[Brandon Fisher FBI 05.0] Violated

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Leslie Shaw,” he said looking over his shoulder, figuring she had been hiding in the bathroom.

  The pressure on the blade eased slightly. It told him she didn’t like being called by her real name.

  “Put your gun on the nightstand,” she said.

  He held up his one hand and used the other to do as she directed. As he put the gun down, he noticed his cell screen light up with a message. He read the part that showed. They found the rental that Leslie had taken out under the name Sandy Hoss in a lot near the Hyatt. He let out a deep, yet controlled breath.

  “Brilliant move telling me to meet you at the crime scene,” Jack said.

  Appeal to her narcissism, make her think she is in control.

  The phone rang on the nightstand.

  “If you get that, I’ll kill you,” she hissed.

  “What is your plan, Leslie?” He kept his tone calm, controlled, submissive.

  “Why must I have a plan?”

  “You always do,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You kill for a purpose.”

  “You FBI think you know everything.” Her words seemed to lack conviction. She’d had no previous run-ins with the FBI on which to base her opinion.

  “We don’t.”

  “Damn right you don’t.” She had found a spot beneath the edge of his Kevlar vest and had the blade on an upward angle. She applied pressure. He was well aware that a thrust upward would meet perfectly with his liver.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You interfered. You got involved.”

  “Did Malone rape you?” he asked. “If so, he got what he deserved.”

  Say whatever is needed to get on her good side.

  The pressure on the blade eased again. “Turn around and face me.”

  He did, slowly, realizing that if she stabbed him, he could die.

  “Tell me what you think you know,” she spat out, poking the tip of the knife to his abdomen.

  He nodded. “Malone raped you and gave you HIV.”

  “Keep going.”

  “You found him and got even.”

  “Yes.” A sick smile. “I did. What else?”

  “The rape happened at Clancy’s.”

  “Yes, and?” She seemed to be enjoying his telling of the assault. Most rape victims wouldn’t derive pleasure from reliving the event, but her mind wasn’t really on the past, it was on what she had done to rectify it. This fact sent a shiver of fear mixed with adrenaline through Jack’s system.

  “Why don’t you tell me? I can only surmise,” Jack said.

  Her eyes darkened. “Malone raped me in the club’s restroom, and no one helped me!”

  “People saw what—”

  “Yes!” she interrupted. “And I thought Sandy was a friend! She saw what was happening but just left. She did nothing to help.” Her eyes softened. “At least not until I followed her back to Texas where I killed her.” She peered into Jack’s eyes. All he saw was an inky pool of nothing.

  “And you assumed her identity and took her million dollars.”

  “Ah, yes,” Leslie said. “She paid for her negligence. Her money, ironically, kept me alive.”

  “And Clive Simpson drugged your drink that night,” Jack stated.

  “You found his stash of drugs?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Good. He was guilty.”

  “Why Peter Foreman?” he asked.

  She tsked at him. “I’m disappointed, Jack.”

  He remained quiet, not taking the bait that entreated him to talk.

  “Pete let the violators into the club,” she ground out.

  Along with the anger in her eyes, Jack picked up on something else. “You burned the club down, didn’t you?”

  A proud smile. “Yes, that was me.”

  “Why confess now?”

  “Those who needed to really pay for their crimes against me have done so.” She shrugged. “And I suppose all good things must come to an end.”

  Jack’s cell rang again, and it proved to be enough of a distraction for him to put sufficient space between them that he no longer felt the blade. He turned quickly, grabbed his gun, and poised to see the butt of his weapon meeting Leslie’s temple, but his movements stopped short when the knife buried into his flesh. He howled in pain, his vision going to pinpricks of white and red.

  Leslie twisted the blade, and it chewed his insides with a fiery intensity. And then she withdrew the knife.

  Jack dropped to the ground, clutching his side with one hand. With the other, he still held onto his gun.

  He heard clamoring out in the hallway and did his best to scream, but it came out as a garbled whisper.

  God or no God, he wasn’t going out this way.

  He put all his strength and focus into lifting the gun. His hold on it wobbled, but he pulled back on the trigger.

  The bullet fired wide, missing his target.

  Leslie came at him again, swiping the knife at him. In this moment, with all his senses heightened, the blade made a whooshing noise as it sliced through the air next to him, barely missing his face. But he knew she’d been aiming for his throat.

  He managed to kick out one of his legs, taking her down. But he hadn’t thought it through. With her on the ground next to him, she became a tougher target to hit.

  Pain had his mind slipping in and out of logical thought, and his vision was going blurry.

  He did his best to aim the gun again, hoping he’d have enough strength to pull the trigger one more time, but he found his power lacking. He dropped the hand holding the gun to the floor. His other hand still clutched his injured side, and he shut his eyes and succumbed to the darkness.

  I RAN INTO GRAFTON IN the hallway outside my room.

  “Her car’s in the area, and there’s no response from Jack,” he said.

  Oh, this really wasn’t good at all.

  The elevator dinged, and Paige and Sam unloaded.

  Sam? I did a double take.

  “I can’t reach him. Has anyone—” Paige didn’t finish her sentence, and her voice was riddled with panic.

  Zach came out of his room a few doors down from Jack’s. He reached Jack’s door before the rest of us, and we all fell silent as Zach pressed his ear to the door.

  It took less than a second before he nodded and whispered, “She’s in there.”

  “I’ve got a keycard for the room from the front desk,” Grafton said, speaking low and holding it in front of him.

  Zach, Paige, and I made eye contact briefly before I took it from Grafton and put it into the lock.

  I took time to look at my fellow team members, Sam, and Grafton. We all readied our weapons, except for Sam, who wasn’t carrying.

  “You have to stay out here,” I said to him, and he nodded.

  I opened the door slowly, fully expecting the chain to be engaged. My suspicion was correct, and I threw my shoulder into the door, putting all my muscle behind it.

  “FBI!” I cried out as we breached the room, the five of us filing in, all armed and ready to take down a killer.

  Paige was immediately behind me because the entrance from the door into the room itself was too narrow for us to walk side by side.

  Leslie turned to us, a smirk on her lips. She was braced over Jack, holding a knife dripping with blood. Jack wasn’t moving beneath her, and his eyes were closed.

  “No!” Paige screamed.

  It was the flicker in Leslie’s eyes that set me into action. I squeezed the trigger, and the bullet hit her in the left temple as she was starting to crouch down to take another stab at Jack. The force of the blast caused her to fall on top of Jack, the blade dropping from her hand and harmlessly coming to rest on the carpet.

  Paig
e ran past me and pushed a wide-eyed Leslie off Jack.

  Grafton took Leslie’s pulse and shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  I stared down at the woman who had been responsible for so much death but who had suffered so much pain.

  “He’s not responding, Brandon.” Paige’s eyes were pooling with tears as she held Jack’s hand and looked up at me. “Oh my God, Brandon, we can’t lose him.”

  “We need an ambulance…”

  I was aware Sam was in the background on his phone, but it was like all movement stopped in that moment. I got down on the carpet next to Jack and so did Zach.

  “Do you think our lives are in danger?”

  “We took that risk the second we donned a badge.”

  “Come on, Jack,” I said to him, “you’re too damn stubborn to die. Now fight!”

  -

  Chapter 49

  THE TEAM WAS IN THE waiting room at the hospital, as were Sam and Grafton, waiting for word of Jack’s condition.

  Grafton was talking to Paige, and while I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, I overheard their discussion.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I appreciate the apology, but it’s behind us now.” She squeezed Sam’s hand but still spoke to Grafton. “You came through when it mattered.”

  Grafton nodded and smiled.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The shooting back at the hotel flashed through my memory. Leslie had been my second kill in as many years with the FBI. Some officers might consider it a badge of honor, but I didn’t view it that way. I’d rather these creeps face justice in court, followed by a long prison sentence. If they rotted behind bars, so be it; at least then I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger and taken a life.

  But I knew Leslie’s death couldn’t be helped. It was a good shoot, and if I hadn’t fired when I did, Jack’s body would have accompanied Leslie’s to the morgue. As it was, he’d lost a lot of blood.

  A male doctor in teal surgical scrubs came toward us. We all hurried to meet him partway.

  Paige reached him first, and I stepped up beside her, as did Sam, Zach, and Grafton. My legs felt weak beneath me, and lightheadedness washed over me. I tried to read the doctor’s expression, his body language, but my instincts were firing amiss.

  “Tell us he’s okay,” I said.

  Paige looked over at me and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, and the knife cut into his intestines.”

  I didn’t like the pallor of the doctor’s face or the way his posture had him hunching forward.

  “His blood pressure went quite low a number of times during surgery,” he continued, “and we thought we’d lose him, but—”

  “But we haven’t?” Tears streamed freely down Paige’s face. “Right?”

  I could only imagine what she was feeling. I knew she would be blaming herself, even if she hadn’t been the one to stab Jack. If she hadn’t come out here, Jack would never have been here.

  The doctor’s face softened, and he nodded.

  All the air whooshed out of my lungs at once. Was I seeing what I wanted to see?

  “He’s got a long road to recovery ahead of him,” the doctor added, “but he’s going to be fine.”

  “Yes!” I hugged Zach and then turned to Paige. She had parted from an embrace with Sam, and I caught his eye past her. He nodded, and I wrapped my arms around Paige.

  “We should have known better than to think anyone could knock Jack down,” I proclaimed. “He’s too stubborn of a bastard.”

  We all laughed, even Sam and Grafton.

  Somehow everything had turned out all right. Paige had gotten her closure, and we had stopped a killer.

  -

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  -

  Preview of Remnants

  All that remains are whispers of the past…

  When multiple body parts are recovered from the Little Ogeechee River in Savannah, Georgia, local law enforcement calls in FBI agent and profiler Brandon Fisher and his team to investigate. But with the remains pointing to three separate victims, this isn’t proving to be an open-and-shut case.

  With no quick means of identifying the deceased, building a profile of this serial killer is more challenging than usual. How are these targets being selected? Why are their limbs being severed and their bodies mutilated? And what is it about them that is triggering this person to murder?

  The questions compound as the body count continues to rise, and when a torso painted blue and missing its heart is found, the case takes an even darker turn. But this is only the beginning, and these new leads draw the FBI into a creepy psychological nightmare. One thing is clear, though: The killing isn’t going to stop until they figure it all out. And they are running out of time…

  -

  Prologue

  PERIMETER MALL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 11:30 AM EASTERN

  THE TIME HAD COME TO select his next victim. He had to choose carefully and perfectly—he wouldn’t get a second chance. The mall was teeming with life, and that made for a lot of eyeballs, a lot of potential witnesses. But he supposed it also helped him be more inconspicuous. People were hustling through the shopping center, interested solely in their own agendas. They wouldn’t be paying him—or what he was doing—much attention.

  He was standing at the edge of the food court next to the hallway leading to the restrooms eating a gyro. The lidded and oversized garbage bin on wheels that was behind him would ensure that anyone who did notice him would just think he was a mall janitor on his lunch break.

  The pitchy voice of a girl about eight hit his ears. “Daddy, I want ice cream.”

  Trailing not far behind her were a man and woman holding hands. The woman was fit and blond, but his attention was on the man beside her. He was in his twenties, easily six feet tall with a solid, athletic build. He’d be strong and put up a fight. Yes, this was the one. And talk about ideal placement—he was across from the Dairy Queen.

  He wiped his palms on his coveralls and took a few deep breaths. What he was about to do wasn’t because of who he was, but rather, because he had to do it.

  And he had to hurry. The family was coming toward him.

  “It�
�s almost lunchtime,” the woman said, letting go of the man’s hand.

  “Daaaaaaddyyyyy.” A whiny petition.

  The man looked to the woman with a smile that showcased his white teeth. “We could have ice cream for lunch?”

  The little girl began to bounce. “Yeah!”

  “Really, Eric?” The woman wasn’t as impressed as the girl, but under the man’s gaze she caved and smiled. “All right, but just today…”

  “Thank you, Mommy!” The girl wrapped her arms around the woman’s legs but quickly let go, prancing ahead of her parents and toward the DQ counter.

  “Brianna, we wash our hands first.” The woman glanced at him as she walked by and offered a reserved smile. Had she detected his interest in them?

  Breathe. She thinks you work here, remember?

  Smile back.

  Remain calm.

  Look away and act uninterested.

  “Oooh,” the girl moaned but returned to her mother anyway.

  “We’ll just be a minute,” the woman said.

  “Hey, doesn’t Daddy have to wash his hands?” the girl asked.

  Sometimes things just work out…

  The woman smiled at the man. “Eric?”

  “Yes, he does,” he playfully answered in the third person.

  Mother and daughter headed to the restroom, the man not far behind.

  It was time to get to work.

  He took the last bite of his sandwich, crumpled the wrapper, and tossed it into the bin. He casually moved behind it and pushed it down the hall into the men’s room.

  He put up a sign that said it was closed for cleaning and entered, positioning himself next to the door. From there, he could see his target at one of the urinals and another man washing his hands at the sink. Otherwise, it was quiet.

  Just as if it was meant to be…

  The stranger left the restroom without a passing glance. This left him alone with his target.