by Debra Webb
Impulse
Faces of Evil
Debra Webb
Copyright © 2011 Debra Webb
The right of Debra Webb to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9689 4
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London
NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Book
About the Author
Also By
Praise
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
About the Book
Special Agent Jess Harris is the only person to have come close to catching The Player, a terrifying serial killer. And now, as she tries to rebuild her life in her hometown of Birmingham, Alabama – with the offer of Deputy Chief of a new division and the prospect of love – he has other ideas. . .
He is fixated on her, on how close she came and on the terrifying revenge he now so frantically seeks. As it becomes clear that he is targeting those closest to her, Jess realises that the only way to save them is to sacrifice herself. But with a chance at love with Police Chief Dan Burnett and the promise of his protection, can Jess find a way to stay?
About the Author
Debra Webb, born in Alabama, wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain – and a five-year stint with NASA – that she realised her true calling. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Since then she has penned nearly 100 novels. The Faces of Evil is her debut thriller series. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com
By Debra Webb and available from Headline
The Faces of Evil Series
Obsession
Impulse
Power
Praise for Debra Webb:
‘Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion’ Publishers Weekly
‘Fast-paced, action-packed suspense, the way romantic suspense is supposed to be. Webb crafts a tight plot, a kick-butt heroine, a sexy hero with a past and a mystery as dark as the black water at night’ Romantic Times
‘Romantic suspense at its best’ New York Times bestselling author Erica Spindler
‘Compelling main characters and chilling villains elevate Debra Webb’s Faces of Evil series into the realm of high-intensity thrillers that readers won’t be able to resist’ New York Times bestselling author C. J. Lyons
‘Bestselling author Debra Webb intrigues and tantalizes her readers from the first word’ SingleTitles.com
‘Masterful edge-of-your seat suspense’ ARomanceReview.com
Men cannot always give an account of their impulses
Joseph Parker, The Ark of God
1
Monday, July 19th, 10:31 a.m.
“Did you know that one drop of blood travels from the heart to the toes and back in under sixty seconds?”
Lori Wells tightened her fingers into fists, tugged futilely against the tape binding her to the chair, and forced herself to meet the son of a bitch’s eyes. “Did you know all that blood rushing through my veins at this very moment is teeming with the urge to watch you die?”
Eric Spears smiled, made a breathy sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You are such a brave girl, Detective Wells. I wonder if that’s because your father committed suicide when you were so young.” He inclined his head and stared at her as though memorizing each detail of her face like a lover intent on never forgetting the moment. “Did you have to help your mother clean up the blood afterwards? Or did your neighbors jump in to help out? Y’all do that down here in the south, don’t y’all?”
Lori turned away from him. Bastard. How could he know so much about her? He hadn’t known her name five days ago.
A longsuffering sigh hissed past his lips. “You’re quite boring, detective.” He stood. “What should I do about that?”
Renewed fear trickled inside her. Lori snapped her head up and stared into those piercing blue eyes. No. She would not give him the pleasure. She hardened her expression, refused to let him see the fissure of terror widening inside her.
“What’s wrong, Eric? Can’t get it up if I’m not crying like a scared little girl?” Don’t let him gain control.
Fury tightened his lips. He drew back his hand.
She braced for the blow.
He laughed at her instinctive reflex. Dropped his hand to his side. “See, you are a scared little girl. Frankly, I find all that feigned bravado quite tedious.”
“Life sucks like that sometimes.”
He made a sound of agreement. “It does indeed.” For five or six seconds he deliberated as if undecided how he would proceed. “You know the reason you’re here. Why make our time together more unpleasant than necessary? It’ll be much easier for both of us if you cooperate, Lori Doodle.”
How dare he call her that! Her father had given her that nickname. . . this scumbag had no right. She didn’t need him or a GPS to show her where this was headed. “Go to hell.”
She wasn’t making this easy for him. He would kill her anyway.
Spears turned his back and strode across the room.
Lori quickly scanned the space now that the lights were on, searching for any aspect of her surroundings that might provide some hint as to where the hell she was.
The sedative he’d injected when he’d held her at gunpoint and forced her into his SUV had prevented her from assessing the distance or the traffic sounds as he’d driven her here. She still felt a little groggy. Her mouth was dry. She squared her shoulders, focused on clearing her head. She had to pay attention, to be ready for whatever came next. Let your training and instincts guide you.
Focus, Lori.
A warehouse, she decided. An old one for sure. Smelled of neglect and vaguely of oil or grease. Brick walls soared some twenty or so feet to a ceiling where steel beams supported the roof. Naked fluorescent tubes glowed from metal fixtures suspended five or six feet overhead. The smell of disuse permeated the air. She tried to get a better look behind her. Couldn’t. Wooden crates lined
the wall to her right suggesting the warehouse had been used recently in some capacity. She squinted to read the word stamped on some of the crates. . . Grimes. She’d lived here all her life but that name didn’t ring a bell.
Birmingham had its share of neglected and abandoned buildings. . . she’d been in a few but not this one. From her position in the middle of the large open room, she could see a door. Maybe an exit. Maybe just an office or bathroom.
One shot at that door was all she needed. . . if it wasn’t a dead end.
Images of what this monster had done to his other victims, all women, rolled like an old-fashioned filmstrip through her mind. Defeat chiseled away at her courage.
Spears grabbed the one remaining chair in the place and dragged it over to where she sat bound with duct tape, wrists, ankles, and waist, to a similar heavy metal chair. He scooted his chair close and straddled the seat, his spread knees flanking hers. She squeezed her legs more tightly together; didn’t want any part of him touching her. She didn’t even want to draw his scent into her lungs.
Like his subtle aftershave, his wardrobe conveyed an understated elegance. The navy suit jacket hadn’t come from a rack in any store where men she knew shopped. The white shirt was crisp and pristine like he’d just picked it up from the cleaners. The jeans fit as if they had been designed by his personal tailor. The icing on the cake – the definitive packaging for his classically attractive blond-haired, blue-eyed features.
If you want to know what evil looks like, look in the mirror.
Jess Harris had definitely gotten that right. Eric Spears, aka the Player, appeared nothing like the depraved killer Lori knew him to be. Why did he bother abducting women when he could easily charm them into his lair with that killer smile and deep, smooth voice?
The hunt. Somehow it fueled him. . . drove his heinous desires.
Lori wished she knew half what Jess did about him. Maybe then she could do more than be a damned victim.
Even before she’d met Jess, Lori remembered vividly hearing in the news that not a single one of the Player’s victims had ever escaped alive.
Her chest ached. She didn’t want to die. Her sister needed her. Her mother needed her. She took solace in the knowledge that at least they were safe. As soon as Chief Burnett and Jess discovered Lori was missing, they would take steps to protect her family.
And Chet Harper. Lori thought of the detective, the man, who wanted so much more from her than she had given. Would she have continued to push him away if she had known this day was coming?
Spears chucked her under the chin, forcing her attention back to him. “Let’s get one thing straight, detective. However much you test me, this isn’t about you,” he explained in that calm, clever tone that belied his every action.
“All your hard work to reach the esteemed rank of detective earlier than most means nothing to me.” He tugged at a lock of her hair, twirled it between his fingers. “That you are most attractive means nothing to me.”
Lori waited, her heart thudding with apprehension, for him to spell out exactly what he wanted from her besides her life.
“I brought you here so Jess will pay attention,” he whispered, leaning forward so that he lingered nose-to-nose with her. “You think I have her attention?”
Fear buffeting ever harder against her defenses, Lori steadied herself. She would not let him use her to get to Jess. No way.
I might be a victim but I will not be his means of reaching Jess.
“She told me all about you.” Lori forced a smile, inclined her head and studied his face the way he had studied hers. “What happened? Did mommy fail to protect you when daddy decided he preferred you to her? Is that why you hate women so much?”
His hand went to her throat; strong fingers closed tightly, cutting off her airway. “Do not toy with me, detective. There are things you will never know so don’t waste your time and energy trying to analyze me. You’ll fail just like all the rest.”
There was nothing amiable about his tone now. The fear she fought to restrain dug its claws in deep even as he released her. She gasped for breath. Her thoughts raced in frantic circles. The things Jess had told her kept colliding with her own instincts.
Should she play his game or resist? What he did to her in the end wouldn’t change either way, but could she slow him down or trip him up by choosing one avenue over the other?
“Do you think I have her attention?” he repeated.
“Yes.” Lori cleared her throat, wished she had a drink of water. “I’m certain you have her attention.”
“That’s better,” he said softly. “Now, tell me about this Chief Daniel Burnett.”
She filled her lungs with a jagged breath, refused to let the fear maintain a stronghold. “What about him?”
“What’s his interest in Agent Harris?”
Lori cleared her mind. Careful what you say. Don’t give him any ammunition. “She’s a top notch profiler and investigator. We needed her help on a case. Because of you she’s probably unemployed.” Anger at what he had done to Jess chased away some of the fear. He had ruined Jess’s career with the FBI.
“One does what one must. She created quite the commotion up in Richmond when she so kindly screwed up any chances of a conviction against me.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that communicated more arrogance than indifference. “Diverting attention was essential. Now the world is focused on her inept methods rather than the precise work of a master artist.” A smug chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“You think? Well, I have a newsflash for you, asshole.” Mad as hell now, Lori looked straight into his eyes. His turned wary and she loved that single moment of triumph. “Jess Harris is way too smart, way too sharp and far too in demand for a generic piece of shit like you to keep her down. If the Bureau cuts her loose, Chief Burnett will offer her a top position here, just you wait and see.”
That was pure conjecture, but Lori suspected there was no way the chief would let Jess get away again for reasons completely unrelated to her investigative skills. Whatever Spears did to her, Lori could not let him learn that she sensed the chief still had personal feelings for Jess. That could make him a target, too.
“That’s right, Eric,” she continued, capitalizing on his obvious need to analyze the idea of failure. “You can’t stop her and if you think the Bureau will stop trying to nail you just because you pulled a bait and switch, I’m afraid you’re going to be incredibly disappointed. They will get you – with or without Jess on their team.”
His gaze narrowed as if he worried she might be right, and then he laughed, the deep, guttural sound echoing all around her. “You’re quite good, detective.” He leaned close again as if he intended to share a secret. “Here’s something hot off the wire just for you. That game is over. They will never achieve their goal.” He reached out, traced her cheek with his forefinger. She shuddered. “This is a new game and I need Jess to play.”
“You need her?” she bit out in disgust.
He shrugged. “Want her then. Let’s not quibble over semantics. Will you help me, Lori Doodle?”
“Do I have a choice?” The answer to that was a big, flashing neon sign in her brain. Whatever she did or didn’t do he would somehow find a way to use it. Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them back. She would not cry for this scumbag’s pleasure.
“You always have a choice, detective.” His lips lifted again in that charismatic expression that masked the house of horrors beneath. “You have one now. Live daringly or die quickly. You choose.”
She laughed around the fear crowded in her throat. “Do you really expect me to believe that if I cooperate you’ll let me live? Wow, Santa’s here already and it’s only July. Give me a break.”
“Oh, I will. You have my word,” he promised. “For a bit anyway.”
That was what she thought.
“Consider your options carefully, Detective Lori Wells.” He put his face in hers again. “The longer you stay a
live, the more opportunity you’ll have to perhaps see that urge of yours to fruition. Who knows?” He straightened, drew back to look her in the eyes. “You might just get that chance to watch me die. After all, no one lives forever.”
He stood, hauled his chair away from hers. “While you weigh your options, I’m going to find someone to keep you company.” He laughed. “Actually, I think I’m the one who needs company. You are b-o-r-i-n-g with a capital B.”
Lori’s heart rammed into her throat.
She had to do something. . . otherwise he was going hunting. . .
“Wait!”
He stopped.
“I can’t. . . don’t leave me here by myself. Please.”
He turned around slowly. A grin spread across his lips. “Ah. . . so you’re ready to play, are you?”
His singular motive is pleasure. Jess’s voice whispered in her ears. The only way he can feel it is by torturing his victims in the most depraved ways.
“Yes.” Lori moistened her lips, wrestled back the fear. “I’m ready to play.”
2
Five Points, 10:42 a.m.
Two uniformed Birmingham police officers waited outside the door to Lori Wells’ second-floor studio apartment. Three BPD cruisers sat at the curb, sirens silent, lights dark.
Jess Harris stood next to Chief Dan Burnett’s SUV as she scanned the neighborhood. Two apartment buildings and seven houses lined the quiet street. The Five Points address guaranteed an eclectic mix of residents and homes. In all probability there were a few retirees who’d lived here since the first houses were built in the 50’s, along with the recent influx of young professionals just launching their careers.
Hopefully some of the retirees had been home and perhaps saw something useful. Neighbors were already being canvassed.
As if to defy that fleeting hope, her blouse melted against her sweat-dampened skin. No kids in the street; no dogs barking. This morning’s sweltering heat kept the children and pets inside and, most likely, anyone else who happened to be home when Lori Wells was taken from hers.