Deadly Games

by Karen Rock

  “Okay, men, hit the streets and put your heads on swivel,” ordered Captain Harris. The large crew hustled from the room.

  “Thanks, Captain.” She stuffed her binder under her arm and followed him into one of the precinct’s corridors.

  “We’re at your disposal, Agent Bowden. And in case you haven’t heard, the media’s dubbed him the Last Call Killer.”

  Katherine turned the moniker over in her mind. Leave it to the press. “It fits.”

  “Indeed.” The police chief tipped his head, turned on his heel, and veered off down another hall.

  She watched him stride away. Chief Harris’s professional treatment was a balm against the sidelong, aggrieved looks some of the homicide detectives shot her.

  But she didn’t have time to waste on them, or her distracting thoughts of Nash. He’d taken her by storm the other night, then materialized in her office like a sexual cyclone. Learning about his PI work added an intriguing dimension to him. What else would she learn if she had the time, or the inclination?

  …which she did not, she firmly reminded herself.

  She was in the middle of a crucial case. Like the other victims, Becca’s autopsy and dump site revealed no forensic clues. After interviewing the victims’ families and friends, Katherine was frustratingly short on leads and time. A sinking feeling told her it wouldn’t be long before her unsub grabbed his next victim. She’d been putting in round-the-clock hours, sleeping and eating in the DPD workroom she’d set up as her command post, becoming “obsessed,” as her ex used to say.

  Obsessed…focused…whatever it took to catch her killer. Especially on a case where each victim’s photo was almost a twin to her missing friend, Summer. She didn’t need any distractions while working a case tapping into her darkest nightmares. She’d become an FBI agent to catch monsters like Summer’s abductor. Was this Katherine’s chance to put him in a cage where he belonged?

  Katherine’s heels clacked on the tiled floor as she passed a few doors, then paused by one marked “Missing Persons.” She opened it and stopped by a desk manned by a young woman with dark hair. A tattoo of a guillotine and the words “Keep Your Chin Up” adorned her neck.

  Oh-kay.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to check on a missing person case. Layla Pierce.”

  The young woman pointed to a slouchy man eating a sandwich behind his desk. His tie hung haphazardly, like an afterthought, and bags pouched beneath the bloodshot eyes glued to his computer. An engraved nameplate caught her eye.

  “Officer Duluth?” She stopped at his desk and flashed her credentials.

  All at once, he choked on a bite while frantically minimizing his screen. “What can I help you with?” he managed a moment later, wheezing slightly.

  “I’d like a status update on an MP. Layla Pierce.” She’d promised Nash she’d follow up on Layla, and the sooner she did, the quicker she’d stop thinking about him.

  Keep telling yourself that, sister…

  Officer Duluth shoved his half-eaten sandwich into a plastic baggie and brushed crumbs from his mouth. “Layla Pierce… yeah. Addict. Former runaway. Charges of solicitation. Mother’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Do you have kids?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then withhold the editorializing until you know what it’s like to lose someone as precious as a child,” she said coldly. Her patience, never her strongest trait, hit zero when it came to people who should damn well know better. “Please retrieve her file.”

  Capillaries burst on the tip of Officer Duluth’s nose like fireworks. He shoved back his chair with a huff. “Yes ma’am,” he muttered as he stomped away.

  “Was that the ice queen?” she heard a male voice say to Duluth from the file room.

  A grunt, then, “She’s so cold, she probably farts snowflakes.”

  Katherine’s mouth quirked. She’d give them a point or two for originality. As she waited, and waited… and waited… her thoughts wandered down a different path to missing children. Which made her wonder, did she want children?

  Yes, came the immediate answer.

  Since she was married to her job, though, her chances were slim to none. Regret circled tiny hands around her heart and squeezed. She’d dreamed of the white picket fence once, the loving husband, children, and dog. After Summer’s disappearance, though, she’d dedicated her life to making sure no one else suffered like Summer’s family and friends. Katherine’s life had no room for anything—or anyone—else. Her recent divorce proved it.

  Still. It didn’t ease the loneliness that dogged her hardest when she fell into bed at night with no one to turn to.

  She was tired of being alone.

  “Here.” Officer Duluth shoved the file at her a moment later. His thick jowls hung on his cheeks like raw meat, glistening and red. “Had to get a ladder for it.”

  “It’s shelved as a cold case?” She opened the file and stared down at a young, pretty woman hanging upside down on a tire swing. Katherine stared into Layla’s laughing eyes.

  What happened to you?

  Then something caught her eye. Layla’s hair was blond.

  “Her license lists her as a brunette.”

  Officer Duluth shrugged. “Maybe she dyed it.”

  “How recent is this picture?” Her muscles grew taut, nerves jangling. According to the date of Layla’s disappearance, she’d gone missing during the serial’s cooling-off period. Maybe he hadn’t stopped killing after all, and Layla was a sixth, uncounted victim, as Nash insisted.

  “The day she went missing. Her friend took it.”

  “It doesn’t match the one run in the paper.” Katherine had scrolled through articles on her phone while she’d waited for the officers to assemble for her daily update.

  “We used the photo her mother provided.” Officer Duluth’s narrow shoulders hunched defensively.

  “Not the one that accurately portrayed her most recent appearance. How recently had she dyed it?”

  Officer Duluth shrugged and dropped his eyes. “Not sure.”

  She gripped the edge of his desk and leaned in. “Did you ask her friends?”

  “I-I’m not sure.” His cheeks jiggled with the force of his exhale. “Fine. No. I didn’t. But what’s it matter?” Defiance entered his voice. “She’s got a record, including prostitution. She probably met up with some John. Got her next fix. Things got a little rough and—”

  “And what? She had it coming?” Rising irritation clenched Katherine’s back teeth and stiffened her joints.

  “N-no,” sputtered Officer Duluth. “We gave the case all our attention but ran into dead ends. Can’t waste our time searching for every junkie on a bender.”

  “She’s someone’s daughter.” Katherine glared at him, snatched up the file, and slipped it into her binder. “And she wasn’t using when she disappeared.”

  “Hey. You can’t take that,” Officer Duluth protested as she strode to the door.

  She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “I can, because she’s now officially part of my case and under my purview.”

  Regret washed over her as she compared the way she’d brushed off Nash to Officer Duluth’s dismissal of Layla. He’d demonstrated a detective’s instincts when he’d insisted his case dovetailed with hers, and she’d allowed her emotions, her bias, to cloud her judgment. She needed to contact him to apologize and see what other information he had on Layla’s disappearance.

  “Agent Bowden!” called the receptionist as Katherine eased open the door. “I have a call reporting the disappearance of a woman named Brittany Reins. I think you might want to take this. The caller’s description of the missing person matches the Last Call Killer’s M.O.” Katherine’s hand trembled slightly as she took the phone. “Special Agent Katherine Bowden. To whom am I speaking?”

  �
��It’s me. Megan. I’ve been trying to reach you, but your phone’s going to voice mail so I called here. Brittany’s missing.”

  Katherine gripped the edge of the desk behind her. “Brittany as in one of the three from the other night?”

  “Yes. She did your makeup, remember?”

  A sparkle of leftover glitter on Katherine’s lapel caught her eye. No matter how many times she’d sticky-rollered the garment, pieces of sparkle lingered. Her heart lurched for the Taylor Swift fan who’d confessed to abandonment issues.

  “I remember her. So what’s going on?”

  “Brittany and I work together at Fowler Middle School. She’s hardly ever sick and when she is, she always calls in for a substitute. I stopped by her apartment on lunch break with Jolene, another teacher, and she wasn’t there.”

  “Were you able to enter the residence?”

  “No. But Sparkle, her pug, was barking his head off.”

  “How do you know she wasn’t just ignoring you? In bed sleeping?”

  “Because I texted her to open the door. Trust me, Brittany would have texted back at least. She wasn’t there.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Three nights ago, when we were at Dallas Heat.”

  A faintness stole over Katherine, her anxiety spiking as she considered Brittany’s blond hair, petite build…traits that fit the Last Call Killer’s victimology. Was it possible he’d struck while Katherine had been on the premises? Had her focus on Nash blinded her to a monster lurking in their midst?

  “Brittany was excited because her husband, who’s a total asshole, was out of town,” Megan continued, speaking fast. “He’s super possessive. We were whooping it up after you left, taking bets about the length of Nash’s…uh…strike that. Not important. Anyway, Brittany started feeling sick, so she called an Uber and left early. Alone. She insisted we stay because she didn’t want to ruin anyone’s good time.” A snuffle sounded through the phone. “I wish I’d gone with her. No one’s heard from her since. And we’ve been calling and messaging her for days.”

  “Tell me more about Brittany’s husband. You said he was possessive?”

  “The worst. And abusive.”

  “Abusive how?”

  “Physically. Verbally. Sometimes she’d have bruises… She wants a separation but he’s refusing to move out.”

  “What’s his name, and where does he work?”

  “He’s a trucker.” Megan rattled off the name and the rest of the information.

  “Would you hold a minute, Megan?” Katherine set down the phone and asked Officer Duluth to contact the trucker-husband for an alibi, as well as Uber to trace the ride request, relaying the pertinent details.

  “Okay. I’m back,” she said a moment later. “Besides her husband, did Brittany have any conflicts with other people? Enemies?”

  “Everyone loved Brittany. She always makes everyone smile.”

  Less bitter, more glitter.

  Brittany’s motto.

  She’d been effervescent, bubbly, hiding problems she’d wanted to forget. Now she faced an even darker future, if Katherine’s growing hunch proved correct.

  “Sparkle was her baby,” Megan said, her voice thick. “She’d never leave him. Not in a million years. And she has almost perfect attendance in school. She teaches special needs kids and they depend on her. She’d never not show up without arranging for a substitute.” Katherine’s blood turned to ice. Her heart, too. Brittany may have been kidnapped, possibly by the serial killer. The last time she’d been out partying, she’d lost Summer, and she’d vowed to never let it happen again. Now, history had repeated itself. Her nails dug into her palms.

  “Did she mention any after-hours plans? Also, what’s Brittany’s address?”

  Katherine jotted down the information, requested Megan text a recent picture of Brittany, and contacted Brittany’s landlord to have her unlock the apartment, her mind at warp speed as she delegated tasks. Times like this made her wish for a partner. Someone she could trust. Rely on. Driving like a madwoman, she arrived on scene ten minutes later. Brittany’s pug barked madly as the landlord let Katherine inside the small, neat space decorated in animal print, hot pink, and sparkly accents.

  “Brittany?” Katherine called, donning gloves and protective booties before advancing down a narrow entranceway, her hand resting on her Glock. “FBI. Are you here?”

  The pug whipped around in circles, yapping, a rhinestone collar glinting around his thick neck. Katherine’s eyes alighted on empty dog food and water bowls. “Hey, Sparkle.” She scratched the wriggling dog behind his ears, picked him up, and handed him to the landlord hovering outside. “Crime scene techs should arrive within the hour,” Katherine informed her before returning to the apartment.

  Beside a cordless phone on the galley kitchen’s counter rested a familiar pamphlet. “Righteous Women Resist Temptation”—the same one the zealous preacher had handed to her and the three Brittanys the night they were at Dallas Heat.

  Had Brittany arrived home from the club and been kidnapped afterward? Or, since she went out frequently, was the pamphlet from another night out with the girls?

  A ping sounded on Katherine’s phone and she pulled it from her pocket, eyeing Megan’s photo of Brittany. She was glammed up like the other night, with gold eye makeup accentuating her wide-spaced brown eyes. A rhinestone bindi chain looped over her forehead and disappeared into shoulder-length blond hair. Pancake makeup covered her round, pretty face, but failed to camouflage a black eye. Why hadn’t she noticed signs of domestic abuse? She’d been selfishly focused on her own pleasure, a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

  Katherine exhaled forcefully. Brittany had suffered an abusive husband. Now, signs suggested she’d fallen into the hands of an even worse sadist. The injustice of it fired through Katherine. She needed to find Brittany alive and give her a chance at the happy life she deserved.

  As she continued searching the place, Katherine’s mind clicked through details, large and small. All the lights were on, despite the daylight hour, more evidence Brittany hadn’t returned home to shut them off. Crusted dishes in the sink and a sour-smelling, half-eaten yogurt suggested the apartment had been empty and uninhabited for a while. Thirty new messages flashed on her answering machine.

  A moment later, Katherine’s phone rang. She leaned against Brittany’s kitchen counter and answered, “Agent Bowden.”

  “Officer Duluth,” said the Missing Persons detective. “Tracked down Brittany Reins’s husband. He’s hauling lumber in Alaska. His employer’s GPS tracker says his semi’s been there for over a week. No chance he was in town when Brittany went missing. Also, Uber’s records show they declined Brittany’s request when her credit card was rejected.”

  Had Brittany accepted a ride from a stranger?

  One driving a black Corvette with white stripes?

  A serial killer targeting women leaving clubs alone…

  Katherine needed to see if Dallas Heat had CCTV footage, and interview staff working the night of Brittany’s disappearance. Considering her physical resemblance to the serial killer’s preferred victims, and the fact that she, like the others, had gone out with friends for a fun night, Katherine feared the worst. Brittany Reins might be the Last Call Killer’s next victim.

  She thanked him, phoned Captain Harris and updated the police chief. “I believe she’s our unsub’s latest victim.”

  Captain Harris swore under his breath. “The city’s on edge as it is. When word gets out another girl’s missing…there’ll be panic. Downtown business owners are reporting a decrease in traffic. If we don’t find Brittany…”

  “We’ll find her,” Katherine vowed. “I’m texting you a recent photo of the victim. Share Brittany’s information with the homicide unit and uniformed officers. Warn them they’ve got only a week to find her based on
the killer’s acceleration. I want detectives interviewing witnesses and family members while uniforms canvass the area where she was last seen.”

  She squinted against the bright sunlight when she stepped outside and strode to her car.

  “And send CSI to her residence and Dallas Heat for any signs of foul play. Have them collect her electronic devices for analysis. Also, subpoena her bank and cell phone records and let’s establish checkpoints in the downtown area with a BOLO for the Corvette. So far, he’s gotten rid of his victims’ cell phones at the abduction sites so they won’t be traced to where he’s taken them, but we might get lucky.”

  “Anything else?”

  Katherine rubbed the back of her aching neck. “That’s it for now. I’m heading to Dallas Heat to talk to staff and view their CCTV footage—if they have any.”

  “Good luck,” the chief said.

  She slid behind the wheel and flipped down her visor. “Thanks, we’ll need it. This guy’s clever, and time’s not on our side.”

  Katherine set her GPS coordinates for Dallas Heat and backed out of her parking spot.

  Layla Pierce was out there, yet to be found.

  And Brittany Reins, too.

  How much time before her serial murdered one, or both?

  * * * *

  Katherine ducked at a burst of gunfire inside Dallas Heat. Heart pounding, she drew her gun, held it to her chest, and flattened herself against the wall beside the front entrance.

  One, two, three.

  She kicked open the double glass doors, gun held at arm’s length. “FBI,” she barked. “Put your hands up where I can see them.”

  Several partially clothed dancers froze on stage. Nash, dressed only in a pair of fitted black suit pants, raised his muscular arms, the gesture accentuating his defined upper body in one mouthwatering move. The sight of a gun, dark and deadly in his large hand, looked sexy as sin.

  “Everything okay here?” she demanded.

  “We’re practicing a new routine, and the gunshots were recorded sound effects.” A pretty woman with long brown hair spoke up from behind the bar.