Deadly Games

by Karen Rock

  “The preacher’s checking a lot of boxes for me.”

  “Me, too,” Nash muttered.

  “The victim’s body,” called out one of the reporters. “Can you describe what you saw when you found her?”

  The preacher peered up at the sky. “I saw a wasted life, devastated, destroyed by temptations of the flesh. She was washed clean of her sins, for she paid the price our Lord exacts from those who stray from his path. And henceforth, she shall…she shall…”

  Pastor Williams’s rant stumbled to a stop when his gaze landed on Katherine. He whirled, shoved through the throng, and dashed out to the road.

  “Damn!” Nash sprinted with Katherine after the minister.

  “Pastor Williams, stop! FBI!” she shouted. “We need to talk to you!”

  The preacher hopped in a vintage Volkswagen van and tore down the road without a backward glance.

  Katherine swore. “Didn’t have time to memorize the license plate. Alabama plates. Let’s hope he used his real name when he gave his statement.”

  “D-L-6-8-S-V,” Nash supplied as they veered away from the reporters and headed back to the EMTs treating Deena.

  Katherine jerked to a stop. “You are a wonder, Nash Hawkins.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “You do. More than I can say.”

  After getting the preacher’s first name from the officer who’d taken Pastor Williams’s statement, Katherine brought her cell phone to her ear. “Tammy? I need a background check on a Jeb Williams…”

  Nash waved to catch Katherine’s attention and requested she ask Tammy to search for any unsolved missing person cases in Jeb’s last location. When she resumed the call, he zoned out as he watched the uniformed officers and detectives striding purposefully to and from the scene. They’d found Layla Pierce. He’d solved his first missing person case.

  “Nash!” Anya, Layla’s sister, hollered at him from the window of a slowing car. He jogged to the curb as the engine stopped. She threw open the door and hugged him fiercely, crying hard. “Thank you for finding Layla.”

  “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out differently.”

  She swiped at the tears flowing down her cheeks. “If it weren’t for you, we would never have known what happened.”

  He released a breath. Never had he felt so humbled and grateful. He’d brought this family bad news—yes—but also some peace.

  A few hours later, he sat at his desk staring at the online application for the civil service exam. Katherine’s encouragement and Layla’s family’s praise rang in his ears. He might be a stripper, but he was also a decent detective—one with potential, he hoped. He wanted a new future and here was his chance. Like him, Layla had made mistakes, and now she’d never have a second chance. He wouldn’t squander his.

  His fingers tapped on the keyboard, filling out the form. The test was only a few days away. If he passed it, would he get past the interview process this time? His record was clean since his earlier mistakes, and he now had experience working a serious case. Would it be enough?

  He hated to set himself up for disappointment, and didn’t want to fail…especially in front of Katherine, who might not accept a relationship with only a dancer.

  But he had to take the chance.

  In life, and in love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later that night, Katherine’s phone buzzed to life. She yanked her bare feet from Nash’s massaging hands, sat up on his couch, and grabbed for her cell. “Hey, Tammy. What’ve you got?”

  Nash mouthed “speaker” and Katherine hit the button before placing her cell back on his coffee table. Over her shoulder, the starry sky shimmered beyond his windows.

  “Jeb Williams, alias for Frank Stannis, left his parish in Prattville, Alabama, nine months ago to relocate to Dallas, his hometown.”

  “He’s from Dallas?”

  “Born and bred.”

  “And he returned home one month before the Last Call killings started,” Nash murmured in Katherine’s ear. His nostrils flared at the teasing lavender scent rising from her silky skin.

  She slanted him a fast look. “Convenient timing.” She leaned forward and spoke to the phone. “Any priors?”

  “Nope. The guy’s clean.”

  Nash lifted his lukewarm beer and gulped the citrusy microbrew. A clean record didn’t fit Katherine’s profile. And why an alias? The preacher was running from something.

  Nash lowered his drink and leaned forward. “Tammy. Nash here. Are there any unsolved missing person cases in the Plattsville area involving our killer’s victim type?”

  “You asked Katherine to request that earlier, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good instinct.” Satisfaction curled inside Nash at Katherine’s swift, approving nod. “Turns out two women disappeared from the area shortly before the preacher left Alabama. Both in their late twenties. Blond.”

  Nash’s pulse sped. “Were they last seen out with friends?”

  “One was. The other disappeared after a family party. Both were recently divorced.”

  Katherine inhaled sharply. “Single women having fun…”

  Nash’s fingers tightened around his beer as they swapped grim looks. “Did you get Brittany’s phone records yet?”

  “I’m sending them to Katherine now.”

  “Any progress on separating the male speaker audio track?”

  “Still working on it. I’m expecting a box of chocolates if I perform that miracle. And not the cheap stuff. Godiva.”

  “I’ll send you roses, too, if you get it to me in the next twenty-four hours.” Katherine pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Make ’em the fire and ice kind, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” Katherine ended the call, then accessed her email on Nash’s laptop.

  The blue-white glow of his screen accentuated the dark circles beneath her eyes, the lines of worry etched beside her mouth. She had to be exhausted. Yet the straight line of her back remained unbowed as she opened Tammy’s email attachment. She’d never appeared stronger or more beautiful.

  “Looks like the text she got before leaving the club was from her husband.”

  “He was out of town, right?”

  “Yeah. Probably sent a message checking up on her. He was a jealous, abusive son of a bitch, but not our guy. Sadly.”

  Another click and a list of cell tower locations where Brittany’s phone had pinged the night of her disappearance appeared.

  “That tower’s only a quarter mile from the preacher’s address.” Nash nodded to the last recorded signal from Brittany’s phone, a full twelve hours after her disappearance.

  “He’s always gotten rid of the cell phones close to the abduction sites before,” Katherine’s voice rose. “This is an anomaly.”

  “A mistake.”

  “We’ve got him.” Katherine had a grin the size of a dinner plate on her face. He could feel the matching one on himself.

  Katherine turned and swiftly kissed Nash, hard. “Thank you.”

  “For?” He still wore that grin; he couldn’t get rid of it.

  Her mouth trembled slightly. “Being my partner.”

  “You didn’t need me.”

  “Oh, I did. I just didn’t know how much at first.”

  Nash’s heart faltered at the vulnerable admission. How much it must have cost her to make it. She trusted him. Cared for him…

  Did she love him?

  He forced himself to tune back in as she dialed her task force and requested a search warrant for the preacher’s property. When she hung up, she twined her hands in his. “Are you going to take the civil service exam?”

  “I signed up.”

  Her delight eased the fatigue from her face again. “I’m going to give you one hell of a refere
nce letter.”

  He traced the top button of her white dress shirt, then slipped it through its hole. God, he loved those buttons. “What skills will you highlight?”

  “Not all of them,” she gasped when his finger delved lower to skim over her clavicle and the soft, rounded tops of her breasts. “I don’t want to share the best ones with anyone else.”

  Red-hot desire flared. He tugged her close and nuzzled the hollow of her throat. His hands slid down the length of her back. “When do you have to leave? I could arrange for a demonstration.”

  She lifted her arms and draped them around his neck. “Don’t tempt me,” she moaned.

  “You’re the one driving me crazy.” His groin hardened at the heat of her body pressed to his.

  “Nash,” she sighed, “I have to organize the group serving the predawn warrant with me.”

  Her words struck him; a cold slap. She was heading into danger without him. “I want to be there…to protect you. Keep you safe.” As he spoke the words, he was pretty sure he needed the reassurance. Not her.

  Not fearless Katherine.

  She cocked her head and peered at him intently. “I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to believe in me.”

  “I do.” He cupped her shoulders. “I’ve never believed in anyone more.”

  Her brows knitted. “Even yourself?”

  “You’ve taught me to do that, too.”

  Her expression smoothed. “Good. I’ll be fine, and I don’t need you charging after me on your white horse…or your black Harley.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “I thought women liked being rescued,” he teased, a forced tone considering the lump in his throat threatened to cut off his air supply.

  “Not this one.” Her brief smile faltered. “Robby did that once before, and I felt helpless afterward. Guilty and regretful, too. I’ve only ever wanted to be empowered, and you do that for me, Nash.”

  His gut clenched. “Maybe you rescued me.”

  “Maybe we rescued each other.” She brushed her lips against his. “Can we continue this later?”

  “Yes.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, tasting the sweet, white wine she’d drunk with dinner. “Katherine?” he asked once he’d dragged his mouth from hers.

  “Hmm?” she murmured, eyes closed.

  “You’d better get going.”

  Her lids fluttered open and the haze in her blue-violet eyes cleared. “Why aren’t you letting me go, then?”

  Because you’re mine, he thought.

  “Because you’re beautiful,” he said.

  Because I love you.

  The thought jolted his heart with a thousand volts, nearly stopping it. His hands dropped to his sides. Numb.

  She smiled and shook her head. “You’ve got some serious skills all right,” she muttered, then shot out the door.

  “Just some?” He fell into step, matching her brisk pace.

  She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips, holding back a smile. “Egotistical, cocky, arrogant man…”

  “Make sure to put that on my reference letter.”

  “Oh, I will.” She gave into the smile and blew him a kiss before sliding behind the wheel, leaving him chuckling behind her.

  His laughter died when her headlights disappeared down the road. She didn’t want his protection, but damn it, he needed to make sure she was safe. Even if it was from a distance where he could leap into action in an instant. He hopped on his Harley, grabbed his helmet, then set it back down when his cell rang.

  “Deena?” He brought the phone to his ear.

  “Nash. I just saw Layla at the coroner’s.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “He hurt her, Nash.” Her voice shook. “Tortured my baby.”

  “We’re going to get him, Deena,” he vowed, biting his tongue to keep from revealing how tonight’s raid might bring Layla’s killer to justice.

  Let’s get the bastard.

  With time running out for Brittany, this might be their last chance to prevent another life lost. And more to follow.

  “And he took her silver necklace, the one from her grandma,” Deena added, sending the hackles on the back of Nash’s neck straight up.

  “She wasn’t wearing it when she was found?” He squinted when a pair of headlights from an approaching car hit him straight in the face. It swerved and parked in front of the building next door.

  “No. And it probably didn’t fall off because I’d just replaced the fastener with one of those lobster clasps. I bought a bronze one this time so it’s stronger. Heavy-duty. He stole it, just like he took my girl.”

  The Last Call Killer liked taking trophies, and he’d claimed another in his demented game.

  One that’d end tonight.

  “I’ll get it back, Deena.” He raised his voice over the loud blare of a stereo system. The car’s passenger flung open her door then stooped to talk to the driver through the open window.

  “Will you come to Layla’s funeral? The police say they’ll release her in a week or so.”

  He cupped his hand around the phone and his mouth so he wouldn’t have to shout over the noise. “Of course.”

  “Thank you, Nash.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Do you have someone with you?” His heart splintered at the sound of Deena’s muffled sobs. “I’m sorry, Deena. I wish things had turned out differently.”

  “No,” she countered, then blew her nose. “It’s better to know than not to know. Just get Layla’s killer. Don’t let any more girls suffer like her.”

  “I won’t.” Deena’s family deserved closure and he’d make damn sure they got it. What’s more, Brittany Reins’s life hung in the balance. Tonight’s search had to go off without a hitch.

  Nash shoved his phone back in his pocket, jammed on his helmet, and peeled out into the night toward Dallas Heat. Once he finished his set, he’d head to the preacher’s address and park close, needing to be near Katherine for the predawn raid.

  They’d rescued each other, had become partners; he never wanted to let her go again.

  And he’d tell her so the next chance he got.

  Would she return his feelings or did the end of the investigation mean the end of them, too?

  * * * *

  Katherine peered down at her cell phone in the blurry, layered light before turning it off and slipping it into her back pocket. The first layers of dark were starting to peel away on the lavender horizon’s edge.

  Four a.m.

  The best hour to catch suspects unaware and asleep. It was late enough to ensure they were back home after a night out. Early enough to catch them before they headed to work.

  And she needed to keep Preacher Williams, alias Frank Stannis, in the dark until the last possible second, to take him by surprise. She peered at the tall wooden fence, topped with barbed wire, surrounding his five-acre property. Dread settled inside her like a dark cloud. What was he hiding? Or who?

  “Special Agent Bowden,” said a flak jacket–wearing sergeant. “The FBI, SWAT, and DPD Response teams are ready.”

  She nodded and drew her Glock. Cold sweat slicked her body beneath body armor worn over her black slacks and shirt. In her ears, her heartbeat drummed faster and she was slightly light-headed with the adrenaline spike.

  “I’ll lead the stack.”

  The sergeant nodded briskly and joined the dozen men she’d assembled.

  At her signal, they silently fell in line and followed behind her to the locked gate. The moon was waning, and the birds were rousing themselves. From the surrounding forest, the faint chirp of a late-nesting warbler sounded, and farther off, the haunting rhythmic monkey-like cry of a barred owl. Cool air carried the herbal, piney scent of blooming sage.

  She made herself calm. Breathe.

  Déj�
� vu, her mind hissed, and she pushed away the insidious memory of another dark woods, another time.

  She pounded on the entry and hollered, “FBI. Search warrant. Open up!” Heart thudding, she waited, body tense. She peered at the trees waving overhead, the thick brush surrounding the remote property, all good spots for a sniper to hide.

  The group seemed to collectively hold their breath as they waited, each highly trained officer ready to respond with instant, lethal force.

  Despite the firepower and muscle surrounding her, she wished Nash were here—not for protection necessarily, but for the support he alone gave her. She was stronger, smarter, braver around him.

  “FBI. Search warrant. Open up!” She lowered her hand and signaled for the two officers holding the battering ram.

  They heaved the heavy metal tube once, twice, then three times, gaining entrance with a splintering crack. She ducked through the opening, gun extended, sweeping the area visually before she signaled for the next officer to follow. One by one they repeated the maneuver, clearing an area before waving the next officer through until they reached the largest of a trio of buildings forming some sort of compound. A nervous cow bellowed in a pen attached to a dilapidated barn.

  Katherine’s heart seized as she peeked into a dark window and spied two women sleeping in twin beds. The missing Alabama women Tammy reported? Had the preacher abducted them?

  Floodlights glared, and she instinctively ducked for cover behind a garden cart. The rest of her team darted around the side of the building or sheltered by a pickup truck.

  The preacher emerged from a smaller building, rifle in hand. “Trespassers will be shot!”

  “FBI. Drop your weapon!” Katherine stepped out, gun raised. Every muscle in her body tensed atop locked bone. Her team manifested around her.

  “You—you have no right to be here. This is private property,” sputtered Frank Stannis, a.k.a. Jeb Williams.

  A.k.a. the Last Call Killer?

  He’d trained his rifle, Katherine noted grimly, directly on her. When the women appeared, she waved them back, noting their blond hair and age matched the missing person descriptions. The last thing she needed was a hostage situation.