”

  She closed her bedroom door and emptied the bags onto the bed. Kay had left a change of clothes, underwear, and a handful of welcome toiletries. Washing her hair was going to be a real treat. She held the oversize T-shirt up against her, deciding it and the leggings would be perfect.

  “Chris,” Marcus said through the closed door. “If you’re uncomfortable being alone, Diablo can stay in your room with you.”

  She swung back the door just as Marcus entered the room across from her. “So you don’t think we’re safe?”

  “I think we’re just fine. I don’t believe we were followed.” His gaze drifted lower, stopping on her chest. Slowly, his eyes strolled up to meet hers. “Nice Dallas Cowboys T-shirt. Blue is your color.”

  “Thank you.” Sheesh, was that disappointment rushing through her? Chris thought he’d been checking out her breasts. Her knees had turned to marshmallows. She’d gripped the door facing to keep from melting into a puddle. “I’ll be fine without Diablo sleeping in here. He needs to be close to you.”

  “Okay. You go head and take your shower. I’ll be here if you need something.” Then he spun on his heel and retreated.

  Chris grabbed her underwear and toiletries and hurried down the hall to the shared facilities. She stripped quickly then jumped under the water while the flow was still too cool, sending her into a full-body shiver. A second later, the warm liquid sluicing over her body felt like heaven. The nerves in her back and neck uncoiled a fraction.

  She dressed in her new sleep clothes. After digging through the small cabinet under the sink, she gave up on finding a hairdryer. She combed her hair, leaving it damp and loose. By morning, it would be in little-girl ringlets. Not a good look for her, but so be it. She put the bathroom back in order. No doubt, Marcus was waiting for his turn.

  A sliver of light shone from under his bedroom door. Chris stood in the hall, her hand poised to knock. There really was no need to see him, so she decided to let him know she had finished. “Bathroom’s open. See you in the morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  She closed her door and sat on the side of the bed. The image of Wayne’s wife and her gut-wrenching sobs kept running through Chris’s mind. Her heart ached for the woman’s loss. She’d offered condolences but felt her words had been inadequate. Before she slipped between the cool white sheets and turned off the light, she prayed for Wayne’s family.

  The sound of running water sent her thoughts back to Marcus. His inner strength amazed her. He’d lost a friend and his wife’s mementos today. How would he handle all that now that he was alone with his thoughts? More than once, Chris had stood in the shower, allowing the grief of losing one of her parents or Chelsea to mingle and wash down the drain.

  He wouldn’t. Not Marcus. If she’d learned anything about him in the past couple of days, she knew he’d hold his pain inside.

  ****

  Chris woke with a start. Her unfamiliar surroundings sent her heart pounding against her ribs. It took a moment to orient herself. The clock on the nightstand glowed, silently showing her it was three in the morning. She’d slept hard for five hours.

  The quiet unsettled her. Her mouth was dry. She wished she’d gone after a glass of water before going to bed. Maybe the thirst would pass if she ignored it. It didn’t. The more she thought about not thinking about water, the more her tongue felt like a hayfield in the middle of a hot Texas summer.

  Surrendering to her thirst, she got out of bed, tiptoed to the door, and opened it. Marcus’s door was open, and his room dark, but she wasn’t going to look to see if he was asleep. She’d get her glass of water and be back in bed within minutes.

  A faint light from the other end of the hallway provided her with the courage to run barefoot toward the kitchen. She’d taken a couple of steps when Diablo rounded the corner and trotted down the hall to her. Chris went down on one knee and shushed the dog. “You have to be quiet. We don’t want to wake Marcus.”

  She followed Diablo toward the living room. She stopped and stared, unable to go forward or back. Sitting on the couch, barefoot and shirtless, Marcus had leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Holy hell, the top button of his jeans was undone. He was magnificent. Even relaxed, his body looked as if one of the mythical gods had come to life. Now her mouth was really dry.

  Obviously, the smart thing to do was let him rest. Chris took a step back.

  “Never retreat.” He opened his eyes, stunning her with his rigid stare. He didn’t look to have been asleep. In fact, she felt his sadness fill the space between th
em. “If you start something, be prepared to finish it.”

  “Okay.” Unsure of the message he was sending, she walked into the room. “I wanted a drink of water.”

  He waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Help yourself.”

  Chris poured two glasses and carried one to Marcus.

  “Thanks.”

  She couldn’t make her feet move to leave him alone when he looked so sad. To use his words, retreating wasn’t an option. She sat on the other end of the couch, expecting him to say something. When he didn’t, she took charge. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.” He sipped the water while she waited for him to continue.

  “Okay. I’ll talk.”

  “I can hardly wait.” His eyes brightened a little. Was he teasing?

  “Great.” She pressed forward. “I’m very sorry about the fire. You lost everything you had left of Lynne. If I hadn’t walked into Lost and Found, this probably wouldn’t have happened.”

  “I appreciate that, but if you’re trying to take the blame, don’t. We don’t know what caused the fire. It could have been faulty wiring.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?” She had no doubts. All of this was because of her.

  “No.”

  “Was your house insured?”

  “Sure.”

  “But there’s no insurance that covers memories. You lost everything.”

  Diablo dropped down next to Marcus and used his feet for a pillow. Marcus leaned down and stroked his fur.

  Embarrassed beyond measure for intruding, Chris tried to think of a graceful way to vanish. Coming up with nothing, she scooted to the edge of the couch.

  “The last time we talked, my wife was upset that I’d re-enlisted,” he said, surprising Chris that he’d made such a personal statement.

  An odd circle of gloom wrapped around Chris’s chest. Would he ever get over the woman whose ghost he clung to? And why did a pang of jealousy rush over her? Where did the urge to comfort him come from? More than she needed to breathe, she wanted to make him forget the past. The room closed in. The air grew thin. “You’ll always have her in your heart.”

  He nodded, looking at her as if surprised he’d shared that about his wife. “You’d better get some rest.”

  Had she just been dismissed? Had he embarrassed himself by sharing? “If I oversleep, just bang on my door.” Chris took her glass of water with her to her bedroom.

  ****

  Crap, he needed his head examined. Blurting out that comment about Lynne was unacceptable. Frankly, it shocked him that he’d opened up to Chris about something so personal. That had to stop.

  He listened until the door to her bedroom closed. Chris was better at gathering information from people than she knew. What was it about her that made him share knowledge that even his friends hadn’t heard?

  His mind wandered to the burned-out hull that had once been his home. He had nothing left of Lynne except her birth certificate, their marriage license, and her death certificate. Those were in a safe-deposit box, along with his personal documents. His biggest fear had always been forgetting what she looked like, so he’d kept the snapshots on his cell phone and left the printed pictures on display.

  He’d waited awhile, watching the hall, half-expecting Chris to wander back into the room. He retrieved his tablet from under the couch, hoping she’d fallen asleep.

  Kay had gathered a little more information on Chelsea Holland’s death. She’d texted him that she’d emailed it to him. He’d been reading those files when Chris had walked down the hall, so he’d stashed the computer. He wanted to digest the facts before sharing any information with her.

  He felt as if everyone else was doing the work. Keeping Chris safe was a priority, but he wanted a hand in bringing the killer to justice. Tomorrow, they’d go to the office. Marcus had to know if Dalton had uncovered something missed by local police.

  The reports on Chelsea’s murder were long and formal. With intel coming from a number of sources, he’d have a clear picture of her case. Her history of drug use had been well documented. She’d frequented a handful of bars where known pushers hung out, selling their wares and women. If she’d been a prostitute, she must have freelanced. Marcus couldn’t find any mention of her having a pimp. Chelsea wouldn’t have lived long if she’d tried to work without one.

  The autopsy report was gruesome. Chris had seen this in person, which had to have been a hundred times worse than a picture. He could understand that she’d have nightmares. A lot of them.

  Marcus had witnessed plenty of nasty shit while in the Army. Nothing as sadistic as what had been done to Chelsea.

  He’d totally understood Nate’s reaction at the office. He’d been upset Kay had seen the pictures. Marcus hadn’t had the time to study them, so tonight, he searched for something others who’d seen them might have missed. The son of a bitch had carved her up little by little. Her blank stare spoke volumes. Why had he posed her? Had the sick fuck taken a souvenir? Something he could look at to relive his deed?

  Marcus hated unanswered questions.

  He opened the next file and found a picture he hadn’t seen before. Chelsea’s body had been washed off, cut up, and put back together. Her blond hair had been pulled back, the blood and makeup were gone. A sheet discreetly covered the incision across her chest. There was no doubt whose sister was lying on the medical examiner’s table.

  Walking in on her sister’s death scene must have shaken Chris beyond words. He hoped the cops hadn’t kept her at the scene while they questioned her. His heart hurt as if somebody had reached inside his chest and squeezed.

  He logged off. Once he was on this bastard’s trail, sleep would have to wait. Tonight, he’d try to get a couple hours of shut-eye. That was, if he could get that picture of Chelsea Holland out of his head.

  ****

  DaVinci hated having to hurry. Hated the pressure he felt from his mentor to create. But after he’d gotten started, his creative juices had flowed like a river. She hadn’t believed that he would actually cut off her fingers. So he had. Nobody had heard her screams. Not this far out of the city where she was house-sitting for the weekend.

  He stuffed a finger in six of her orifices. The four extras, he’d put in her lap. A little surprise for the cops. No way could he insert one into her anal cavity. Would not go there.

  Too many horrific memories of abuse were tied to that part of his anatomy. He’d survived two foster homes where he’d been repeatedly violated. One attacker had been an adult male whose wife thought taking in kids with no parents was a good way to supplement their income. DaVinci had complained to his foster mom. Had she taken action against her husband? Hell, no. She’d had children services come get DaVinci, describing him as an unruly child.

  The second home hadn’t been any better. The woman who was supposed to protect her charges had had a teenage son. He’d sneak into DaVinci’s room late at night and force himself on him. The bastard would never sodomize another foster kid who’d had the misfortune of being sent to that home. In fact, killing the son of a bitch and leaving his body behind the garage was one of the few good memories DaVinci had of his childhood.

  He pushed the past from his mind and studied the colossal mess he’d just made. Adrenaline had pumped through his body, the resulting frenzy of slashing wildly instead of stabbing had left blood splattered and streaked across the walls and hardwood floor.

  Ignoring the acrid smell of death and taking caution not to step in blood, he studied his creation, adjusted his camera, and took pictures, stopping only when he’d taken what had to be the winning picture.

  DaVinci laid a plastic sheet on the floor, stripped naked, and cleaned himself, using wipes he’d brought from home. He changed into his spare set of clothes, wiped down everything he’d touched, focusing on not leaving any DNA behind. When his belongings had been rolled into a ball, he carried them and his bag of tools to the trunk of his car.

  He drove away without so much as a glan
ce back and took the long way around to the highway, suffering through the blackness of the night and the winding roads. He drove the speed limit, all the while fighting the desire to push the Mercedes to maximum speed and hurry home.

  Christine kept invading his thoughts, making it hard to concentrate. Michelangelo would love this new creation, but the kill had left DaVinci cold inside. Even though she had been blond-haired and blue-eyed like Christine, her suffering hadn’t satiated his need.

  Chapter 10

  Marcus took Diablo out for his morning exercise. Without a rubber ball to throw, he broke off a small tree limb and tossed it to the back of the yard. The dog didn’t care what he chased. He enjoyed the chance to stretch his legs. Marcus knew this because Diablo hadn’t hesitated. He returned, dropped the stick, and watched his master. All the while, his tongue was hanging out and his tail was wagging.

  “Good boy.” He dropped to one knee and rubbed the big dog’s ears, which set Diablo’s tail swinging at top speed. “We better wake up Chris.”

  “She’s already up.” The voice coming from behind him was warm and pleasant.

  He turned to face her. The explosion of blond curls was enough to make a man swallow his tongue. Her hair wasn’t pulled off her face today. It was loose, wild, and sexy as hell. The jeans and red blouse she wore fit as if they’d been tailor-made for her.

  “Morning. I see you found the coffee,” Marcus said, trying not to stare at her. He joined her on the steps, accepting the cup she offered. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “Ask what?” He’d never been good at games.

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “My hair. It’s naturally curly. I not only didn’t have a dryer and flatiron, I couldn’t find a comb.”

  “I like it.” Marcus found it easier to relax with her. In fact, he’d had more casual conversation with her than he’d had with anyone in a long time. But he couldn’t shake the horror of Wayne’s death. His focus had to stay on the case. “Did you sleep okay after your drink of water?”