Vigilante

by Velvet Vaughn

  The Vigilante pictured the video, smiling at the sweat dripping down Purdy’s face. He’d had to be zapped three times, the voltage increasing every time. Along with the truth serum it’d finally wore Purdy down and he confessed. The Vigilante told Purdy that he would be released after his confession. And he was…released from the bounds of this earth to burn in eternity.

  Maybe it was time to track down the next three on the list before widespread panic ensued.

  #

  Monica Webb watched the breaking news report with rapt interest. Someone was going around killing people who were getting away with murder. Technically, it had only been one murder, but the pretty news reporter dubbed the person the Vigilante, and that meant there would be more, right? You didn’t give some random Joe Blow killer a moniker.

  She wondered how she could get in touch with the Vigilante. She would love to hire him to take out Senator Eugene Mullins of Kennesaw, Georgia.

  Monica Webb was actually the former Layla Brooks, Miss Georgia, Miss America, second runner-up in the Miss Universe competition. If it wasn’t for the esteemed senator, she would still have her career as a chart-topping singer.

  Layla—she still thought of herself by her real name—closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She wished her mother had never fallen for the charming politician. Her own father passed away when Layla was five. He’d been a soldier, killed in the line of duty in Iraq. Her mother got pregnant with her when she was eighteen and her father joined the Army so he could provide for them. Then he was killed.

  Layla’s mom raised her by herself…the two of them against the world…until the summer of her fourteenth birthday when her mom met Mullins. He’d been a lawyer with an eye for politics. Her mother, still young and beautiful at thirty-two, fell hard for him. After a whirlwind courtship, they married and had twins Sean and Tiffany, now Leo and Ariel. Yes, she let them pick their new names. Sean chose his name for their astrological symbol. Tiff just wanted to be a mermaid.

  Layla had always loved to sing. In college, she fronted a band that packed bars on weekends. On a whim her senior year she applied for the Miss Georgia contest. To her total shock, she won. She went on to Miss America and somehow, again won. The competition catapulted her into the national spotlight and her career skyrocketed. For five years, she’d been a singing sensation, touring the world to standing-room-only audiences. Her songs debuted at the top of the charts and she was on top of the world. Then she got the call that her mother had unexpectedly passed away. Layla was still close to her mom and the news devastated her. She flew home and was immediately pulled aside by her half-siblings. They were positive that their father had killed their mother. He’d been verbally abusive for years and Layla had no idea. Not only had he destroyed her mother’s self-confidence, he subjected his children to verbal abuse as well. He was controlling and domineering and oversaw every aspect of their lives. They were threatened if they ever spoke a word to anyone…including her. She’d been stunned. She’d never seen the signs.

  The twins also suspected he was involved in illegal activities. He had dealings with shady characters and secretive phone calls where he’d disappear late at night. Their mother walked into his study one night when he was in a meeting and he yelled at her. She was dead the next morning.

  Her half-siblings were terrified of their father. They begged her to take them with her when she left. When she told Mullins she was taking the kids, he laughed and ordered her out of his office. When she followed through and packed bags for them, he tried to have her killed. She survived that attempt and two more, but she knew he would never give up until she was dead. Her only option was to make him think he succeeded. It meant the end of her career, but the lives of her siblings were more important. With the help of a trusted friend, they staged her death. As soon as the announcement was made that she’d passed, she took Sean and Tiff and they ran.

  At first, cops believed the twins had been kidnapped. In order to make it look real, they had to leave their phones and computers and everything but their most cherished possessions and photos. When no ransom note appeared, they were listed as missing. That was almost a year ago. Instead of imploding with the death of his wife, stepdaughter and the disappearance of his two children, Mullins had been practically sainted by the media. He was a tragic hero, plodding forward in the face of adversity. He played up his suffering to the hilt. His popularity was off the charts. He was even throwing his hat into the ring for the presidency.

  Layla couldn’t let that happen. If she had to take matters into her own hands, she would.

  Chapter Seven

  Olivia was still tired when she woke the next morning. She and Jonah, along with Roddy and Phil, had been at the burial site in Queens until the wee hours of the morning and she only managed a few hours of sleep. She considered skipping her daily workout, but she needed to keep her body toned. The camera did add ten pounds. Besides, she loved to exercise. Her best thinking came when she was running. She tried to get in at least five miles on the treadmill six days a week and she took yoga or Pilates classes when possible.

  After donning her workout gear and securing her hair in a ponytail, she headed downstairs. Carl was nowhere to be seen, which was a little disconcerting. He hadn’t been looking well lately and she was worried about him. He had a heart condition that he tried to deny, but he looked more frail each day. She made a mental note to talk to CJ about his health.

  She slipped on her sunglasses and walked the few blocks to the fitness center. She loved that the trendy boutique gym was so close to her apartment. It was classy and upscale with a charming atmosphere. She pulled the door open, cool air washing over her as she strode inside. Chrissy, the boutique manager, wasn’t at the desk so she headed to the locker room to change into her running shoes. She actually had a shoe fetish—tennis shoes. She had dozens of pairs of Nikes in all colors of the rainbow. Some were for walking the streets of Manhattan, others, like the pair she was lacing, were built specifically for running. After she secured her bag in her locker, she headed for a treadmill.

  “Hey, doll, I caught the news. You were amazing last night.”

  Olivia smiled at the Amazon who came striding over to wrap her in a hug. Faye Kinder was the owner of Pump It Up and they’d become good friends over the last year.

  “Thanks.” She always felt like a little girl around Faye, who stood just a couple inches short of six feet, compared to Olivia’s couple of inches over five feet. Faye dwarfed her in size and she was the strongest woman Olivia knew, and not just physically. Over drinks one weekend, she spilled the story of how she’d been raped in college by a rich fraternity boy. She came from a single family home that barely scraped by. Her only chance of college was scholarships and student loans. Her attacker was a trust fund baby who could afford high-powered attorneys and they buried Faye in court. They painted the picture of Faye as a slut who slept around and she was publicly shamed. The jury sided with the boy and she’d had to transfer to a different school.

  Faye vowed to never be a victim again. She started taking self-defense classes and she lifted weights. She changed her major to business with a minor in physical education. At thirty years old, she opened her first gym and it was such a success three years later, she was in the process of opening another in Tribeca and in talks for space in Lenox Hill. She reminded Olivia of a fit, fierce warrior goddess.

  “The Vigilante is a bona fide hero,” Faye professed. “I’m not above a little vigilante justice. I’m thinking of starting a fan page. Hey, do you think you could do a news segment where people offer suggestions for victims? Seriously, I wonder if he or she takes requests?”

  Olivia laughed a little nervously. Faye was kidding. She hoped.

  “Hey, Olivia.”

  Olivia swiveled around as Chrissy hurried over. “I didn’t see you come in. This was left for you at the front desk.” The manager handed her a padded envelope.

  A chill raced down Olivia’s spine. It was the right shape and siz
e to be another flash drive. Olivia’s name was written on the front, but no address or postage. “Who left this for me?”

  “I’m not sure,” Chrissy admitted. “It was there this morning but I didn’t see who dropped it off.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced over at Faye, who was eyeing her suspiciously. “What?”

  “Are you okay? Your face drained of all color. You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Liar.” Faye grabbed her hand and tugged her to her office, closing the door behind them. She crossed her arms and indicated the envelope. “What is it? Do you think it’s from the Vigilante?”

  Olivia fingered the package, recognizing the shape of the flash drive. Definitely from the Vigilante. “I don’t know.”

  Faye was watching her with predatory eyes. “Open it and see.”

  Faye’s intensity was a little disconcerting. “It could be an interview I was expecting from a confidential informant.” She hated lying, especially to her friends, and she was no good at it, but there was no way she was opening this anywhere but the privacy of her apartment. If it fell into the wrong hands, or word got out before she could show it on television, there could be dire consequences. “I need to open it in private.”

  Faye pouted. “Are you sure? I can keep a secret. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Olivia said with sincerity. “Truly. But I do need to go.” She stood to leave. Faye tried to cajole her to stay, even offered to leave her own office so Olivia could open the package. Olivia thanked her and opened the door.

  “But you didn’t get your workout in,” Faye called out.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She changed her shoes and grabbed her bag. Faye was at the front desk talking to Chrissy when she came out of the locker room. She waved. “See you later.” She slipped her sunglasses on as she stepped outside. She tried to act normal in case anyone was watching her but as soon as she was out of eyesight, she ducked into an empty vestibule and opened the package. It was definitely a flash drive.

  Instead of going home, she switched directions and headed to the station. Jonah wouldn’t be at work yet but she’d wait to call him until she verified what was on the drive.

  She greeted Polly at the front desk, who raised eyebrows at Olivia’s t-shirt, yoga pants and neon yellow Nikes. Polly was extremely pregnant and looked like she could go into labor at any moment. “Traitor.”

  Olivia glanced down at her Cubs t-shirt. She’d developed an affinity for all things Chicago after her encounter with a certain sexy detective. She shrugged sweetly. “Yankees still rule.”

  “Yeah, the Yankees rule,” Polly agreed. She was such a die-hard fan, she swore she was going to name her son Derek after her all-time favorite player, Derek Jeter.

  “How do you feel today?”

  “Like I’m so ready to have this baby out of me. I swear, his favorite position is standing on my bladder.”

  Olivia laughed in sympathy. “Tomorrow is your last day?”

  “Thursday,” Polly said. “I’m training a new girl to fill in for me while I’m on maternity leave.”

  “Promise to let me know as soon as little Derek arrives?”

  “Absolutely. What are you doing in so early?”

  “I need to check something in my office.” With a wave, she hurried down the hall. Once inside, she closed the door and slid into her chair. She plugged the drive in her computer and opened the file titled: Rose, Donald. Her office sported a large window that looked out into the bullpen where the rest of the staff used square cubicles with walls on three sides. She glanced to make sure no one was lurking around and almost jumped when Chuck Russo’s face appeared against the glass. He waved and she pasted on a smile while inside, she groaned. Chuck was a former major league baseball player who never quite made it to elite status. He spent a few years at the end of his career with the Mets and when he was cut, he used his communications degree to secure a job as the sports reporter on her team. He’d only been with them a few months and he hit on her every chance he could. She tried to explain that she didn’t date co-workers, but he refused to listen. She’d even told him that she was involved in a long distance relationship, but that didn’t deter him, either.

  He opened her door without knocking and breezed through. He was handsome with sandy blonde hair and sharp brown eyes but he did absolutely nothing for her except make her want to run in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, sweet thing, I caught the report last night. Wow. A vigilante loose in the city.”

  Olivia nodded, wondering how she could politely shoo him out of her office. He plopped down in a chair. She was barely able to restrain an eye-roll. She did not have time to deal with the Chuckster, as he often referred to himself.

  He sat up straight. “Hey, what’s with the t-shirt?” He frowned. “That offends me on a personal level.”

  If she’d known that, she’d have worn one around him sooner. But that was snarky. Inspiration struck. “It’s my boyfriend’s shirt.”

  “Damn, he must be a twig of a thing.”

  He could kick your ass, she wanted to say. The shirt was an extra small, so it was silly to say it belonged to a guy. “I didn’t mean it was his shirt. What I meant to say is that he gave it to me. My boyfriend.”

  “Huh. Loser.”

  Grrr. “Look, Chuck, I have work to do, so if you don’t mind…” she let the implication hang.

  He crossed a leg over the other. “Yeah, I do, too. So, Friday night, after work? You, me, a quaint café in the Village, some candlelight, a bottle of wine, dancing... What do you say?”

  Her mouth dropped open. Either this guy took too many foul balls to the noggin or he was truly clueless. “I’m sorry, Chuck, as I’ve told you before. I have a boyfriend. Even if I didn’t, I don’t date co-workers.”

  “It’s not against company policy,” he argued. “I looked it up.”

  “It’s against my personal policy,” she ground out. She stood, rounded her desk and opened her door. “I really have work to do.”

  “Sure. Sure.” He pushed to his feet. “Friday night. Think about it.” She had the feeling he was about to smack her on the ass. She jumped out of the way before his hand could connect. He winked and strode out of her office. Ugh. The ego on that guy. She locked the door this time and hurried back to her desk. She clicked on the video.

  “My name is Donald Rose and I killed my stepson. I caught him stealing from me, probably money for drugs. He was a no-good…errrr.” Rose jerked and his eyes rolled back before the video cut off, only to start again with Rose’s eyes red and watering. “My name is Donald Rose and I killed Malcom Tremont after I caught him stealing from me again. I hid his body so it wouldn’t be found.”

  Text flashed up on the screen. Same rules as last time. Olivia Larrson plays this video on the Tuesday evening news. Once the demands are met, instructions will be delivered on where to find Tremont and where to pick Rose up. In other words, where to find Donald Rose’s body.

  Olivia didn’t remember the name Donald Rose or Malcom Tremont, so she did a quick Google search. Several results appeared and she clicked on the first one and scanned the article. The gist of the story was that three years ago, before she moved to New York, Rose was arrested for the murder of his stepson. Due to a lack of evidence, and the fact that Tremont was a known junkie who’d overdosed before, the jury found Rose not guilty. Tremont’s body was never found.

  Olivia slumped against her chair. Purdy’s murder wasn’t a one-off. The Vigilante apparently had a list of people to target, making him—or her—a serial killer. Right or wrong, murder was murder. She sighed and picked up her phone.

  Jonah answered on the second ring. “You need to come to the station as soon as possible.”

  #

  “This was delivered to your gym?” Jonah exclaimed as the video clicked off.

  “Someone left it at the front desk.” She narrowed her eyes at the incredulous look on hi
s face. “What?”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Since I have no idea what you’re talking about, apparently not.”

  Jonah threw out his arms. “My God, Olivia, this guy can get to you too easily. He knows where you live, he knows where you work out. That’s stalking 101.”

  Olivia scoffed. “He’s not after me. And we don’t know it’s a man.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a man, woman, or hell, a creature from the black lagoon. The person is a killer. It’s plucking people off the street and killing them. It knows you. Personally. It knows your schedule. And we don’t know what the end game is here.”

  “But I’m not a target,” she argued. “People who commit murder and get away with it are.”

  “Okay, answer me this. How many people know your personal cell phone number?”

  Olivia froze. Only her family and close friends had the number. She never gave it out. A shudder raced down her spine. “A few.”

  “Not many, right?”

  At her small nod of confirmation, Jonah sighed heavily. “Yet this killer knows it. I’m going to call Detectives Benson and Kramer to come watch the video.” He pointed at her. “From now on, you don’t leave here alone. I’ll arrange for a car service to pick you up and take you home.”

  “That’s not necess—”

  “And I don’t think you should use the gym until the Vigilante is caught.”

  “Jonah…” she tried to protest but he walked out of her office grumbling something about headstrong women.

  #

  “Wake up, sleepy head.” Sawyer Oldham nudged Alex as the ‘Fasten Seat Belts’ sign blinked on.

  “I’m awake,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face. He’d been having a particularly vivid dream about Olivia on the sand with the waves crashing around them. He’d been in the process of peeling off a black bikini top when Sawyer interrupted. He had to adjust to hide his body’s reaction to the erotic images. At the flight attendant’s instruction, he raised his seat to the upright position and stowed his tray table.