"Hello?" He sounded utterly confused. "Who am I talking to?"
"It's Jaspierre. I got out of prison. I want to know why you're locked up."
"Well, Dru and I had a bit of a misunderstanding," he said, hesitating.
"I hate that fucking word. Misunderstanding. That could mean anything. It could mean you tried to kill him, it could mean you passed him the pepper instead of the salt. So fuck that. What I need to know is, are you with me or against me?"
"With you," he answered very quickly. Clearly, he wanted out.
"Yeah, I bet. I bet you are," she said, clearly annoyed. Anxiously, she drummed her fingers on the console.
"Jaspierre, you hired me. I didn't like what happened with Basel. And you're right, I don't have any reason to be loyal to you. Except that I'm sure we have a common enemy. And that's enough for me," he said frantically, trying to convince her. She could see him clicking his fingers and mouthing onetwothreefour. Thumb to pinky, then ring finger, then middle finger, and pointer. Back and forth in an unrelenting rhythm.
"I'm going to kill you if you fuck up. I don't have time for any drama. One wrong move, and your head is no longer on your body. Otherwise, salary would be the same, that kind of deal," she said to him, offering a business arrangement.
"Okay." And the smooth white wall in front of him slid open, revealing a smooth white hallway. He slowly started up the spiral staircase, and a solid wall at the top slid open.
She pressed another button, and the hideously loud noise of spray and the scent of bleach filled the air. "I'm surprised that this still works. It doesn't seem like Dru managed to keep anything working besides that 3-D printer." Arnold anxiously stood just inside the doorway, looking at a crumpled Dru on the floor.
"Would you take our honored guest to his presidential suite?" she said. Arnold grinned and dragged Dru down the stairs, slamming and crashing his unconscious body on every step, clearly enjoying every loud thwack. He shoved him inside the room that was still dripping with bleach water. The razor-lined doorway snapped shut crisply.
Jaspierre sat at the control table, staring into the maze. "I think there are ten of them in the maze. Two with noses, three with tails, snake boobs, the blank one, two with shaped ears, and then whatever those last two are." It was surely a freak show. The last two were – stuck together. It looked like he made those snake boobs on each of them and then stitched them together. Really weird. Why would Dru even do that? Why did Mother do what she did? If I knew the answer, I'd practically know the meaning to life.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Mother fucking shit. Chance climbed into a large black truck. He turned the key and the car hummed to life. Mother fucking shit. How could he after all this time miss it? How the fuck could he have missed it?
He had been preoccupied with a couple of ladies, but even that shouldn't have been enough for him to miss the most important day in the last four years. Jaspierre had gotten out of prison. How the fuck had he missed it? She was going to think he didn't care anymore. But he did care! He cared a bunch; he really, really cared. In fact, he doubted there was another person in the world who cared about Jaspierre as much as he did. He had planned to pick her up from prison on the day of her release. Wasn't that what a loving fiancé would do? He wondered if they let her keep her engagement ring. Those kind of details were hard to find out. He bet he'd see it on her finger after she was out. If she didn't have it, he could always go harvest another one.
Finding out the day of her release shouldn't have been difficult! In fact, he had a couple of guys who were supposed to be on top of it. But apparently not. He couldn't possibly be more frustrated. Now he was going to have to make the long thirty-hour drive without any preparation. Fuck. She was going to be pissed as all hell.
How can you wait four years for something and then miss it? What the fuck was wrong with him! He whirred onto the highway, pressing the gas hard. Getting a ticket would suck balls, so he only went five miles over the speed limit, resisting the urge to go faster. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, examining his own face. The skin was knotted and snarled, outlined in white and black tattoos. He slipped on his shades and his wide brim hat and turned up the radio.
He had spent the last four years hiding in Canada. It wasn't exactly his perfect plan, but it worked well enough. There were plenty of small towns, so he could flit from one to another. He usually only stayed a couple of months before he moved on to find another lady. Canada was full of sluts; who knew? In fact, most women were extremely accommodating, despite the fact that they didn't usually survive their little affairs.
In one instance, a husband came home early. That was exciting; he had never had a man walk in on them before. It turned out to be a short-lived but very fulfilling experience. Four years, waiting for his honey. He hoped that those years had done her good. Her round ass and big bulging titties; damn, she was hot. She had to be what? Thirty-two now? So young enough to breed a few more times.
Dammit. He had all these plans: Fireworks, a little enthusiastic meeting, and he'd take her back to his place. He had considered multiple times visiting her in prison or sending her a couple of letters. But, in the end, he decided it was best to surprise her. Surely, surely she knew that he was going to be around. That he would wait for her. Why wouldn't he wait for her? She was his true love. His childhood sweetheart. She was the one thing that consumed his mind day and night, night and day.
And he was fucking late. She was going to think he didn't have it for her anymore. That she didn't cook his goose, raise his flag, or pop his cherry. She was going to think, after the four years, that he didn't give a shit. And that pissed him the fuck off. Because he gave a shit. He'd give her all his shit. Fuck yeah, couple of days from now, she'd be sitting next to him inside the truck and they'd be fucking like bunnies. They'd run around Canada- Bonnie and Clyde style. Only twenty-nine hours to go.
Chapter
Seven
Jaspierre pulled up to the little brown house. It had a white picket fence and a dark blue doorway. It didn't look particularly small, although compared to Jaspierre's mansion, it was but a shed. But, compared to her prison cell, it was extremely roomy. She wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. Her knuckles rapped at the blue door and Edward opened it and stared at her. She was wearing a long grey T-shirt dress that hugged her curves quite nicely.
"Did you go shopping? I can't imagine anything in your closet would've still fit you. You are so thin now," he said.
"Yeah, I grabbed a few things. I still have to get some suits. This obviously wouldn't be suitable for the office." She grinned, toying with the small golden heart necklace dangling between her breasts. On it was imprinted the phrase "Mine Forever." It was a reminder.
"Well, come on in," he said. She stepped inside the doorway into a terribly quaint house. A bright colorful quilt was draped over the sofa. The place was generally tidy, but not clinical. The kitchen had a few dishes sitting on the counter. A large black recliner, obviously the favorite seat in the house, was worn. At the kitchen table sat several boxes, a few files sitting in front of each chair. The table was extremely over-sized. It probably sat ten people.
"Do you work at your table a lot? It seems too big for this little house." She immediately regretted insulting his house. But he didn't seem to mind.
"Oh, I got one that size not for parties or anything, but because it's so nice to spread out my files on. Come take a look," he said. He seemed almost giddy that she was in his house. They pored over the files. Most of them were not that exciting for Jaspierre, although Edward was very excited to show her. He had connected many files and murders to Chance. Jaspierre was neither surprised nor interested; in fact, a small part of her wondered how it was even relevant. He killed people. So what? It was just hookers or whatever. It was not like he murdered a president. How did it even help? Dead people don't tell tales; some would say that was part of the point of murdering them.
"The thing is, as soon as you went to
prison, Chance's trail went completely cold. I can't imagine that he stopped murdering people. In his history here, it shows that he virtually never stops murdering people. He doesn't take breaks, he doesn't have time off. He is a steady serial killer. One or two a month, pop, pop, just like that." He paused. "That's why, I think, there are two options. Option one: he is still murdering people. This means, for some reason, I can't find him. Maybe he moved out of the country, maybe he holed up somewhere small where he didn't get caught yet. There's a lot of options, where he's just out of reach, but still murdering people. So eventually, he will get caught.
"The other option--I'm not sure if you are ready to hear this, Jaspierre. He might... he could... already be dead." He cringed, watching desperately for her reaction. He scooted his hand closer, just about to grab hers.
But she didn't go crazy. Or shout or cry. She just smiled very slowly. "He is not so easily killed." And that was that. They would not discuss the idea that Chance was dead again. "What is holding up the investigation? If he is in another country, for instance, how do we find him?"
"Well, that becomes the problem. We don't have the right kind of case to make a worldwide affair. We can't get the world to pay attention, not as far as I'm aware. But there is a chance if we throw some money at this..."
At this, Jaspierre stomach turned. She used to be a very, very wealthy woman. Edward seemed to believe that Lucille was still alive, but Jaspierre knew better. A serial killer couldn't raise her daughter. It was an impossibility. He'd have snapped her little neck the first time she whined. The only reason to find Chance was to give Lucillejustice. She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned white.
He seemed to notice the strained look on her face. "If you don't have cash for that, we can try to do something else. I didn't mean to assume. It's just that I really want to find her for you."
"How much do you think we need?" she asked somberly, her heart flipping in her chest. How hard would it be to get her job back?
"Probably a couple million. If that's too much, then we can focus our investigation more precisely. Private investigators, that sort of thing. If we knew which country he went to, it would be a hell of a lot less expensive. Did he ever say anything to you about wanting to go to Paris? Or... I don't know, did he want to go anywhere? Without a starting point, it gets much more expensive."
She closed her eyes, lost in thought. A million dollars or more. If she was working, she wouldn't even bat an eye. Just a few years ago, she could have written a check. But she didn't even have that kind of cash. "You know what? He never wanted to leave the USA. He's pretty damn die-hard American. So I think that either he's still here or is close. Like Canada or Mexico. Also, he fucking hates to fly. It's too hard with all that security crap going on. So my guess is that he only went where he could drive."
"Do you think he'd have a preference? Canada or Mexico?" he said, looking excited. He kept leaning in closer to her. She could feel his eyes burning into hers. It made her cheeks warm. Something about that look in his eye made her think of Lucas. He didn't try to kiss her, but she could feel his desire trembling in the room.
"Mexico is hot. Canada's cold. Canada seems to have a lot of hunting. Mexico seems more like he could get away with anything. I think I'd lean towards Canada, but only because we're closer." She didn't say what she was thinking, that he'd want to be as close as he could so he could come get her. She indeed hoped that he would come and say hello.
"All right then." Edward smiled, leaning back in his chair. "I am going to send some emails to several places in Canada and Mexico. We will see if they've had an uptick in murders in the last few years. Maybe this will get us somewhere." He nodded towards the kitchen. A soft expression waded over his eyes. "You hungry?"
The urge to run and the urge to tear his clothes off suddenly and unexpectedly combated in her head. Why did he look so delicious and soft? Indecision struggled within her, and she suddenly hugged him. His body was unexpectedly warm, and her skin trembled. His heart was pounding and his lips drew near to hers. "I have to go home. I still have a lot of work to do tonight. Sorry, I can't stay." And with that, she left him wanting.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Edward found himself obsessing over the beautiful millionaire, or was it billionaire? The hardness in her eyes did not detract from the beautiful brokenness he'd seen. That first year that she was in prison, not only was she completely unhelpful in talking about Chance, but she was going crazy. She would sit across from him with a cup of coffee, and it was like watching a rose bush catch a disease and slowly wither.
She'd clawed at her own skin and tore out her hair. He was personally responsible for her breakdown. She was jittery, although there were no drugs found in her system. She was almost unable to form a sentence. This difficult violent trauma that she suffered was because of Chance. He took that brand-new infant of hers, not even an hour old yet, and stole the baby Lucille.
Edward was a man with many regrets. But this particular regret of being unable to save that baby haunted him. Her tiny newborn cry would awaken him in a cold sweat. She cried to him in his nightmares. He couldn't imagine what Jaspierre heard in hers. It was ridiculous that she could even look at him. For months, he couldn't even look at himself. But he could look at her and stare into her gorgeous haunted eyes while she sipped coffee. He watched her body change before his eyes as she hardened and suddenly strengthened herself. Not just physically, but her eyes stopped being so lost and haunted and instead took on a determined glint. Her comeback impressed him.
But underneath it all, he worried that the broken woman lurked just a breath beneath the surface. What would Jaspierre do once Chance was in prison? How would she survive it? The one thing that kept her going could very well slip through her fingers. Or, even worse, get her killed.
And yet, here she was out of prison. And somehow, even with the most traumatic things happening to her that any woman had ever had, she had blossomed. Her body was firm and beautiful, and her spirit was unbroken and bright. But dark. She was dark, and hate dampened the gorgeous beauty that she held within her. Edward didn't expect her to just recover. But he also had not expected her to be so intent on revenge. She is a bold woman, strengthening her body and preparing for war.
It terrified him that she was going to meet up with that man again. He was convinced that she was holding out information on him. She intended to kill that man. Not just kill him, but torture and destroy him. Edward knew this, and even though he wanted to stop her, he also wanted her to succeed. Would she be able to recover once that violent man was put behind bars? Put to death? Would she ever be able to start over?
She'd probably make an excellent mother. She was determined, smart, and beautiful. She'd do anything for her children, even kill for them. It was ridiculous. But it was part of why he was so magnetically drawn to her. He had never seen a woman after a child was snatched both break and recover with such vehement power. Would she ever have the chance to bear a child again? Somehow, his heart flickered at the thought that perhaps she'd hold his seed. Wouldn't it be beautiful to have a safe, happy family after all this craziness?
Maybe he could ease her pain. And maybe, just maybe, she would allow herself to be loved. He couldn't imagine that anyone had ever shown love at this point in her life. It was probably why her baby being stolen affected her so much more strongly than other women in the same state. He couldn't deny it; he had fallen for her at some point. He wasn't sure if it was when she sat across from him; intense, scratching, and absolutely nuts for her baby. Or if it was when she showed up one day for the meeting, drenched in sweat. And when he asked her why she was so sweaty, she just simply said, "I'm training."
And she did. She trained harder than anyone he'd ever seen train. Just two weeks later, he could see her form changing before his very eyes. And this beautiful broken woman rose like a Phoenix. She grew strong, she dropped that haunted look in her eyes, and picked up a new one. A new fantastic look of determination.
She stopped scratching.
She was amazing.
Edward wasn't sure she was ready to be loved yet. So he tried not to push the issue. Instead, he focused on the things that would make her happy: Lucille and Chance. He had done numerous searches for Lucille, but he just hadn't had any luck yet. Chance should be easy to find with those scars tattooed all over his face and the long string of dead women behind him. But it had been four years and all of the leads had dried up. His phone buzzed as his email connected to the server. One of the towns in Canada said they had no statistical increase in murders. Two of the police stations in Mexico said they also had no increase in murders.
As he was reading this, his phone rang. "Hello, Officer Ed."
"Did you send the email? About the guy murdering hookers, with the tattoos?"
"Yes! I did. Do you have any news?"
"Well, I don't know if I have your guy. But I have had an increase in the murder of women. They aren't hookers, but they are mostly women. However, they are spread out over kind of a large area. Do you think this could fit your guy?"
"It's possible. Send me what you've got," Edward said. He couldn't help but grin. With any luck, he'd have good news for Jaspierre. And maybe, just maybe, she'd flash him that beautiful smile.
Chapter
Eight
Jaspierre drove back to her house in her black Lexus. She was pretty damn happy to have her car back. But she was missing all the other things that made her happy. Money, Tessa, Ikali, Lucille, Lucas. Even Pierre. Life pretty much sucked. But at least she could take out some of her frustrations on Dru. And he deserved every single fucking one of them.
When she walked into the house, she noticed immediately that the floors been swept. They had not yet been mopped or polished but swept. A grin creeped across her face. "Hey, Arnold, don't work yourself to death!"
Jaspierre's Last Chance (Jaspierre Trilogy Book 3) Page 3