Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
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A NECESSARY
EVIL
By: Christina Kaye
A NECESSARY EVIL
Copyright © 2017 by Christine Kaye.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: December 2017
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-277-4
ISBN-10: 1-64034-277-X
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
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Chapter 1
Collin
She was the prettiest one yet. By far. Collin had gotten extremely lucky. Her long, corn silk blonde hair fell just above her waistline and called attention to her hips, which swayed from side to side as she walked a few feet ahead of him. Each time she looked to the left or right to admire the window displays as she passed them, Collin could make out more and more of her delicate features—the straight slope of her nose that ended in a tiny button, and the long, black lashes that batted against high, pink cheekbones. He couldn’t make out the color of her eyes from this distance, but it didn’t matter. Not really. He’d find out soon enough. She was just the right age too—nineteen. The same as all the other girls—Collin’s “practice” girls.
He could have attracted any woman, anywhere, anytime. With his athletic physique, towering stature, and movie-star good looks, Collin could have any girl he set his sights upon. When he smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth and matching dimples, his eyes glimmered like polished emeralds. He kept his hair chin-length, which girls loved these days, and made a habit of running his hands through his blond, glossy locks from time to time when he spoke, giving him a casual, humble air. But where was the fun in doing things “the right way?” It was like shooting fish in a barrel. No excitement, no challenge.
Collin watched as she stopped to talk to a friend. She seemed so happy and full of life as she talked animatedly and tossed her head back in laughter. Seeing her this way made his pulse quicken. Knowing he was watching the last happy moment of her life reminded him what it had felt like as a young boy, hunting in the woods with his grandfather. The first time he’d spotted a deer, it was standing in a thicket, calmly grazing on the lush, green grass, oblivious to the predators slowly creeping closer and closer. Collin could still see that deer and the look in its eye when it realized it was not alone…right before his grandfather had forced him to pull the trigger. It didn’t make a noise, didn’t try to run. It just froze, allowing him that nanosecond it took to gather the nerve to shoot. That look had become his addiction. That split-second moment when the target of the hunt realized their life was over. It was that look that he’d become obsessed with, and it was what drove him to continue hunting.
When she said goodbye to her friend and started walking again, Collin picked up his pace. She was nearing the exit, and he knew his moment was quickly approaching. He’d never grown tired of that feeling—the anticipation he felt in those last few seconds before approaching a new girl. The way his mouth went dry and his senses went on high-alert. Collin often wondered what his girls were thinking during those final few moments of obliviousness. Whatever it was, he took extreme pleasure in knowing these would be her last pleasant thoughts. That these were the last few minutes she would feel normal, happy, and safe. She probably thought she was going to get in her car, drive home, and climb into her comfortable bed. That she would sleep peacefully and wake up tomorrow to a bright new day, full of possibilities. Little did she know, there would be no tomorrow for her.
Collin followed her out into the parking lot and was struck by the cold breeze that whipped across his face and forced him to pull his jacket tighter around himself. She’d noticed it too. He watched as she wrapped her arms around her waist and walked briskly toward her little red car, which he’d observed earlier was parked near the very back. His heart pounded, and he felt those familiar flutters in his stomach as the moment rapidly approached. This was it. This was the high he was always chasing. That elusive dragon.
Just as she arrived at her car, she dropped her keys. A familiar tingling coursed through his body as he took two large steps toward her. His left hand slapped over her mouth as his right hand shoved the barrel of the gun into her ribcage.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll shoot you right here, right now.”
She struggled against his body and tried to wriggle herself free from his grasp. He shoved the barrel of the gun harder into her side, and she went rigid. With eyes wet and full of fear, she nodded vigorously.
“Good girl,” Collin said. “Now, I want you to give me your keys and get in the back seat. Lay down and stay quiet. If you do exactly what I tell you to do, I won’t hurt you.”
He always wondered if his girls truly believed him when he said that, or if they were simply nodding because they realized they had no other option. Of course, he was lying. Collin had every intention of hurting her, but he didn’t want to kill her in the parking lot. Not only was it too risky, but he had plans for her, and that was the real goal tonight.
Killing the first several girls had just been a means to an end. He didn’t really enjoy doing it, but if he’d let them go, eventually one of them would’ve gone to the police. And since he wanted them to see his face, they’d be able to describe him and lead the cops right to him. That wasn’t an option. Collin had no desire to rot away in a jail cell while awaiting lethal injection. At least not until he finished
what he started. So, he killed them when he was done with them. It was a necessary evil.
The girl bent over, picked up the keys, handed them to him, and climbed into the back seat of her own car. She was quiet at first, but soon she whimpered and sniveled like a frightened child. They all did that, though, and he was willing to let it slide. In fact, in some small way, he enjoyed the sound. It meant they knew he was in control, and they recognized these might be their final moments on earth, which made the whole experience a bit more exhilarating for him.
Collin drove in silence to his destination. He abhorred small talk. What was the point, anyway? Some of his girls had tried to talk to him in the past, but he’d quickly put an end to it every time. He couldn’t stand how fake their voices sounded.
Her little red sedan pulled off the roadway, and he drove down the track he’d made with his many trips to his hideout. No one would ever happen upon this place. He’d specifically chosen this location, as it was well off the beaten path. And since it sat on private property his family had owned for generations, no one could even get there without his permission. Plus, there was no way, even if the police ever suspected him, they’d find his special hiding place. It was underground—a bunker his grandfather had built as a bomb shelter during the war. Covered by dead leaves and dried-up, fallen branches, the only way Collin even found it was because of the gnarly tree that had grown up right in front of the entrance.
He tried to pull the girl out of the back seat, but when he grabbed her legs, she kicked and screamed violently. Though no one could hear her this far out, it pissed Collin off that she was being so stubborn, so he drew the gun out of his pocket and whacked her in the head, knocking her out cold. He was careful to hit her on the side of the head. He didn’t want to damage that pretty face in any way. She went out like a light, and it was now easier to drag her out of the car, across the cold, wet ground, and up to the entrance of the hideout.
After setting her legs down carefully, he bent and brushed away the dead leaves and twigs he’d scattered across the door, just in case. When he found the handle, he deftly unlocked it and pulled the door open, letting it fall back with a thud against the ground.
This was the hard part, getting the girl down the steps and into the bunker. Especially girls like this one he’d had to knock unconscious. He could drag her down the steps, but that would bruise her up significantly, and he needed her in pristine condition. The only alternative was to wake her up and force her down the steps. Collin patted her cheeks, lightly at first. When that didn’t work, he slapped her as hard as he could.
She jolted awake, and a blood-curdling scream erupted from her throat.
He didn’t try to stop her this time. He grinned instead. “You’re wasting your breath, sweetheart. No one can hear you out here.”
She tried to scramble away from him.
“There’s nowhere to go, either. It’s just you and me, doll.” He stood and dragged her by the arms to the nearby opening in the ground.
“No!” she shouted over and over again as she fought against him in vain. “I’m not going down there!”
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Listen, I already told you. If you do as I tell you, I won’t hurt you. But if you continue to fight me, not only will I kill you, but I’ll do it slowly.” Her mouth snapped shut, and then…he finally saw it. That look he was always chasing. “That’s my girl. Now, please…be a good girl and go down the stairs, like I asked.”
She stared at him for a moment longer than was comfortable for him, but eventually turned and climbed down the stairs, whimpering the whole way down. Collin watched her trembling hands grab each rung as she descended into the darkness. The thoughts of what was about to happen made goose pimples appear on his flesh. She was his, now and forever. She knew it too. He’d seen it in her eyes, the moment she’d accepted her fate. But that look was just the precipice for him. He would do everything he’d planned for her, and she would oblige. Why? Because she probably still held out a tiny shred of hope that if she complied, if she did everything exactly as he instructed, she might still get out of this alive. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he was capable of, or that he had no conscience whatsoever. That he’d lived for this moment, and that every girl before her was just practice. She was the one. It all led up to this moment.
He knew the police had been trying hard to stop him. But all they knew was that a string of young women had vanished over the past two years. There were no bodies, no clues, and no evidence whatsoever. Mall surveillance would no doubt capture the grainy image of a dark figure forcing her into her car, but that would be it. He was smart, and he was careful. He’d planned this for years. No one could stop him. This knowledge brought a smile to Collin’s face as he grabbed the latch, climbed down the steps after her, and closed the door behind him.
And now…it begins.
Chapter 2
Kurt
Frustrated, he ripped his notes from the yellow legal pad, scrunched the page into a tight ball, and launched it across his desk toward the trash bin. Of course, it bounced off the rim and fell to the floor. Kurt had played baseball when he was younger, not basketball. And saying he played baseball might even be a bit of a stretch. He spent most of the games warming the bench for the good players like Tommy Donovan and Jimmy Simpson. Coach Little would put him in toward the end of the games whenever it was clear they were either winning by a landslide or losing by a country mile. But his mom and pop would cheer him on from the stands as if Kurt were Babe Ruth, even though he was standing out in the field, more interested in the ladybugs in the grass at his feet than anything that was going on in the infield.
“Hey, Whiskey. You going to pick that up or what?”
His partner, Lonnie Howard, had taken to calling him “Whiskey” the day they were first paired up five years ago. When they introduced themselves, he’d said, “Kurt Jamison? As in, Jameson whiskey?” Kurt had told him it wasn’t, but from that day forward, the stupid nickname stuck.
“Yeah, yeah.” Kurt pushed himself up out of his chair, which squeaked in response. He reminded himself to grab some WD-40 from the supply closet next time he went that way. When he bent forward to pick up the wad of paper, his back muscles screamed in protest. Instinctively, he reached his hand around and squeezed his lower back. Kurt groaned when he stood back up, and when he looked at Lonnie, the younger detective was staring at him with a smarmy grin on his tawny face.
“The hell you staring at, Lonnie?”
Lonnie chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “Just wondering when you’re finally going to retire, old buddy. Seems like that back of yours retired a long time ago.”
There were times when his partner’s ribbing didn’t bother him, but this time he’d touched a nerve. Kurt’s back had bothered him for nearly ten years, ever since he’d fallen hard on the pavement while chasing a cracked-out dope dealer down a dark alley. He’d had surgery in 2008, but it only helped for about a year. Since then, he’d tried everything. From drugs, to physical therapy, to chiropractors…even some homeopathic bullshit a former girlfriend had insisted on a couple years back. Nothing worked. The lieutenant had not-so-subtly suggested on more than one occasion that Kurt throw in the towel. But he was only eleven months shy of full retirement and wasn’t about to take some shitty half-pension and reduced benefits. Not when he was this close to the whole kit and caboodle. No, he was going to make it to the bitter end, if it was the last thing he ever did.
It wasn’t only the comment about his back that had Kurt’s hackles up. It was the one about his age. Lonnie, only thirty-two and in the prime of his life, thought it was “cool” to have such a “seasoned” detective to work with. Or at least, that’s what he’d told Kurt on their first ride together. Since then, however, he’d been cracking joke after pathetic joke about his age. He was only fifty-six! Older than most of the men in his unit, true, but it wasn’t like he was ancient, damn it. He couldn’t let on that Lonnie’s joke
s bothered him, so he smiled, like he always did, and said, “Yeah, real funny, dipshit.”
The phone rang, and he ambled back over to his desk, picked up the receiver, and said, “Detective First Class Kurt Jamison here.”
The raspy, cigarette-marred voice of the unit’s receptionist told him he had a visitor.
“Who is it, Louise?”
“It’s Franklin Cartwright. Says it’s urgent.”
Kurt’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t formulate a response right away. Franklin “Frankie” Cartwright had been his best friend, once upon a time. The two had barely spoken since high school, and they’d clearly chosen two completely different paths in life. While Kurt had gone into the police academy after four years in the Army, Frankie had gone straight into a life of crime. He couldn’t think of a time they’d spoken more than a polite “hello” in passing in over thirty years.
“Send him in,” Kurt said finally.
As he waited for Frankie to enter the office, Kurt fretted with the items on his desk, which were strewn about haphazardly. He was not a neat freak like Lonnie, but he felt an overwhelming urge to do something, anything to calm his nerves.
Seconds later, a tall, familiar-looking man walked in wearing a suit Kurt knew must have cost more than two months of his cop’s salary. The man’s hair was silver, parted to the right, and combed back into a slick coif. Though his face was now somewhat softer and a few worry wrinkles lined his forehead, Kurt could still see his old friend in those piercing blue eyes.
Kurt stood and extended his right hand toward Frankie, whose grasp was cold and firm. “Frankie. Good to see you.”
“You too, Kurt. Been a long time.”
An awkward moment of silence passed between the two men as they looked at each other, and Kurt tried to recall what his old friend had been like before things had gone so horribly wrong.
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