by Debra Webb
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
A Preview of Revenge
Newsletters
This book is dedicated to an amazing little boy named Amos. I am awed by your strength, courage, and resilience. May your future be filled with hope and happiness.
Acknowledgments
Being a cop is hard work. Whether you patrol the streets or investigate homicide scenes, the work takes dedication, courage and doggedness. I hope that my characters always portray the deep compassion and intense passion of those who serve our community.
A rage… that nothing can allay, nothing but blood.
—William Shakespeare
Prologue
Birmingham, Alabama, Monday, August 2, midnight
A big flash of lightning streaked across the sky, making the room bright. Devon Chambers counted the seconds in his head. He didn’t like storms. He hadn’t wanted to come out of his house, but he’d heard the baby crying.
Six-one-thousand… seven-one-thousand… thunder clapped, almost drowning out the baby’s wailing.
It was raining hard outside and Devon was dripping on the tile but the mommy wouldn’t mind.
She was dead.
His stomach hurt even though he couldn’t see the mommy now. It was too dark. But Devon understood dead. His mommy had died, too. He remembered watching her in the pink coffin and waiting for her to breathe. She never did. Not even once. No matter how long the preacher talked she still didn’t breathe.
Devon hadn’t liked it much when they closed the lid and put her in the ground where she couldn’t get any air for sure. He’d worried about that until the next day at school when his teacher told him about being dead and going to heaven. He was glad about heaven. All the preacher had talked about was the angel taking Devon’s mommy in his arms and giving her to God. Devon decided he didn’t like angels much. But he guessed that was the only way to get to heaven. Couldn’t hang around down here forever, his teacher said.
Lightning flashed again and he knelt on the floor and touched the blood. It was thick and sticky. He shuddered. Not because he was afraid. He wasn’t afraid. Not for real. Rubbing the gooey stuff between his thumb and fingers he wished the lightning would come faster so he could see if the mommy had changed her mind about going to heaven and started to breathe again.
Maybe if he put her head back she would decide not to go with the angel. Patting the darkness until he touched her hair, he scooted the mommy’s head back to where it was supposed to be. He couldn’t figure out why the angel would cut it off like that. Wouldn’t she need it in heaven?
He wondered if God would be mad about the bad words. They were written on her forehead. He could wipe ’em off, but the angel had written them there.
He didn’t want to make the angel who took the dead people to heaven mad.
When the lightning had first shown him the angel taking the mommy, his throat got too tight and his heart had beat faster and faster. He’d had to go inside himself for a while. He tried not to, but he couldn’t control it sometimes. Sometimes he just had to hide. The doctor said it was his safe place.
When he’d come out of his safe place, the baby had been crying and he’d sneaked out of his house to see if it was okay. If anybody found out he’d come over here he would be in big trouble, especially with his sister. She would be really mad. But the baby was crying harder and louder, so he had to do something. The mommy wouldn’t like her baby crying. She could probably hear it all the way in heaven.
He waited a minute for the lightning to come again so he could see where the glass was on the floor. The light flashed, blinkity-blink, and real carefully he walked around the broken glass and the blood and made his way through the house waving his arms around in front of him so he didn’t bump into anything. He felt like a blind kid. He was glad the lightning came a little faster now, even though the thunder growled like a mean old bear faster and faster, too.
The baby’s room was dark like the rest of the house. Devon thought about turning on the light but that might make the angel come back and he wasn’t ready to go to heaven. He couldn’t leave his sister all by herself. She would be sad. She pretended not to like him much but he knew she loved him. Working too much and trying to go to school made her grouchy. And he was a lot of trouble. When his mommy was sick Devon had heard her talking to his sister. She said that even though he was a lot of trouble, he was her brother and she should love and take care of him always.
Ever since then he tried not to be so much trouble, but always was a long time and sometimes he forgot.
He wiped his hands really good on his shirt, then he reached into the crib and touched the baby. It stopped crying but made funny sounds and flailed its arms.
What did he do now?
He thought about all the times he’d watched the mommy out by the pool with the baby. Sometimes when it cried she got a bottle and that made the baby happy.
He felt around in the crib until his fingers closed around a bottle and he smiled. The mommy must have put it there before the angel came. Mommies were smart like that.
Devon shook the bottle and he frowned. It was empty. Oh well. He gave it to the baby anyway. The baby sucked and sucked. Sounded kind of like when he got to the bottom of a milk shake and he just kept trying to get that last bit of foamy stuff through the straw.
The sucking stopped and the baby started to cry again. Devon didn’t like the crying. Maybe he could take the bottle in the kitchen and put milk in it. Babies liked milk. He was pretty sure the daddy would be home soon. He would know what to do if the milk didn’t help.
Devon took the bottle and felt his way down the hall and the stairs. He counted the steps so he would remember to go slower and to be careful. That was a rule. Be careful on the stairs. Don’t eat while I’m gone. And never call 911 unless the house is on fire or you’re hurt. If you think someone’s trying to get in the house, go out your window, climb down the trellis, and run to a neighbor’s house. His sister had a lot of rules. She was smart. Really smart. Not like him.
He held his breath as he opened the fridge door. The light made him squint. He blinked a couple of times, then got the milk. With the door open he could see to fill the bottle but he made a mess anyway. He cleaned it up and put the milk away. Always clean up your mess. That was another rule.
Finding his way back to the bedroom was easy. He remembered the way even if it was dark. He hid in the dark a lot. It wasn’t so bad. His sister told him being afraid of the dark was dumb. He didn’t want to be dumb about that.
The baby was still crying real loud. He hoped the milk would make him happy. As soon as he put the bottle to its mouth it started trying to suck at it.
No more crying.
Devon smiled. He did good.
A door slammed somewhere in the house and he jumped. Was the angel back?
More lightning made the room as bright as the inside of the refrigerator. He didn’t see anybody before the room went black again but he could hear someone bumping around in the house. Thunder rumbled and he shivered.
The bumpy noises sounded closer.
Someone was coming.
Devon hid in the baby’s closet. His body shook so much he could barely stand up and the urge to hide inside himself was real strong. He couldn’t see ’cause of the darkness, not even when he tilted his head to look through the slats in the door, but he smelled the angel. Smelled like flowers. The same as the angel that came and took his mommy to heaven.
Would the angel know he was hiding in here?
Angels could probably see through doors like this for sure.
His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. Tears burned his eyes and he squeezed them shut real tight. In his head,
where no one would hear, he prayed for the baby.
Please, God, don’t let your angel take the baby, too. The daddy will be so sad.
The angel left the room without taking the baby.
Wow. God heard him fast. Devon’s knees felt like the Jell-O his sister made him eat when he was sick. He hated Jell-O. Especially the green kind.
He waited, listening for a while. The baby was happy. No more crying. The angel was gone. Devon should go home. The daddy would be coming soon. He might get mad if he found out Devon came into his house. He might blame Devon for the mess.
As quiet as a mouse he sneaked out of the closet and crept to the door. He didn’t hear any more noises, so he hurried down the hall and all seven of the steps. He walked past the mommy, making sure he didn’t step in the glass or the blood. The lightning let him see the way. It was still coming fast.
He stopped at the broken door. It was raining harder than before. He’d have to run across the yard in the rain and squeeze through the fence at the corner where it was sagging a little bit. He was almost too big to fit anymore.
Glass cracked behind him.
His heart bumped against his chest.
Run! the voice in his head told him.
He darted across the yard. Didn’t look back. Skidded to a stop at the fence and squeezed between the boards. Something grabbed his arm. He jerked to get loose. Nails clawed him. He yanked and twisted. He hit the ground, then scrambled up to run. He didn’t stop until he was on the other side of his house and under the floor, in the crawl space.
He hugged his scratched arm and hoped the angel couldn’t find him here. And then he went inside himself.
Five Points, 7:35 a.m.
Hello Jess.
The appearance of those two words on the screen of her cell phone should not have stolen her breath or weakened her knees, but they managed to do both in the space of a single heartbeat, forcing her to wilt down onto the toilet seat.
Jess Harris shoved a handful of damp hair behind her ear, then hugged her knees to her chest. It wasn’t really the words that had her crouched on the toilet seat of the cramped bathroom. It was the identity of the sender.
Tormenter.
Eric Spears… the Player.
Jess curled her fingers into her sweaty palm to stop their trembling. She pressed her fist to her lips and fought the trepidation howling inside her. Answer him! This might be the last time he reached out to her if she didn’t do something.
She touched the text box on the screen and prepared to enter a response. Before she tapped a single letter another bubble of words appeared.
I watched you on the news last night. Your ex has impeccable timing. I can’t wait to see who wins this round.
Pulse fluttering wildly with an infusion of anger, she considered telling Spears that, as he was no doubt aware, his current location could be tracked via this connection and that she intended to promptly inform the bureau.
But that would be a lie. Worse, he would recognize the lie. Spears knew her far too well.
Using the pad of her thumb she tapped one letter at a time until she’d filled the text box with the message she wanted to send the sociopath who had murdered dozens of women, maybe a hell of a lot more, in his sadistic career as a serial torturer-murderer. Jess smiled as she reread the words she hoped would prompt his need to grow ever closer to her.
One thing’s for sure, it won’t be you. I’m the one who got away, Spears. Guess that makes you a loser and a coward.
After hitting send, she reveled in the idea that her words would burrow under his skin and fester like boils until he just had to claw at the itch. Eric Spears’s malignant narcissistic side wouldn’t deal well with failure. Not only did he not like to lose, he hated the idea of being wrong about anything or anyone. He’d made several mistakes of late. Skating so very close to getting caught was one of them. Allowing Jess to live was another.
Whatever it took, she would get him.
Her cell clanged that old-fashioned tone, announcing an incoming call. She jumped. Nearly dropped the damned thing. Spears wouldn’t dare…
Harper calling appeared on the screen, banishing the stream of conversation between her and Spears.
“Jess, you are truly pathetic.” She swallowed back the lump of undeniable fear that had risen into her throat and forced herself to breathe normally. “Harris.”
“We have a homicide, Chief. Shady Creek Drive off Columbiana Road.”
Jess dropped her feet to the floor and banished thoughts of Spears. “How many victims, Sergeant?”
“Just one… but…”
The silence that filled the air for several endless seconds had Jess’s pulse revving with the surge of adrenaline charging through her veins.
“It’s bad, Chief. Really bad. It’s the wife of one of our own. Lieutenant Lawrence Grayson’s wife, Gabrielle.”
Oh damn. “Crimes Against Persons isn’t working this one?” No need to start the week off like the last one, in a pissing contest with Deputy Chief Harold Black, bless his ornery heart. Today’s staff meeting was supposed to clarify some ground rules and cement the team spirit to ensure better cohesion as they moved forward. That meeting likely wouldn’t happen now. Couldn’t be helped. Justice was the last thing the dead should have to wait for.
“I got the call since the first officers on the scene felt the murder might be connected to the Lopez situation,” Sergeant Chet Harper explained. “The wife was decapitated and there’s a message including some of the buzz words from this weekend’s hit on your place.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jess scrubbed at her eyes with her free hand. Images from the destruction that had been her room at the Howard Johnson Inn flickered through her mind. They had to get a handle on this escalating gang situation. It was turning into a blood bath and resurrecting the ugly memories of the city’s violent, racially unjust past.
The MS-13 clique operating in Birmingham, once lorded over by Salvadore Lopez, was at war with a faction that had split off to follow his younger sister, Nina. The sister was currently in custody for kidnapping Jess, among other charges. Salvadore had gone into protective custody with the promise of rolling over on his infamous father, Leonardo. The elder Lopez was the messiah-like leader of the West Coast’s rampant and ruthless MS-13 activities. Every three-letter agency in the country wanted him to go down, and now they had their chance.
Squaring her shoulders, Jess began the process of tuning out her personal frustrations with the whole damned Lopez family and the regret for the loss of life—particularly an innocent life—that would only get in the way. “Is Captain Allen on the scene?” Allen headed up Birmingham PD’s Gang Task Force. His insights would be invaluable if a gang connection was substantiated.
“En route as we speak.”
“I’ll be there shortly, Sergeant. You know what to do.”
Jess ended the call as she pushed to her feet and headed for the door. She caught her reflection in the mirror over the pedestal sink and paused mid-stride. Her damp hair would just have to dry on its own. She shoved her phone into her robe pocket so she could pile her blond locks into a manageable mass that was annoyingly curly when wet and snapped a claw clip in place. Makeup she could take care of en route. A flick of mascara and a dab of lip gloss would do.
She silently repeated the mantra she’d clung to for the past thirty-six hours or so. I’ll be okay. It would take more than being kidnapped by some ditzy, power-hungry teenybopper and having her place and her things destroyed to knock Jess off her game.
The tone that accompanied an incoming text had her rummaging for her cell.
I’m deeply wounded, Jess. I thought by now you would miss me as much as I miss you. See you soon.
“The sooner, the better,” she grumbled. Jess Harris was not afraid of anything. Except maybe the possibility of failing to get Spears before he added more victims to his heinous résumé.
With renewed purpose she deleted the conversation and emerged from the bat
hroom to find Lori, on her cell, probably getting the news about the murder. Jess grabbed the one suit that had survived last night’s kill-the-deputy-chief’s-stuff episode and ripped it free of the dry cleaner’s plastic. She’d failed to pick it up from the dry cleaner on Friday, which was the only reason it had been spared from the carnage.
Since her Audi had been at the lab for processing related to her abduction—and still was, damn it—the car and this one suit were about all that remained of the belongings she’d rolled into Birmingham with. Well, except for the dress and the turquoise pumps she’d been wearing last night. The pumps would just have to do until she had time to shop.
“You need a cup of coffee to go?” Lori asked as she headed for the kitchen with her own mug. Her Five Points studio was one big room with a small bath and closet carved out of the already-tight floor space. Any level of privacy was basically impossible.
“That’d be great.” Jess stepped into her pumps while she picked through the bag of undergarments, cosmetics, and necessities she’d purchased at Walmart late last night. Living out of a plastic bag was no fun, and though Lori insisted she was happy to have her as a guest, Jess was anxious to get a place of her own. She liked Lori a lot, and was proud to have the detective on her team, but staying on Lori’s couch was going to get old, fast. Maybe it had something to do with being in her forties and set in her ways, but having alone time felt immensely important, especially when she hadn’t had any in about forty-eight hours. She needed her space. Along with a new wardrobe and almost everything else a woman required to operate on a day-to-day basis.
Unfortunately, all of that would have to wait.
She had a homicide to get to.
Shady Creek Drive, 8:30 a.m.
“Whoa.” Lori surveyed the crowd gathered as she turned off Columbiana Road. “This is going to be complicated and”—she blew out a big breath—“messy.”
News vans cluttered the intersection of Columbiana and Shady Creek. Birmingham Police Department cruisers lined the street on either side of where they needed to turn. This tragedy had befallen one of their own and a show of strength was expected. The gesture was heartfelt, but there was no place for crowds at a homicide scene. At least not until after complete scene documentation and thorough evidence collection. The potential for contamination and/or loss was far too great with every warm body that entered a crime scene.