People like Phin and Charles are rare and exotic as snow leopards, and just as hard to catch. Unfortunately, you can’t put an ad in the personals that reads Freakishly scarred serial killer looking for soul mate, must have great abs and enjoy guns, violence, and romantic candlelight dinners.
But Phin is an enemy, and a serious threat, so he has to die. They all have to die. They killed her beloved Charles. They sent her to prison. They took her face.
Alex rolls onto her stomach. The room is dark. The sheets are cool and smell like laundry detergent. She closes her eyes and parts her legs.
Maybe Alex can plan it so she can give Phin a farewell fuck. See how many times he can get it up before she peels off his skin.
McGlade won’t get a farewell fuck. While he’s also an enemy, he doesn’t pose the same danger as Phin and Jack. Alex decides to let him live—after she removes his other hand, his eyes, and his balls. And perhaps throws in some third-degree burns as well.
The idea of burning McGlade makes her tingle. She arches her back, then presses against the mattress.
An ambulance. Or hospital. She’ll break into one sometime in the next few days. Steal some antibiotics, sutures, and a few IV bags. When she gets Harry McGlade alone, she wants to make sure he survives his extensive injuries to lead a horrible, disfigured, unhappy, and very long life.
Getting warm in here. Alex yanks off her cover blanket, reaches down.
Now Jack—Alex has spent hours obsessing over how Jack will die. First, emotional and psychological suffering. Alex wants to make Jack regret becoming a cop. To break her down until she has no will to live.
Then, when the physical suffering starts, Alex will prolong her death until she gets bored. Perhaps rent a cabin in the north woods, keep Jack chained there, visit her a few times a week for some female bonding over extended sessions of excruciating pain. Maybe I’ll pick up a paper, Alex thinks, check the real estate listings for someplace secluded.
Revenge is best served cold, but fantasizing about what she’ll do to Jack makes her hot. So hot that she considers going back to the Old Stone Inn and riding Lance again.
But Alex can’t go back there. Time and again, Jack has proven herself a smart and worthy adversary. While Alex is pretty confident that Jack won’t find Lance in time, she doesn’t want to risk the lieutenant bursting into the room while she’s bouncing toward the Big O.
However, there are other ways for a horny girl to get her rocks off. Ways that are a lot more satisfying than self-gratification.
Alex rolls to the edge of the bed and flips on the light. The drive will take a few hours, but she’s not tired. If her victim is home, and the setup looks good, Alex might even get laid to night.
Sex and death. They go together like chocolate and peanut butter.
She dresses as fast as she can, jeans and a hoodie, grabs the things she needs, and hangs a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob before heading to the car.
It’s time to go looking for a cop.
CHAPTER 17
“SO FAR,” Herb’s voice was tired, frustrated, “not a single bomb squad has responded saying they have a cop named Lance on their team.”
“No hits on the picture?”
I was back in the Crimebago, and warm because of Phin. Not due to sexual tension, or anger, or embarrassment. Phin had been able to fix Harry’s air conditioner.
“You know how hard it is to ID by pic, Jack. How differently people look in different situations. In Lance’s case, he’s got duct tape around half his head and he’s screaming in agony. We might not even recognize him if he was eating a five-course Mongolian BBQ across from us.”
Leave it to Herb to work food into the discussion.
“Any MIAs?” I switched my cell phone from my left hand to my right.
“One. A Detective Don Oakes, EOD out of North Carolina. Didn’t report in today. His lieut said the pic sort of looks like him.”
“Where in North Carolina?”
“Wilmington. On the coast.”
“You’ve alerted their department?”
“Got an all points on Oakes. They’re bringing in the Feds, suspected kidnapping.”
“Thanks, Herb.”
“Keep me in the loop. And don’t forget my Turduckinlux.”
Herb hung up. Harry plopped himself on the couch next to me. The aftershave smell made me wince.
“Alex told me she went through basic training in North Carolina.” He scratched himself in a bad place. “Makes sense she’d go there.”
Phin folded his arms. “I don’t want to get within a mile of Alex without long-range backup. If we go to NC, we have to leave the rifles behind.”
We’d just spent several thousand dollars of Latham’s money at a local sporting goods store, buying two H-S Precision professional hunting rifles with twenty-six-inch barrels, chambered for .377. But no traveling cases for them, and no time to get any. My watch said 10:30 p.m. Lance would be dead in seven hours. Assuming we could get a late flight out, we wouldn’t have much time to find him.
“You scared of a girl, Phin?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Phin said.
Harry nodded. “Me too. I vote we stay here, see if something else shakes loose. The WPD probably won’t let us in on the investigation anyway.”
“I agree with Harry. But this is your decision, Jack.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force a brilliant thought. I settled for a semi-apparent one.
“How did Alex get the pigstick?”
Harry made a face. “Duh. She stole it from Lance, who’s on a bomb squad somewhere.”
“Did she just find a random EOD cop and follow him home?”
Phin leaned against the kitchen counter. Or the galley counter, in Harryspeak. “I get it. She knows him.”
“Fatso hasn’t found anyone named Lance on any bomb squad?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Maybe he’s not civilian.” Harry scratched the stubble on his chin. “Maybe he’s military police. Someone Alex knew when she was in the marines. Those guys would have pigsticks, det wire, all that shit.”
Phin appraised Harry. “Did Alex talk about any old boyfriends?”
“I don’t remember. She didn’t mention her past much.”
“How about her old unit?”
Harry grinned. “Heh heh. You said unit.”
“Focus, Harry. You spent more time with Alex than we did. You have to know her better.”
“If I knew her so well, think I’d have this?”
Harry held up his prosthetic hand. There was a whirring, mechanical sound, and his middle finger raised up. Crude way to make a point, but valid nonetheless. Alex had fooled us all. I met her under false pretenses, and actually considered her a friend up until the point she tried to kill me. She could lie and manipulate better than anyone I’d ever known.
I rubbed my eyes, which stung from all the crying I’d done today. “Okay, we stay put, follow the military angle. I’ll call Herb, see if he can get access to Alex’s rec ords. Maybe we can find someone in her past named Lance.”
Harry shook his head. “Lance is probably dead already. We should head to Deer Park, try to trace the first cell phone in the daisy chain. That’s a sure path to Alex.”
“Can’t we do both?” Phin asked. “Split up?”
Harry rocked himself up off the couch and slapped an arm around Phin’s shoulders.
“Good idea, Phin old buddy. Me and you. Two men on the open road. We can find the phone between marathon sessions of poker and drinking. Hell, with no women around we don’t even have to bother showering or getting dressed.”
“I’m going with Jack.” Phin met my eyes. “If that’s okay.”
I shrugged. “It’s a full night of going over reports, case histories, those shrink sessions while she was at Heathrow. Nothing exciting.”
“Two can read faster than one. And if I’m there, we can keep each other up.”
An unwarranted thought popp
ed into my head, of Phin without his shirt. He had a terrific body. Defined pecs. Six-pack abs…
Focus, Jack, you’re being an asshole. We were chasing a killer, Phin was a crook, and I was still mourning the man I loved. What the hell was up with my hormones lately? PMS?
I calculated when my period was due, and the answer startled me.
Last week. It should have been last week. And I was never late more than a day or two, not once since the age of twelve. I could set my watch by my cycle.
Stress. Could be stress. That’s why I missed it.
Or it could be…
“You guys got a thing for each other?” Harry asked.
“We’re just friends,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“I hope so, because you’re like twice his age. Besides, women over forty-five shouldn’t have sex. Unless they’re Cher.”
“Ready to go?” I asked Phin, giving McGlade my back.
He put out his hand, helped me up off the couch. His palm was cool, soft, and he held on for longer than necessary. I gently disengaged, and we began to gather up all the stuff we bought at the sports store.
“You sure you want to go with her, Phin? I got a thirty-pack of Old Style in the fridge, and I just downloaded the entire Pink Floyd discography from a file sharing network.”
Phin stared at me, hard. “I’m sure.”
Harry shrugged. “Okay. Your loss. You want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“My truck. It’s parked in a long-term lot on Addison.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be driving, anyone needs me.”
Harry wandered up to the cab of the RV. A moment later Pink Floyd came on, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. I used the knife I’d liberated from Phin’s pool buddy and opened up three plastic blister packages containing walkie-talkies. Then I inserted their batteries and made sure all were on the same frequency.
“I’m leaving you a radio,” I yelled at Harry over “Dark Side of the Moon.”
“What?”
“A radio!”
“Got a CD in already!”
Harry turned up the volume so high it vibrated my tonsils. I shoved the other two radios into a backpack with a portable GPS, two Bushnell rifle scopes, two forty-caliber Beretta semiautos, and several boxes of ammo. Phin was folding clothes. We’d both opted for T-shirts, sweatshirt hoodies, and sweatpants. Nikes and a sports bra for me. Boxer shorts for him. The sporting goods store also carried pan ties, but I figured I could get another day out of the French-cut red pair I had on. It had nothing to do with the fact that none of their pan ties were sexy. Or red. That Phin seemed to like red was completely irrelevant.
The RV jerked to a stop, jarring me off my feet. I reached out my hands to break my fall. Caught Phin. He gave me a look. I needed to nip this thing in the bud.
“Phin, we’ve got a lot of work to do and all this flirting bullshit has to—”
His mouth pressed against mine, cutting off my words. Phin’s lips were firm, insistent, demanding, like I was the most important thing in the entire world and he had to have me. His tongue searched for mine, touched it gently, and I didn’t pull away, instead meeting it with surprising urgency. One of his hands tangled itself in the back of my hair and the other cupped my ass and then my body betrayed me and I hooked my right leg around his and ground into him, a hungry moan escaping my throat.
I wanted his hands on me, his mouth on me, all over. I wanted to stop thinking and stop hating myself and stop being afraid and have him inside me, right away, right now. Was it wrong? Hell yes. When we were finished, I’d add it to the list of reasons I hated myself.
My fingers fumbled with the top button on his jeans, popped it free.
“Bed,” I managed to gasp in the brief second I came up for air. “Harry’s bed.”
But I wasn’t sure we’d make it to the bed. My dress was hiked up, and he already had my bra up, rough fingers teasing my nipple, making me want to do him right there standing up, and then there was a groaning sound and it was coming from me and it wasn’t a happy sound at all.
Phin stopped kissing me. He drew back, a question on his face. My tears were on his cheeks.
I covered my eyes, not wanting to watch him watch me cry. My shoulders shook, and I clenched my teeth to keep the major sobs in, but a few of them got out anyway.
Phin put his arms around me again. There was no urgency this time. Only sympathy. I buried my face in his shoulder, wishing he was Latham, wishing it so bad it made my ears ring.
Or maybe that was the Floyd.
I caught my breath and forced the pain back. Disengaged myself from Phin. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t say anything. Pulled down my bra, then busied myself instead with gathering up the remainder of our purchases, feeling his pity like laser sights all over my body.
The music cut off mid-tune and Harry called to us.
“You kids know anyone in a dark sedan? They’ve been following us for five blocks.”
I hurried up to the cab, checked the enormous side-view mirror.
The Feebies. Bastards must have tailed me. Which means they knew I was with Phin. Bad for me. Bad for him. Worst of all for Lance, if I had to spend all night answering questions about aiding and abetting a known felon.
“They’re Feds, Harry. After Phin because he robbed a bank.”
“Good for you, Phin!” Harry called behind him. “Win one for the little guy! You pay for gas next stop!”
I put my hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“We need to lose them, Harry. If they find him with us, we’re screwed.”
Harry snorted. “Lose them? Jackie, we’re driving an RV on a Friday night in one of the most traffic-congested cities in America.”
“You have to try.”
“It’s not gonna happen. He can hide in the refrigerator. I made sure I got one big enough to fit into.”
“Please, Harry.” The word didn’t want to leave my throat, but I said it anyway. “Bro.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, grinned, and slammed down on the gas.
CHAPTER 18
THE HONDA’S SPEEDOMETER is up over ninety mph, and has been for close to half an hour, but Alex hasn’t seen a single squad car on this stretch of highway. None hidden. None passing. Not even one coming in the other direction on the opposite side of the street.
It’s discouraging. Don’t cops have monthly quotas? Who’s protecting our nation’s roads from reckless drivers?
Finally, after blowing past an obvious speed trap semi-hidden by a cluster of bushes, Alex grows a red and blue tail. She waits for him to hit the siren before taking her foot off the accelerator and rolling to a stop. Traffic on the interstate is sparse at this time of night. They’re past the city limits, in the country. No stores, houses, exits, or oases, for two miles in either direction. Just plains and trees, stretching out and fading into unpopulated darkness.
The cop parks behind her, but farther out on the shoulder, protecting himself from being accidentally run over. He aims his side-door spotlight directly in Alex’s rearview. She angles it downward, deflecting the glare, and turns around in her seat to see him coming, hoping he’s not too short or fat.
Alex likes speed, and because of that she has been stopped many times in the past. Flirting, flattering, showing some leg, has gotten her out of many a ticket. But with her face the way it is, no cop will be anxious to get her phone number.
This time, however, she’s not looking for a free pass.
He climbs out of his car, and Alex is surprised. He is actually a she.
Girl cop. Cool.
Alex digs into her purse, palms the stun gun. Waits.
“License and registration.”
The cop is standing a foot behind the driver’s-side door. One hand is on her belt, near her holster. Alex squints behind her, doesn’t see a partner in the squad car. She opens the door.
“Stay in the car, ma’am.”
It’s an order, delivered with authority. The cop’s hand has now un
snapped her holster and is on the butt of her pistol. It’s hard to tell with the light silhouetting her, but Alex guesses her at about thirty years of age, tall, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. A pro, by the way she’s conducted the traffic stop so far.
But Alex is a pro too.
Alex fumbles with her purse, pretending to search for her wallet.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, I know I was speeding, I can’t find my license, my boyfriend, he hit me—”
“Get back into the car, ma’am.”
Alex takes a step toward her, hand still in her purse. The cop’s name tag reads Stark.
“The hospital, I need the hospital, look what the bastard did to my face—”
Now Officer Stark draws her weapon, aims at Alex’s chest.
“Drop the purse and hands above your head!”
“Why? I didn’t do anything. My boyfriend—”
“Drop your purse and hands above your head! Now!”
Alex halts. She’s excited, even a little scared. Alex drops the purse, slowly raises her hands.
“Turn in a complete circle!”
Alex complies, her shirt riding up, showing the cop there is nothing in her pockets or her belt.
“Get on your knees! Hands behind your head!”
Different cops arrest suspects in different ways. Some order them to palm the car or the wall. Some order them to lie facedown on the ground and spread out their arms and legs. Some prefer the knees and the hands behind the head routine.
Which Alex had been hoping for.
“On your knees! Hands behind your head!”
Alex nods quickly, getting down, the asphalt cold beneath her jeans. She puts her hands on her neck, under her long red hair. If Stark had ordered her to palm the hood of the car, Alex first would have fallen to her knees and faked sobbing, face in her hands. If Stark had wanted her to eat the tarmac, she would have complied, but put her hands behind her head. But any way it went down, Alex still would have been within easy reach of the stun gun she’d stuck in the hanging hood of her sweatshirt.
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